out of titles

Every up is followed by a severe down. I can now hold a conversation or even suck it up for a whole afternoon and fit in with normal life, but the entire time I’m present with the real world I’m holding a completely different conversation in my head. The whole time I’m talking to someone, watching a movie, doing whatever, my head is somewhere else. I am going over things, questioning, longing, crying out. I pretend not to notice the pregnant women and those with their babies. I act as if the display of baby clothes we just walked past doesn't affect me. I nonchalantly smile at a friend's newborn and even give him a pat or two. It all affects me. It all rips at me. I hide it superbly.

I am so lonely. After The Band leaves for work I can’t help but cry. Not because I am alone. Often I’m not. Good friends are around, but I am lonely all the same. I am apart from them all.

I’ve been reading some blogs of people “who have been through the same thing” which is my lame and annoying euphimism because I can’t bring myself to use the term “stillborn”. It is cold and medical and inhuman.

Someone commented on one of the blogs and her words rang so true:
the funny thing is most (if not all) people think that the birth and the dead baby there in their arms is what they couldn't survive....when in fact those are the fucking HIGHLIGHTS. it's the plain ole daily living without them that will rip your soul bit by bit until you have no choice but to sit the fuck up and decide who you want to be.

That is the reality that people can’t get their minds around. People feel sorry for the experience I “so bravely” endured. People wonder if perhaps I don’t have medical aid and that’s why I didn’t have a caesar. Actually those days were indeed the f*ing highlight. At least she was still physically with me. Reliving holding her is a treat not a horror. Life now is the horror.