Today, I learned that an acquaintance of mine, who is younger than me, is pregnant with her third child.
Kinda speechless right now. I know that I’m not having my own kid, and I know the reasons why I’m not are valid and perhaps responsible, but it doesn’t make this less of a bummer or something to be envious of.
Just like when I see my nephew. I know my reasons, but knowing that the timeline is ticking down, and that there’s no sign of a child in sight for me, is almost too much to bear these days.
Some think I should stop spending time talking to such acquaintances, to not trigger myself, but I’m triggered by everything, from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep. The obsession is in my brain and there’s no compulsion for it to make myself feel better, even temporarily.
I want to take a Lyft and there’s nowhere to go. Today is off to a really shitty start.
With my heart this broken, decimated mess, time takes on different meaning. Days and nights blur together into one, one long existence of sleeping or trying to get back to sleep. Feeling the pain or trying to avoid it.
There is only before when things were good, and right, and fair, and after when things aren’t. Before, for the first time I had hope. And now I have a mindful of memories that won’t go away. I wish time would take it’s regular rhythm up again. I want friends again. And outings and laughter, and singing and smoking.
But more than anything else, I want some sembelance of hope. Because with hope, I had the motivation to do so many things. And now my only motivation is to sleep, and to evade all obstacles and obligations that try to keep me from my bed.
Yesterday, despite attempts to turn off such notifications, my Facebook reminded me that exactly a year ago, I came home from my stay in Missouri. Which of course sent me into another emotional tailspin where I couldn’t get out of bed or eat.
I wonder if they got that notification too. I wonder if they even batted an eye. I know that despite what my mind tells me, I don’t need them in my life, I am better off, supposedly. But that doesn’t help when my mind lies to me, keeps me in bed, and keeps me from even taking a shower.
A year after, I go to bed as early as I can, and sleep in as late as I can. I miss them like crazy. I think about them everywhere I go and whatever book I read or show I watch.
I don’t know how to block them from my mind. But I found a Buddhist advice book at the library
“Love hurts-Buddhist advice for the Heartbroken”, and sometimes it helps.
Though sometimes is not nearly enough.
Today, summoning the energy to take a shower is not worth it. What’s the point? Nothing I will do will make them come back. Or care how much I want to die. I don’t know how they don’t care but they don’t, and that leaves me all by myself.
Thanks mind. I wake up past one in the morning and can’t get my mind to shut up to go back to sleep. Instead I think of people that I hate thinking about.
IF i could, i would get deep brain stimulation done tomorrow. Cut into my head, I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t be her, as much as I’d like to be, and nothing is going to ever change what has happened.
I’m not a jealous person usually, thinking I deserve something more than someone else. Low self esteem does not go hand in hand with thinking you deserve amazing things. But I’m envious and jealous and full of spite and longing.
And I can chant to the gohonzon all I want but he’s not leaving my mind. So please give me the fucking surgery. Because it’s past 1 in the morning, and I can’t sleep because my mind tells me I need him.
My mind is broken and I’m ready for any scalpel because I don’t want to think about him anymore. Please.
“Now i sleep, sleep the hours that I can’t weep,
when all I know was steeped in blackened holes,
I was lost”
Mumford and sons Below my feet
I had dreams about him last night. Though I can only remember one of them. We were on some kind of Vespa, and he was going too fast and we crashed.
He didn’t look hurt, or bad, or anything. He just left. And in the dream I ran through what looked like an huge apartment complex, knocking on every door and calling his name, over and over. No one opened any of the doors.
That’s all I remember. I had another dream but I don’t remember any of it fortunately.
I remember how I woke up each time. Gasping for breath, choking on tears, sobbing, and feeling like I couldn’t breathe.
This is how I am because he’s gone. Because he chooses to be gone.
And I just want it to stop.
Stop brain, he’s gone. If he cared he’d be back. But he doesn’t so he won’t.
But my brain continues dreaming.
Today, I woke up and couldn’t shake Missouri from my mind. All day. I mostly slept, trying to reset my brain. But it didn’t work.
I know that I’m a lot of effort to be friends with, but they promised to never leave… they promised I’d have someone forever. And forever turned out to be so short. I just want to talk to them today.
Tonight is very difficult. Curling up in the cold under a comforter and trying to convince myself it was all just a dream. But I know better.
My sister is being induced sometime this evening. She’s a week late with my nephew, and so by tomorrow morning, the doctor thinks she’ll be ready to deliver.
One might think I would be excited, but then that person wouldn’t know me very well. I’m a huge mass of anxiety and depression, wanting but not wanting to meet him when he gets here. Knowing that his very existence could make my kid obsession a whole lot worse.
Wanting to vow to never see him. But I’m not a cold, callous person. Of the three kids in the family, I have a timeline, six hundred something days now, and of course surrogates don’t grow on trees, so I am most likely never going to be a mother. Because I won’t bring another person into this world, knowing very well that they would most likely be at least partly as sad as I am. My therapist calls this choice not to procreate selflessness. I call it cowardice.
We don’t agree but it doesn’t matter. The night is very long already and there is nothing to fill my time with. There will be no sleeping tonight, I smoked but not enough to take an edge off because I am committed to my bed, my room ice cold, allowing me to cower under the covers like the coward I am. I am responsible for my own pain, this lack of having a child.
Way to fucking go kid. You have to ruin everything. 9 months and maybe then you’d stop complaining. But no, I have to be me. All the fucking time.