Aug 11, 2011


To be honest, I've been thinking of just ending this blog for the past couple months. I haven't felt like writing, and when I do feel like writing, I don't know where to start. Being me, I always have a lot to say, but I don't know if I get that feeling of comfort that I once did when I told the Internet all of my secrets. I have always had a hard time talking to people about the truly hard times in my life, but writing, online and off, has helped me work through many issues, and it helps me to vent what I can't say verbally. I've done it my whole life, but now, for some reason, I just can't get that pen, or keyboard,  to do what I want it to.

Six months ago, I wrote a long post about our struggle to make a baby, our ideas on how we would raise a baby if it ever came, and how grown up I felt that I was actually mentally ready to do the whole parenting thing. I deleted that post last week, having never actually taken the two seconds to post it here.

Fifteen weeks ago, I wrote a post, all full of sunshine and rainbows and unicorns, announcing to my blog readers that after almost three years of not using any contraceptive devices, we had finally fertilized an egg and there was a little hamster growing inside of me. I didn't post it. Maybe some part of me knew that I shouldn't spread the news just yet.

One month ago, I wanted to write all about our horrible experience of losing the baby that we had wanted so badly. I wanted to tell you the whole story, a story we have never actually told in its entirety to anyone yet. I wanted to tell you about all the blood and the surgery and the horrific doctors and wonderful nurses, and how I was afraid I was dying.  I wanted to tell you about my guilt in losing the first grandchild, the first niece or nephew, and my fear that maybe my parts just don't work, and I'm not ever going to be able to give anyone that baby they want so badly. I wanted to tell you how much I hate when people say "That's okay, you can always try again!", as if we don't know that, and already know that babies don't come so easily to some of us. I wanted to write about what bullshit it is that a miscarriage should just be forgotten about, that you should just move on, and pretend like it never happened. I wanted to give everyone a good ol' talking too who didn't think that my husband was just as devastated as I was. I wanted to tell you how my D & C experience made me even more pro-choice than I was before. I wanted to express all of my pain and anger and sadness....but I didn't. I just bottled it up.

Today, as I drank a cold cup of coffee, that I was too lazy to warm up, I realized that I need to keep writing. If not here, then somewhere, because I am losing my mind, keeping everything in. I am lucky in life, that I have a husband who is open and honest and with whom I can talk to about anything. I am lucky that I have family and friends that have expressed their concern, and have offered ears and shoulders to listen and to lean on. But being me, I have a hard time taking people up on those offers. I find comfort in the solitude that comes with writing, whether it be for the Internet, or in a personal journal. I would rather talk to myself most days, than talk to other human beings. It's just how I've always been. A social butterfly on the outside, and a perfectly content loner on the inside. The two sides, they clash sometimes, but it works for me.

So, I've decided to stick around. But I'm warning you, it won't be all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns around here for awhile, because I've got some shit to work out.