I’ve not been talking lately. Or writing. Or anything. I’ve been barely existing. Drifiting through one day to the other. Disgustingly wishing time would speed up; January be over/my life away, whilst also willing time to slow.. crying, stressing, fighting thoughts, nauseaous with anxiety.. I am raw. Empty.
I’ve been faced with yet another 2 months of no pregnancy, despite both my husband and I being utterly convinced this last month I was. Him even still remaining convinced as I bent double with agonising period/another early miscarriage pains for hours on end one morning last weekend; me, not so much, weeping for another baby “lost”. I had yet more absurd unnecessary stress from what I can only describe as a couple of pure lunatics in the peak time for us to conceive – next month I am shutting down entirely. No work. No phone. No social media. No contact. No stress.
I’ve been avoiding talking because of so many reasons. One of which being one of aforementioned “lunatics” suggesting my writing is A) “heartbreaking” (don’t I know it; try living it.) And B) that I am a burden on people.. “friends”… but I have to say I have specifically not been talking or telling anyone anywhere near the half of it for several months now. Not one single friend knows everything, not even james. No one. It’s been locked away inside of me and continues to do so, so that no one has to tread on eggshells around me or treat me like I’m about to break. I don’t want to be treated like that. Plus I know full well everyone has their own busy lives to get on with, and that really, offers of help are actually often impossible.
I’m also feeling incredibly let down by “the system”, having reached out for help so many times in the last few months and not really getting anywhere or anything. The mental health system seems to truly be at a crisis, and whilst I desperately need to continue to seek help, I can’t also be bothered to keep fighting for it to be turned down/away/ignored. I’m at a loss all round and have given up on hope, speech and life. The fire of fight in me has dwindled to resemble more the dust of ash left after the fire. I can’t see a point in continuing if I’m not going to be able to have children, and yet I can’t see an end because then it definitely won’t happen. I am in limbo.
But not talking doesn’t help. Yet who do you talk to when there is no one to talk to? What difference does it really make being out in the open? Who cares?