I feel so done.
Grief is really hard. Yes, there are some gifts to be found within it -- but those gifts don't make the reality of death any easier. The cavern in my soul is just as deep, just as black. The gifts of grief only dress the edges of the darkness up a bit.
I keep wondering why I didn't die, too.
I have a really, really hard time envisioning any kind of a future for myself. This, apparently, is a part of PTSD. Officially defined as "numbing of general responsiveness (not present before the trauma), as indicated by . . . a sense of foreshortened future (e.g., does not expect to have a career, marriage, children, or a normal life span)."
That doesn't make me feel any better.
Well, that's not completely true. I suppose it's good to know that it's normal to have no sense of future in the midst of grieving traumatic loss. But that doesn't make the future any easier to face.
I can't believe that it's already January 25. That it's almost February. The first Valentine's Day that I was supposed to celebrate with a baby on my hip draws closer. And after that the first Mother's Day with empty arms, and then the beginning of the first anniversary season of my pregnant days. A future of wondering if that family I almost had will ever exist.
I am tired. I want to be done. This is awful. I can't stop crying, and don't think I ever will.