So, the depression’s back. I bet you missed it…
Today is one month from Blueberry Bean’s EDD. In one month from today I should be bringing my baby home. I should be prepping up for maternity leave/retirement and putting the finishing touches on the nursery. My belly should be round with baby. But it’s not. It’s hollow. My baby is never coming home.
In a month I’ll be 30 and I’ll still be alone. I’ll still the mother of only dead children. It’s possible that I could be pregnant again by then, but it won’t be the same. This is so fucking unfair.
My children are dead and my marriage is falling apart and my job’s a chaotic mess and I’m crying at work again, yay!
Well, I guess I shouldn’t say my marriage is falling apart. No one is leaving or anything, I just feel so alone, so un-cherished, so IDK… objectified or maybe unfulfilled is a better word. Yes, unfulfilled and unloved pretty much sums it up. It’s like I’m just the maid/cook that also happens to put out whenever called upon to do so (or you know, when maybe/potentially/possibly/could be ovulating). Actually, I’m the maid/cook that’s supposed to seduce him whenever he wants to be seduced. I would be like Alice, if Alice was also fucking Mr. Brady. Not having an affair with Mr. Brady, see. Just fucking him on the side. But, I’m supposed to bend over backwards in appreciation if he does ANYTHING at all to help out. And, I do. Because I think if I keep acting the way that I wish he would act, then maybe he’ll want to act that way to me. But he won’t. I might as well be a fembot Stepford wife.
OK, I’m going to shut up now. Stark contrast from last week, eh?