I have a lot of anxiety about going back to work Monday and too much time alone today. Not a good combination. Oh and I was interviewed (by a woman who’s never been pregnant) from the Fetal and Infant Death Research Group (or something like that) this morning which got me thinking…my baby died not so long ago and I feel like shit.
Also my schedule didn’t jive with Dave’s so his day got off to a late start so we had a stress eruption, too. Ahh…life at the Holmes’ can be so sunny.
All this to say the past 3 hours have been spent reading about other babyloss stories. I don’t know quite why I find myself spending so much time with these other lives besides the fact that I’m not supposed to feel so alone when I do, given the similar expriences and emotions but when I realize how long its been since I’ve actually spoken with someone and realize my eyes are swollen and my make-up’s all worn off, I feel more alone than ever.
This is what my therapist describes as me picking away at a wound that’s trying to heal. I usually feel validated at first but somehow can’t seem to stop myself at the point where it becomes destructive and harder and harder to pull myself out. Lily has finally fallen asleep in the other room, David will be home soon and I have brownies and a side dish to make for dinner with friends tonight. It’s time to drag myself out of this chair and stop making myself bleed.