Right, so I’m still a mess. Not in the can’t stop crying and wish I had died, too, kind of way, but a mess all the same. I’m bitter and cold and pissed. I’m just pissed. How could this happen to us? Again? Seriously. I keep thinking of all the things I could have done differently over my way too short pregnancy and of course there are more than a few, but come on! My sister drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes and pot while she was pregnant and both unplanned boys are here. Yet, my baby is dead.
I guess, I’m pissed at my body, sure. Who wouldn’t be. The damn thing’s broken and its broken-ness is killing my children, which hurts me, hurts G, hurts everyone. And to top it all off, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. Of course, I keep hearing all about how people are “praying” for me and how “it will happen in His time” and my all time favorite, for some reason people keep thinking it’s appropriate to quote Jer 29:11 to me all the time. For those not in the know, here is the text of Jer 29:11:
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Before I go forward, I should tell you. Until May 15, 2009, I wasn’t a very religious person. But I was a person of faith. I do believe that there is a God and I do believe that Jesus Christ is his son and was sent to the world to provide payment for sin and a path to heaven. I still believe that. I also used to believe that God gave a rat’s ass about what happened in his people’s lives and that he genuinely desired that we be happy etc… Which, I now believe is bullshit. And not just any bullshit, the kind of bullshit hopeless people make up because it helps them feel less hopeless.
I have come to the conclusion that God does not care. At the very least, he does not care about me. If he did, my life would be very different. I wouldn’t be in agony every other month thinking I had cancer, or even worse having had another miscarriage. It wouldn’t take months and years of temping and drugs and weekly wandings by the dildo cam just to get pregnant, only to have it snatched away when things look the best. I wouldn’t be so depressed that just being in the same room with me upsets my husband. I wouldn’t be in constant pain, every minute of everyday. I’m not asking for much here. I’m not asking to be thin, or beautiful, or rich, or super smart. I’m not asking for perfect health, or to be blessed into bliss for no reason other than I’m alive. I’m not asking for anything special. Nothing above and beyond the normal human experience. All I want is to not hurt all day everyday and to be able to have children. That’s all. I’m not offering nothing in exchange, either. I’ve been a pray-er and a tither and a volunteer. I’ve walked the walk. Maybe not as well as some, but I’m not a drug addicted, single, poor pagan/atheist/satanist, either (FYI, I do know a mother who fits the preceding description, which really, really, adds to the bitterness).
I do not believe that God has given these curses to me. I don’t believe they are the result of something I’ve done wrong. I just don’t think he cares. I think I got the short end of the genetic stick and God doesn’t care. He’s not waiting for some magic time to heal me. I am not going to wake up free of pain one day. He doesn’t have some plan for my happiness that begins at some predetermined point in the future. I am no more to him than an ant to a human.
He has no plans for me. He does not care if I prosper or am harmed. I have no hope and no future.