Depression makes me tired, and I'm tired of the depression

That about sums it up.  I'm tired.  I feel like I've been tired my whole life.  These last 8 months have felt like an eternity, and yet they feel like they have flown by.  I'm tired of the depression, and I can't seem to shake it.  And I'm tired of how wiped out it makes me feel, and I can't seem to do anything about it.  They don't want me on Anti-D's.  I'm thankful for that I suppose.  That they aren't willing to just throw drugs at me.  They keep telling me that I'm normal.  This is normal.  My baby died, I should be depressed.  Its all normal.

I don't care if its normal.  I'm tired of it.

I'm going to look into the St. John's.  They have me on The Pill, so I have to be sure it doesn't interact with that.  I just have to get around to finding out.  That's another "thing" about this depression I can't stand.  I have no motivation, no umph, no desire.  If it weren't for my DD I'd sit on the couch all day and watch TV.  If it wasn't for my DH I'd prolly never shower or change my clothes, and to be honest, that's a rare thing around here now!  I'm tired of feeling like my life has been stolen from me.  Like everyday I have to barter for time, for energy, for umph.  Its really taking a toll on my well being.  I am feeling more and more like I am failing.  Failing at mothering, failing at being a good wife, failing at being alive.  I've been reading on how people cope with depression, and it all just seems hoakie.  Day one, get out of bed.  Day two, brush teeth.  Day three, Brush hair.  Seriously?  I have a daughter, I'm already out of bed, and though it might take me hours to get to brushing my teeth or hair, eventually I do get it done.  Its the other stuff.  Laundry, cleaning, cooking, exercise, taking care of me that I have problems with.  I still read to my daughter, I feed her, I play with her, I do what I should.  I try to remember to feed my dog, but I can't seem to talk myself into taking her for a walk.  Its terrible.  I hate the way that I've become but I can't seem to talk myself into being anything better.  I hate when the phone rings.  I hate when I have to go out and see people.  I hate when I have to get together with people, put on my happy face, and perform.  Part of me wants to get with my friends and be normal...the other part, can't seem to make it out the door.  I make plans, or I want to make plans, only to end up canceling, or wishing I had, or never making the plans in the first place, but then thinking maybe I should have because I need to get out.  Its a big circle.  Like now, I know that I need to go rewash the laundry that has been sitting in the washer since Tuesday.  I need to go clean up the kitchen, pick up all of these toys...but I'd rather sit here and ignore it all.

Except now my laptops battery is dead.

Waking Up (New Moon)

Time Passes.  Even when it seems impossible.  Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise.  It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls.  But pass it does.

Even for me.

Thats from Chapter Four of New Moon (Book 2 in the Twilight Saga).  It struck a nerve with me today and I found myself nodding my head.

Seeing Logan's Tree for the first time

This odd feeling seems to be the norm lately.  The shadowy, gnawing ache.  Sometimes it comes front and center, but most times these days its been hanging out in the background, vaguely reminding me that I'm hurt.  I'm not fond of it, but it is certainly better than being in the gut wrenching pain all of the time.

After almost exactly 8 months since Logan's death, his tree finally made it into the ground at the park down the street.  We went and visited it yesterday for the first time, on our anniversary.  It just seemed appropriate to me.  The tree wasn't planted exactly where I wanted it (close to the toddler playscape) its off to the right a little, and away from the playscapes.  I think the tree is better off in that location, further away from idiotic teens who are known to linger in the park and make trouble.  The tree looks nice.  I couldn't  help but feel like its presence was insignificant.  A sad replacement.  "I couldn't give you life baby, so here's a tree."  I don't know.  It just seemed...lame.  I have trouble convincing myself that the tree is to let the world know that there was a little boy here, and not a ridiculous replacement of him.  David appreciated the tree.  He felt like I did a good job.  I stood there a minute, alone, and contemplated.  I felt more apologetic than anything I guess.  I just kept thinking I was sorry.  Sorry I couldn't make it work, sorry I couldn't save him, sorry he wouldn't get to experience life, sorry that I planted this dumb tree...just sorry for everything.

I pushed Aubrey on the swings while David took a few minutes to himself at the tree.  It seemed odd.  Aubrey has no clue.  "Hey mom, we're at the park, let's swing!!"  Like I could explain to her why we were really at the park.  The day was riddled with oddities, the visit at the park no exception to that.  A young girl, maybe 8 or so, came riding up on her bike and started asking all sorts of questions about the tree.  Did you plant that tree?  Why?  Why would you plant a tree when you son dies?  How old was he?  So you only knew him for a few days?  Oh.  You didn't even get to hold him? (I left out that detail)  What was wrong with him?  What's that?  Are you sad?  Well at least you have her.  You can have another one.  Where is he?  (Ok, this info was a bit much for her perhaps but I didn't know what else to say, I was in shock).  She wouldn't go away.  Here we are trying to find peace, trying to not attack the tree in our fury, trying not to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a park and this little girl wouldn't go away!!  We eventually left because she was so annoying.  The night went on to give more and more odd things to me.

But, the tree is in and that makes me relieved, if nothing else.  Relieved its over with, the waiting anyway.  Now for the ashes...

Our Anniversary and Logan's Tree

Today is our 7th wedding anniversary.

I don't feel like celebrating.  I guess its a nice day and all, and it really isn't a reflection on my marriage or how I feel about David.  Its just that I can not find any joy in celebrating anything.

The only plans we really have made for this evening is to walk down to the park and see if the city planted Logan's Memorial Tree.  I talked to the dude last week and he told me Friday or sometime this week.  We're assuming it's there.  If its not it would really be par for the course, I suppose.  Maybe even a little expected.  But regardless we're going to go see our son's tree, the closest thing we have to a grave marker.

Today hasn't been a bad day per say.  More of a bleak day.  A blah day.  I'm tired and a little worn out from the late nights with my mother's visit over the weekend.  And I look around me and see all that I should get done today.  I just don't have the will.  David will be home in a couple of hours, so I need to at least go shower and look presentable for our special day.  I also need to wash laundry and pay the bills, because hey...life still goes on.

On a side note, anyone know what happened to the spell checker with this new post editor?  I don't see it.  That is a necessity for me!  LOL!

Alone...listless

I keep hearing that song over and over. Pearl Jam. Daughter.

Alone...listless...breakfast table in an otherwise empty room
Young girl...violins...center of her own attention
The mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it
Tries to make her proud

The shades go down, its in her head
Painted room...can't deny there's something wrong...

Its odd, even to me, how I place myself in the most obscure places. This song doesn't have a thing to do with my "situation". Maybe its the odd pain I feel from the song. Maybe it's Eddie's voice. I dunno.

David is up north. He left today. My mother is coming in tomorrow. I just wanted a normal weekend. I don't want visitors. I don't want to entertain, to clean, to talk, to relate, to defend, to perform, to hide... I want to just be here with my tiny little family safe in the cocoon of my deceptively "normal" home. I go out, I perform, I interact with the "others" because I know its what's supposed to be done. What's normal in the real world. I do what I am supposed to do, in hopes of moving on, getting over...forgetting. Whoever wrote those rules don't have a clue. Sadly, I think it was me. Is isolation a stage of grief? First we feel isolated by our "freskishness" and then we resort to isolating ourselves, because really who understands you better than the evil voices in your head? I'm quite content to hang out alone these days. I used to be very social. But now, now I just want to hide away (Hey look at that! Another PJ song!!). Sadly I don't want my mother to visit. Its not her, its not personal. And I want her to see her granddaughter, I do. Its just that... I don't have the energy. That seems to be the common theme these days. I don't have the energy for much of anything. Energy, motivation, desire...whatever. They say its part of depression. Why is there no cure for depression? Something so prevalent in our society and the only thing they have a drugs that mask it, but none that eliminate it. The mind is a tricky place I suppose. And I fight with myself daily, wanting the drugs, not wanting the drugs. Wanting relief, but what if?? What if David announces that he's ready for another baby and then I have to wait another 6 months to rid my body of the poisons that are masking the pain? What if I could find relief in those pills? What if he never wants to have another baby because I won't "snap out of it"? Then there are always the thoughts about the head shrinker. I guess I'm just afraid I'll hear more of the same "these things happen" or "your grieving, you should be depressed". Maybe I'm afraid he'll tell me to buck up and stop wallowing in self pity. Maybe I'm afraid he'll make me cry. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of such an overwhelming sorrow. I'm not sure I want to pay someone to tell me I'm normal and then make me cry. I can get that for free anywhere I like. My thoughts follow me around closer than my shadow. I try to convince myself that its best if I stay away from the sadness of others, if I stay away from my own sadness. But I guess the reality of it all is that I'm just avoiding the truth that has so confidently perched itself upon my heart. I'm sad. I'm so achingly sad that if the world stopped spinning, I might not notice. I swear it, if my daughter wasn't here I would easily allow myself to slip under. And what an enormous burden to place on the tiny shoulders of a 19 month old child. She wasn't intended to be a buoy, but how she has turned into one. Keeping momma afloat. It breaks my heart all over again. I look at her and I think how lucky she is to not be old enough to even realize there is something to be grieving for. And then I look at her and am saddened to know that her baby brother died, and she doesn't even know it yet. Will she ever know it? Will I lock him away like a dirty little precious secret? Everything in this "reality" contradicts itself. Oh how I want her to know that we did want her to have a little brother, a playmate, a partner in crime. Someone she could go to and complain about her parents to, like a sibling can only relate. Baby, Momma tried!! I desperately want her to know. But when she is old enough to process this information, will I still be willing to relive it, to pass the sadness on?

I've been hiding a lot, if only mentally. I've been hanging out in Forks, Wa. with Bella and Edward (Twilight) on audiobook. I walk around with my earbuds in listening to my iPod all day long, trying to escape my own life. Trying to be immersed in someone else's elation and tragedy, if only fiction. I've discovered that I can't sit around and watch TV or movies all day, so this is my alternative. I began to wonder today how rude it would be to walk around listening while my mother was here this weekend.

My mother. She has no clue. How can she? She had 5 children, they were all surprises and they all lived. I don't think she even knows how to handle me. I think my darkness frightens her. God is the solution to everything. Take your pain to God. Give it to the lord. I scoff. He gave it to me, why would I give it back? God is not my solution. At least not right now. And I think that scares my family. I am hostile, and I am bitter, and I do not want to hear about God and how they think he is the answer to my sorrow. He is the reason, at least in my book. At least for now. So, most of the time they go on as if my life didn't stop. Which is good, for the most part. At least until they start really wanting to know how I'm really doing. I try not to hide too much of it. If I have a total breakdown I want them to not be completely shocked, I think. The other day my older brother asked me how I'm doing, to which I replied "some days are bad, some days are not so bad" to which he replied "Why? What's wrong?" I simply stated "Logan". He went on to say he figured but wanted to make sure it wasn't anything else. I really have to restrain myself from saying DUH!! and smacking people in the forehead (like the V-8 commercials). I hate that people ask me how I am doing because really we all know that most of the time it's in a cashier-esque fashion. No one wants to hear the truth, they want to hear you say "fine" and move on. "I'm fine, unless you consider the GAPING HOLE in my heart where my little boy hangs out". I mean really, how do you answer that question? "Hey Heather, how's it going?" "Oh fine, I didn't cry or kill myself today, so I must be having a great day!" People don't want to hear that. I don't want to hear that. What the hell do you say to that? "Oh, well that's good?!" Seriously. I struggle intensely with the random social politeness I'm supposed to display.

I've gotten really paranoid lately. Its weird. It makes me feel weird. I feel like they're all looking at me, talking about me. I wonder if people can tell. The other day when I left the OB's office and those two pregnant chics were in the waiting area, I couldn't look at them, but I felt like they were staring at me, like they knew! I wonder if people think about it all the time (I'm guessing this is just a narcissistic feeling). I wonder if people try to think about what it would feel like if one of their babies had died in the womb; what they're lives would be like with out that child.

David is up north hunting with his dad and some friends. I'm glad. He so needs to get out of this house and away from me. It was hard letting him leave. I really had to struggle to keep myself from begging him not to leave me. Don't leave me alone in the silence with these wretched thoughts!! But I wanted him to go. I want him to feel "normal" again and be with other men, and not surrounded by child bearing woman (at work). My daughter wailed when he left. I thought it was a good idea for her to see that he was leaving. When he walked away and got into the truck she bawled. My heart broke. His heart broke. And I realised that I couldn't explain to her that he was coming back. And I realised maybe we should have just let her think he was at work. And I was afraid that her outburst tainted his weekend. Gramma will be here tomorrow, she won't have time to think about her daddy.

I sit here on my couch and obsess about whether or not Logan's tree went into the ground tonight. David and I decided to wait to go see it until we could both go at the same time, together, as a family. Its made me very restless today. I even found myself drawn to that area during my walk this morning. Not to see the tree, but in hopes that I would see a truck or something. Some sign that they were indeed planting it. I saw nothing. I'm hoping I don't accidentally drive by it this weekend. I'm hoping that I keep my wits about me enough to avoid that area. Its on a common route home. I pass that park quite often.

Well, its almost midnight. I'm tired, I'm roasting for some stupid unknown reason (since apparently my hormones are FINE!), and I know I need to get up early to straighten the house before my mother arrives in the morning. So, with that... I'm off, and hoping for a restful night and easy sleep...in a very dark and quite house...alone. (She shivers because yes, she is afraid of the dark and things that go bump in the night!)

Memorials

Yesterday U of M held a memorial service for the babies who get donated for study. Logan was included in that. I didn't go. Part of me thinks I should have, but the biggest part of me is tired of trudging through these swamp like waters of baby loss. I'm tired of being reminded and I'm tired of dealing with it. I feel like the more time I spend in dead baby land, the more sucked under I get. The more depressed, the more lonely, the sadder I become. So, lately I've tried to steer clear of anything that might pull me back down. I don't know if that's healthy or not. Frankly I don't care. I just need a break from the glum. I need a break and fresh air.

I talked to the Forestry Supervisor (which is a funny title since I live in the suburbs and not Montana or something) yesterday and he told me they will be planting Logan's tree on Friday, or sometime next week (weather permitting). David and I have agreed not to drive by and look with out the other. I'm anxious and it will be very hard for me not to be obsessive and go look every ten minutes. My mom is coming this weekend and David will be up north, so we're going to wait until next week to go look at it, together. I'm happy, nervous and sad all at the same time. I'm happy it's finally getting done, 4 months after the initial start of the plan. I'm nervous about how it will affect each of us to have to see this tree all of the time. I am planting it at the park where I would have taken Logan to play...the same park I take my daughter to play at now. The same park that my husband drives past everyday to and from work. I didn't really think that through before I decided to plant it there. I just assumed I would want it there, I assumed David would want it there, but I think it will be very hard for him to drive by and see that reminder everyday...at least for a while. I wanted it to be on public land so that if we ever moved we could still see his tree, visit his tree. Its the closest thing we have to a grave marker at the moment. But I never thought about what it would be like to see his grave marker every day. I just wanted the world to see it. I want the world to know that there was a little boy, and he made a huge impact on our lives. A weeping willow in the park seemed the perfect way to do that. But again, it makes me sad. Sad that I am planting a stupid tree for my son instead of taking him to the park to play.

Last night was a tearful night here. I feel so helpless and useless when I see my husband grieve. I just assume that's how it must be for everyone else. What can you do? Nothing. So I sit there and try not to cry too. Tears are contagious for me. Lately I keep thinking about how I never saw it coming. This wasn't ever anything I ever thought possible for my future. I mean who does? But I often sit around and think how I live in the house that 14 years ago my husband and I (who had only been dating for a month) took our 2 younger siblings trick or treating at, and never once did we ever think we'd live in that house a few years later. Or how 14 years ago I tried to imagine what life would be like married with children. I assumed I'd have 3, and well before I was 32 years old. But I do not. I have 1. And never in a million years did I ever imagine myself to have a child die. And now it makes it very hard for me to look forward and not see calamity. Because I experienced a very horrible unexpected reality, I can not even venture out to see my future. Maybe its because its too painful. I'm scared to think of myself with three children now. I'm scared to hope for more. Because now, no matter what, I'll always be plagued with the "what if" scenario. We talked about DS when we decided to have kids. We talked about Spina Biffada too, since that is a very real threat in my family. But honestly I guess I never thought it would really happen to us. That's scary stuff that happens to other people, not us. Our baby wouldn't die. God isn't that cruel. But now that I know the reality, now that I know that no matter how great the odds are in our favor...it's always possible. And that is the scariest reality.

I've also been thinking a lot about why David's son died. I mean, my life is filled with unpleasant things. My parents divorced when I was a baby. My dad is a jerk. My brothers have all had there fair share of devestation. My grandparents and mother too. So to be honest I can see how and why having my child die would fit into the equation...but not David's. David has always been such a good person. His family is well built and functions well. David has always strived for the best, done his best and is an honest good man. I can find no reason what so ever for his baby to have died. You can look at my life and see how it could have happened, but not David's. Which leaves me with the blame. If he'd have married better. If he'd have dated around and found a different option than me. If I had been content with an only child as he was. If I had really thought it through and agreed with him that we were pushing our luck with having another baby at our age. His son is dead because I am never content. Perhaps that's the "lesson" or "reason" every one keeps telling me God has. Maybe it's that I was never content with what I had, and now I will never know real contentness, because something will always be missing.

I've been thinking about my son's ashes a lot lately. We need to get the urn. Need to. We've been avoiding that for too long. We need to put the proverbial lid on it. The thing is, what if I like the one I get, but then change my mind later? And I don't know that I can pour my son's burnt up tiny remains into a new container. I mean, there must be dust left behind in the bag or bowel that he is in. I can't just toss that into the trash, that's my son!! I thought I would take it to the funeral home here and let them do it, that way I won't ever really know what happened. I'm not stupid. I know that when they put his ashes in the container they didn't get every last speck out of the furnace or whatever. But I didn't have to be there, and I didn't have to see it. I can't just throw his dust into the trash can like it's garbage. And the other thing, I don't know where I want to put the urn. I'm thinking of getting an urn that looks like a statue. That way I don't have to answer questions or make people feel weird if they see it. They won't even know. Having someone cremated in my family just isn't accepted. I didn't want Logan cremated, it was the only option I had if I wanted U of M to do the autopsy, and at the time that seemed the most important thing. And I'm not sure I want it stuffed into my closet. Even now I can not bare the thought of putting his ashes into my chest or my closet. That is why they continue to sit in that wretched box on top of my armour. He needs a place in this home. A place that is all his. Not a shrine or anything, just a spot for Logan to be. I've contemplated a place at a cemetery, or burying him with my grandmother or David's...but at the moment I don't want him anywhere but with me. And frankly I'd carry him in my pocket if I didn't think David would commit me. I've thought about dividing his ashes up, but the thought of having a vial that contains maybe a piece of his toe and a piece of his ear...its just wrong. I can't do it. And I know that its because this is not a natural process in life that it is so hard to rectify it. You can not come to terms with something that is so beyond reason. I just wish I could stop trying so hard to come to terms with it.

Writters block

I used to be a poet. Not the happy sweat poet. My poetry was dark and sad. Its how I used to cope with my overbearing emotions. But since logan's death, the saddest possible day of my life this far, I've had writers block. And though I feel like this blog has helped me to work through a lot of the darkness, I realized tonight that my writers block is due to the fact that I feel like my words are severely inadequate.
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These things happen...

I just thought to myself yesterday that it was probably a good thing that I haven't been blogging much lately. Moving on right? Healing? Whatever.

Today I got back my results from my hormones tests and had my annual. The doctor had to be in an emergency surgery, so I saw the nurse practitioner instead. All of my hormones are normal. Great. So then what's my problem? No PCOS, just cysts and one tiny fibroid. Apparently you get those from being fat! Funny that I didn't have those when I weighed 200lbs, but I have them now when I'm 170lbs.

Oh, and get this. Apparently it's been long enough. No kidding. After 7 1/2 months I shouldn't be crying anymore, it's been too long. I need to consider Zoloft. I need to consider a therapist. I need to loose weight.

I'm getting more pissed by the second actually. She made me cry. She made me cry several times. Why don't I get a room that doesn't have pictures of all of the other babies that lived? Why is this dumb nurse assuming that I am trying to have a baby now? Why is this nurse assuming that it was difficult for me to get pregnant? And did she seriously just tell me that if I get pregnant to come in right away so that they can do tests "so you won't have to go through all of this again."?? Excuse me? Apparently I need genetic counseling. Apparently my DH does too. We need to find out if there is anything in us that caused the baby to have Downs. WHAT? Caused?? But I thought it was random. I thought it was a fluke. I just wanted a pap. I just wanted the results from my tests. I just wanted to be someone else today. One of the naive ones.

Tears. Lots and lots of tears, in public. I hate public break downs. I had to walk past two pregnant woman who both stared at me. They're wondering, trying to figure out my story. I'm tired of people wondering about me. I'm tired of having to re-tell and re-explain my story over and over again. Why didn't the NP read my chart first? Why did I have to choke out that my baby died in January. She called it a miscarriage a few times. I didn't correct her. I wish. I wish that he would have passed silently out of existence. I wish I didn't have to know he had a face, and tiny little hands and feet. His perfect little pouty mouth, is button nose, his funky toe. I wish I didn't know he had a name. I wish he would have been a sad medical procedure that is so common that people say they're sorry, and then move on. I wish I didn't know what it was like to hold such a warm, tiny lifeless little boy in my arms. I wish I didn't know what it was like to have experienced a horror that is so unaccepted by the general population that people can't talk about it, or look me in the eye. I wish I wasn't the topic of conversation, or gossip or even the sad thoughts and concern that I am for people who know me, and even worse for those who don't. I wish this wasn't my reality.

I'm tired of people telling me that "these things happen" and I'm really tired of hearing it from doctors. Cancer happens too. Co-joined Twins happen too. Child molestation and murder and abortion and so many more unspeakable things happen too! No shit it happens! It happened to me. I KNOW it happens. Stop telling me that these things happen! I know! I get it already. It happened...it happened to ME! It happened to my husband, and it happened to my son! I don't care that they do happen and I don't care for what reason (even if it's God's and not one I'm meant to understand) what I care about is that it happened to ME, to US! Why does everyone feel the need to remind me that "these things happen"?

I just want a doctor who gets it. I want a doctor who says its normal to be sad and cry for 8 months. Its normal to feel like you are loosing your coherency with life. Its normal to want a baby one minute and not the next. Its normal to be scared and mad and resentful and to ask a million questions and to feel like its not fair. I want a doctor who understands that not everyone would choose to abort a baby that is not perfect. I want a doctor who can just go with the flow and get it. I guess what I want is a doctor who has been in my shoes and who is trying to help others. I want help, I do. But I want help from people who can grasp the complexity of what I am going through. But they all want to shove pills at me, and tell me to hop back on the horse. I don't want to. I want to stand here in my little dark corner and kick the dirt around and cry and scream and be sad and miss my son and wallow in the pity that is mine! If I had my way I would have chosen not to have gotten pregnant then. I didn't know! I didn't realize that I could have a child who could be so ill. Incompatible with life. I can't get that phrase out of my head. I feel incompatible with life now too. I just want to scream at people to stop looking at me!! Stop thinking about me!!

So now what? Am I just lousy at dieting? Was I doing it wrong? Am I imagining the heat flashes? Did I gain 13lbs so fast because I was a pig? Am I moody and crabby and argumentative just because I'm mad at the world? Whats with the headaches again? Is it not enough to snatch my son out from within me, but now the universe is trying to pull me under too? Do I not deserve a break? No. I'm no one special. I don't deserve a beak or anything else. It just the way the cookie crumbles, because hey...these things happen. Right?

I guess I should clarify something. I am having more good days then bad ones now, lots more. I don't sit around and cry all day. In fact, I don't cry over Logan much at all anymore. Don't get me wrong, there's a constant dull ache where I think his 4 month old smile should be. Not too many minutes go by where I don't think about what should have been. An event doesn't go by where I don't think he should be present. But I'm past the screaming pain that had me curled up into a little quivering ball of goo. And now I am usually either wistfully sad or bitter and angry, when I'm not smiling at my daughter and living "normal" life. Life is what it is now. I go about my days and there is a shadow of sorrow, but not the heavy shroud that it was. I thought I was doing ok. I thought I was moving on and healing at a "normal" pace. For the most part I just want to fade into the background. Some people call this pulling away or turning inward. I don't really want to be around others. I do it because it's normal, and its what I'm supposed to do. But all I really want to do is burrow down with my DH and DD and block out the rest of the world. There was a time when I wanted to be at the epicenter of every family gathering. Now, I'd rather sit on the couch and watch TV. Zone out. Block out. Ignore. Hide. Whatever. I don't want to stumble onto conversations about me and my DH. I don't want other people trying to explain us or defend us in their own ignorance. I don't want people to ask about me. I just feel like its because everyone wants to be in on the latest gossip. "Pst, are they going to have another baby?" "Pst, I bet its hard for her to be here with all of these other babies." STOP IT! Yes is makes me sad seeing all of these babies and not being able to show mine off too. I don't know if we're going to have another baby. Why do you care? Does it matter to you? Does my speculation about procreation have any impact whatsoever on your existence? Its like I want to close the blinds on us. I want to be able to peak out on occasion, maybe let a little sunshine in here and there, but then close them when it gets dark or I don't want nosy people peaking in the windows.

I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be on this blog, in this frame of mind, in this house, in this state, on this couch, in these tears, in this pain. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to get as far away from it all as I can, and I just can't seem to figure out how to do that.