I just got word through the grapevine that someone who reads my blog thinks I need help. Of the professional variety.
While this person obviously cares and has my best interests at heart, I need to caution her and anyone else who is using this blog as a gauge of my mental health that I am much more than the words I write down here each day.
This is a dumping ground for my sorrow and confusion over losing Thomas, as well as my frustration at being unable to conceive again since. It is, in a sense, my therapy. I don't wander around talking about my grief 24 hours a day, but I do need to put it somewhere. And I choose to put it here.
I also put it in the ears of My Beloved (in addition to some very patient, caring and loving friends and family members).
Trust me, simply following this blog for a few months isn't a good way to determine if I'm okay or not. It just isn't. I'm more than these angry, sorrowful, frustrated posts.
I am okay. I get up every morning. I function. I love. I laugh. I talk. I go out. I see people. I make plans for the future. I revel in the present. And yes, at the same time I miss my boy like crazy and I anguish over the fact that I can't get pregnant again and have the family we've been dreaming of and trying to have for nearly four years.
I'm sure it would be easier for everyone if I wasn't in mourning. I'm sure it would be easier if I was the old me. But I'm not. I've changed. When I buried my son I was reborn as a woman struggling to make sense of a life without her child. And I'm doing the best I can - and to be brutally honest, I think I'm doing more than okay under the circumstances.
I held my dying child in my arms and I'm here to tell the tale. My God, I'm here to tell the tale.
This isn't something that's going to be fixed. It's a lifelong process of learning to live a life that is always going to be influenced by the immense sorrow I carry with me. And sometimes that process isn't pretty. Sometimes it's angry and messy and horrible. But I'm not going to stop writing about it and I'm not going to apologize for the way I feel, even if sometimes it sounds crazy.
If you haven't been through what I have, you have absolutely no idea what the healing process is like, how long it takes - or even what it looks like. There's no way you can fathom what it's like to be me, or how healthy I should or shouldn't be. Especially right now, my baby boy's second birthday just weeks away.
This is what my life is, and it might seem frightening to you - but what you're reading here is only part of it. Just please, please remember that.