May 17, 2017


What is really bothering you?
Look at how you're standing.
Didn't the therapist say we needed a safe sentence that reigns in this type of behavior?
Whatever that sentence was...we need to say it now.

Mark is talking to me slowly. Like he always does when I'm about to lose my shit.
When I'm about to relapse with my grief.

It was the Thursday before Mother's Day.
I had just polished off a stiff vodka tonic and was reeling inside.

Looking for a fight.

Nothing. Why would you think it's anything? I'm just a little frustrated.
I just don't understand why YOU would start asking questions about what I do with MY medications. Their MINE. You're not the one that has to take all these shots and these pills.
I do.
So fuck off with your questions!

I storm out of the room and the overwhelming need to smash something to pieces takes over my rational thinking.
I storm back into the kitchen, slam the dishwasher shut with everything I have.
Open it.
Slam it back shut.
Open it again.
Slam it even harder.

I scream.



And proceed to bawl hysterically in the next room.

Burn is concerned.
He rushes over to me and nearly knocks me over while he proceeds to lick my kneecaps.
I start demanding a hug from Mark...because that's totally rational at this point.
No solutions, just a really big hug.

Mark unloads all the broken glasses from the dishwasher and I crumble in the corner, staring off into space. I can hear my heart beating through my ears at that point.

I need to calm down.
I am relapsing again and I hate that feeling.
That feeling of being out of control.
That feeling of being the alien in the room that everyone is staring at.

I'm so sick of feeling this pain.
So very sick and tired of feeling like I could spin out of control at any point.
That these feelings bubble to the surface so quickly I can't stop them, much less warn Mark that it's happening.
It comes on so quickly.

I have been an irritable mess for about a week, knowing that these two weekends were rapidly approaching.

For the most part, I have been good.
My recovery has been steady.
I argue and bicker with Mark here or there, but overall....I would say it's been positive.

But then shit like this happens and I curse the Heaven's asking WHY this is the hand I have been dealt.
Why now.
Why did this have to be taken away from me?
I keep asking for direction.
I keep asking for guidance.

I don't understand, and I'm trying to be patient, but sometimes the anger is overwhelming.

We went to bed halfheartedly defeated.
With no resolution outside of a thick apology, from me.
For ruining another evening.
For not having more patience.
For dumping these ugly feelings on Mark again.

As long as I "should be" pregnant, relapses are going to rear their ugly head at inopportune times.
Like when my due date arrives, or maybe again when yet another birthday rolls around, without the baby I have been wishing for since I was 28.

If you read these words, I want you to know that my life is not all gloom and doom.
I write these real emotions, the good and the bad, because I believe it's important to let others know that progress is most definitely not linear.
I can't even count how many times I have muttered the phrase one step forward, two steps back.
Because it's exactly that.
Just like you can't always have good, flawless, positive, drama-free days (although that would be nice.)
But the bad doesn't define me, or negate any of the good that has come out of my progress over the last five months.

I am starting to remember things again.
The therapist mentioned one of the symptoms of depression and grief is short-term memory loss...and of course when you're in the thick of it, you have no idea what she is saying.
Looking back, it's very true.
I still can't piece together a lot of events, but the harder I work at it, the more everything makes sense.

Speaking of therapists, I dumped mine.
Not because I think I'm cured.
But because I have gained a notion of clarity that I did not fully encapsulate before the miscarriage. The clarity to stop allowing bullshit to control parts of my life.

My therapist has screwed up a few times in recent months...double booking me....constantly running late....billing my insurance incorrectly....and while she helped when I needed to talk to someone....the bigger picture is...she was wasting a lot of my time.
And I was getting angry waiting for her to get her shit together all the time.
I simply do not have patience for people that do a half-ass job these days.

Same goes for my fertility treatments.
Having gone through the ringer for years at a company whose sole job is to get women pregnant...when they decided to switch a procedure to a different day....and a different LOCATION...without telling me?
Lord have mercy on them because I gave them a piece of my mind and likely got a few people fired.

This is MY TIME and MY MONEY and MY SANITY and MY FAMILY they are screwing with...and mama has had enough.
These days I feel more like Towanda from Fried Green Tomatoes.
And it feels good.

Thanks for reading. XO


  1. Love you, friend. And I think you're entitled to some doom and gloom. I don't know how you do it, but I admire your strength so much.

  2. I know there's nothing that I can say, but I want to just say I'm so sorry for you both.

  3. You do such a good job putting to words what the swirling sadness/anger feels like. I've broken a lot of shit this year and I'm learning to be more okay with those feelings and the swirl of emotion that comes with it.
    Thanks for being brave enough to share this stuff. I love you and I'm praying constantly for you.

  4. I am so glad that Friday night worked out together - for both of us! Love seeing your face - in good times and in bad.