Selfish

To say I'm going through something would be an understatement.  A person can only take so much yet here I am somehow still taking more.  My frontal lobe is damaged beyond repair.  In result I have a difficulty choosing my words in ways that I wish.  My judgment is not always correct.  My emotions are nearly unmanageable.  I feel myself sinking and I can't do a single thing to stop it. 

Ending my life is my fall back plan.  It always has been.  Suicide is always an option. I can't help but consider it.  It plagues my thoughts and the whispers in my head just get louder.  Many think suicide is a selfish act.  I happen to not.  And let's not start an argument about it. 

But I am being selfish.  Last night I laid in bed and thought everything over.  I thought about Alexis growing up without me.  I thought about her being raised in a home without my influence.  Then it all hit me.  It isn't that my beautiful little girl could not grow up into a marvelous,  strong woman without me.  She would be just fine.  It is that I can't stand the thought of missing a thing.  Not one smile,  one hug, one kiss. I can't miss one milestone,  one event.  I have to live not because I will bring her joy, but because that's what she brings me. 

I'm selfishly soaking up the love my daughter gives me.  I'm supposed to protect her.  Love her.  Help her.  Save her from every and any harm.  But she's the one saving me. 

Stripped

I'm hollowed out. I buried my heart where no one can touch it.  I'm still standing.  Still breathing.  But let's be honest,  I've been slaughtered. 

She's all I think about.  My glue. But I can't gain my strength from her.  She needs to lean on me.

Lies.  Betrayal.  Dishonesty.

I don't care about making sense.  I don't desire to be seen as sane.  I'm not worried about the appearance of my intellect.

I'm tired of forming words that will never hold true meaning.

"I'd like to be my old self again,  but I'm still trying to find it"

Limbo

There is this knot that is perpetually in my stomach.  It's more of a matter of how tightly it's being pulled that varies each day.  For about a year and a half I've been walking around in haze, not really certain if I'm seeing everything in front of me clearly.  For about 9 months I've been breathing in barely enough air. My heart lives outside my body and not in the poetic motherly sense. It was ripped out and placed there. 

Forgiveness is a hard thing to do.  But often I wonder if my perspective on it is misguided.  Countless times I've been burned,  and have risen amongst the ashes,  accepting apologies and doing my best to move on. Yet all that pain lives inside me.  I'm crippled by my incapacity to forget the past.  It is not without effort that I fail.  My memories and attached emotions are just far stronger than my will. I'd give anything to just "forgive and forget". Anything. 

Time heals all wounds. What if that's a lie our world has bought into? What if we're just desperate to live pain free and we manage to convince ourselves that after an unknown amount of days passing things just somehow get better? What if the truth is wounds never heal?  They just scab over and fade into scars that are forever etched into your very being.  Reminders are everywhere. 

Maybe I'm just crazy. 

What I do know is I'm not in hell, but this isn't heaven either. 

I'm just stuck. 

Life Happens

The past couple months I feel like I've been stumbling around in the dark. It's similar to those early mornings/late nights when I make my way to Lexi's room and I'm cautious of my every step in fear of tripping. I move quickly,  but there is no doubt that I'm doing a dance around my path avoiding all possible danger that lurks on the floor. The difference about life though is you can't predict what you may stumble on, and it typically hurts much more than stubbing your toe on a baby toy.

I dislike the battles I have with myself.  A recent conversation with one of my dearest friends helped me put things into perspective, but also set me spiraling down a fury of frustrations. My expectations are simply too high.  I can't judge myself to who I used to be and my former capabilities. I am not who I used to be,  or even wanted to be.  But the person I am is not someone I need to be ashamed of. I'm a survivor,  and I need to keep surviving and simply focus on being the type of woman my daughter can be proud of. I died,  and then was reborn into someone else.  I have to let my old self go. 

We all experience growing pains. Time changes everything,  and we can't stop it as hard as we try.  It is so difficult to see everything you once knew slip away.  To find yourself miles away from someone you used to be merely inches apart. There is a fatality to growing up.  There is no way around it.  So this is where I find myself.  At a crossroads,  so to speak.  Or perhaps I've already driven past it,  and I'm glancing in the rear view mirror for the first time.  Life happens quickly, but the truth is, life does not only have one beginning and one end.  Every day,  life takes on a new start. It provides new challenges.  What I need to learn is to work with what I have right in front of me,  and not despair over all my yesterdays.

I'm a work in progress.

Side Effects

Some days I feel enraged; like a boiling pot of water bubbling furiously right before it overflows. I take a look at my life and my heart wrestles conflicting emotions. There is so much joy and blessings in my world yet this anger is festering inside me. I'm trying to contain so much but I'm dangerously close to the edge.

Words like "irreversible", "uncontrollable" and "permanently" tick me off. In all the right contexts they could be great. My love for you is irreversible. I was filled with uncontrollable laughter. We are in this together, permanently, forever. Instead these words give me a foul taste in myself. This black cloud is looming overhead and I'm without an umbrella.

The matter at hand is a serious one, but I feel as though I'm the only one taking it seriously. Frailty. I think that about sums it up. Everything is so weak and ever so breakable.

My days of standing alone and moving mountains with sheer will and perseverance are over. If only the world could hear my screams and pleas for help.

In addition, I have lost my self-destruct button. This, I'm sure, is a blessing.

Some days I feel everything. Other days I feel nothing. Neither is a place of potential for personal growth.

They say I'll get there some day. You would think that day would have been here by now.

Baby Steps

I've been so avoidant recently. I have this big pile of emotional garbage I need to sort through and I refuse to even go near it. I'm afraid I started this whole "healing process" too late. I rather pretend I'm fine and go about this little game called life. Is any of this really necessary?

The true answer to that annoys me.

Let's change subjects, shall we? I need to begin a project. I'm not so sure how successful I will be, but I know I need to begin. I neglect my daily needs...well, daily. I have to somehow allow myself to access the tiniest bit of creativity my mind holds. I'm stuck at home doing the most beautiful job in the world, but in the beginning of this sentence lies the problem. I'm stuck at home. Do not get me wrong, I enjoy every second (even the difficult ones) with my daughter. But my productivity needs to grow beyond feedings, changing diapers, play time, and household chores. I have all of these ideas in my head but I'm not quite sure how to go about implementing them. Truth of the matter is I doubt myself far too often and I need to just let go and go with it. I suppose we will see what happens.

Sometimes I honestly and truly believe my life would improve so much if we could fast forward time. I hate oh so much this waiting game. Alas, now is all I have. Carpe diem and all that jazz.

New blog or an updated version may be needed.

I try not to panic. I do my best to breathe and not let my thoughts consume me like they have all throughout my life. I just look at my daughter and focus. All my energy and strength needs to go to her and to my attempt to be the best mother I can to her. But my brain is weak. I feel like that's such a terrible excuse. All these things that are happening, all these feelings I'm feeling. I want to take responsibility. I want to own up to my mistakes. But how can I when I'm not even fully aware of what's going on?

I don't want to be "dealt with" or "tolerated". I want to stop being this giant burden. I don't want to chase away the one person who has never given up on me. I don't want complaints spun around and the whispers to start. I don't want to be a side show freak.

Things can't completely fall apart. It's not just my life anymore.

I'm scared.

Anniversaries

I'm not too keen on celebrating my survival. It isn't that I don't appreciate my life. I honestly do. But as a certain day passed this last week I tried not to think that they pronounced me brain dead and unrecoverable two years ago. I don't like retelling the story. Or at least the fragments I personally remember and the hospital staff testimony that had been relayed to me. I just want everything behind me. So much hurt came from my cancer. I lost too much and more than just my brain was damaged. Yes, I can count the blessings that did come forth but as usual I am just holding onto the abundance of negativity. I just want to let go.

I have so many dates in my head. I remember plenty and I like celebrating or simply reminiscing about what happened on "this day" or "that day" blah blah blah number of years ago. I'm not the one to forget something, but then again I just put too much weight into too many things. No one really cares about the things I care about. I'm simply far too sentimental.

Two years ago plenty happened. Especially in the months of August and September. That was the turning point. Moments happened that led me to this now I'm living. My world changed.

Maybe some things are worth celebrating.

Everything Changes

Life is never how you expect. It takes you by surprise constantly, and it has taken me nearly 24 years to realize that planning gets you nowhere. The best thing to do really is to simply live in the moment. Although that last statement is a work in progress, it's a truth I have stopped fighting. All we have is right now.

Change in my life is abundant. My baby girl is growing up so fast I can't stand it. The countdown on my phone gets smaller and smaller for my wedding. Sometimes I get overwhelmed and I need time to just take everything in. There are so many things I want to hold onto and freeze. Like my daughter looking up at me for the first time that morning 5 and half months ago. Or how now every time she sees me a giant gummy grin spreads across her face. I want to hold onto the moments where I'm lying in Michael's arms and he kisses my forehead and gently wraps his arms around me tighter. I had a moment earlier this week that was so simple, but it made my heart ache. My best friend sat on the couch and hugged me while my daughter played on the floor. Internally, I captured that moment in my heart but I wish so badly it was tangible. I wish I didn't have to worry about never sharing in a similar experience. I took in that single moment because that's all I could do. The future brings far too much change.

I never thought she'd move out on my birthday. I didn't expect her to be out of town when my daughter was born. I didn't think she would get married before me. And I never imagined she would be moving away. My joy for her is exponential. But as January 25th gets closer, I try harder and harder to figure out how to live without her within my reach.

Process

Sometimes I feel like my life slipped through my fingers. I used to be so focused, and I had this incredible willpower and drive. I was capable of everything and anything. Then I got sick. It first began my junior year of high school, but I pushed through that. I graduated early, and although a nasty tumor squashed my Air Force dreams, I dove into excellence elsewhere. College was easy, and I began volunteering in youth ministry, and at the hospital all while working full time. Strangely my work load was not stressful. It simply fueled me. I had a goal and I wasn't going to let it go.

Halloween 2010 I passed out in the middle of ringing a member up. Luckily my supervisor caught me and prevented me from slamming my head into the hard warehouse floor of Sam's Club. I seized and was rushed to the emergency room. My nightmare was soon to follow.

Cancer diagnosis isn't easy. Battling it is harder. Surviving seems impossible, even when you have already done it. Maybe it's just me but I still feel "sick". As if there is still this life threatening disease eating away at my brain and most importantly, my soul. Perhaps it's the fact that there are still tumors inside. Or maybe even after hearing those words of "remission" and "cancer free" the idea that at every check up I can get different news is too daunting. Regardless I feel trapped in this bubble that I can't pop.

I feel fragile. In more areas than one. Breathe on me too hard and I'll break. That strong girl I used to be is damaged, scared, and too often weak. I'm still trying to find my footing, and a group of people I can truly depend on. Mostly though, I'm still trying to find me again.

Maybe that's silly. In reality, I died. I need to stop trying to become who I was, but instead focus on who I now am, and who I want to be. My only identity that I can hold onto firmly is my motherhood. It's in that where I live. But there is too much more of me that needs to breathe.

Shouldn't I have healed by now?

Sleepless

I don't get much sleep.  Even when my daughter manages to fall asleep at a decent time I still find myself wide awake.  It isn't that I'm not tired.  On the contrary,  I'm tired all the time. Those pesky voices in my head though keep me up,  just gnawing at me.

I feel like I'm two people sometimes. Perhaps more.  I'm in this constant war of the person I'm being and the person I want to be.  Never could I have pictured myself to be here,  and to have this particular life with the specific struggles that I have.  Funny how life turns out, and how easily the battle with sin is lost. Despite what seems to be my constant proof of the living truth tattooed on my wrist, I find myself to be constantly on my knees praising God for His blessings. It is inconceivable the amount of happiness I find in my daughter's face. It is for her that I have survived so much, and it is through her that I still do.

Many of my hopes and dreams I have abandoned. Or at the very least have put on hold.  The ache in my heart for what I miss most I make sure to quiet, but sometimes the screams are far too loud. What was once so close within my reach seems so far away.  Time will only tell what the future will bring.

Change has come forth quickly, and I have adapted accordingly. Yet even so there are things I'm not sure how to fully accept, and don't know how to get around them.

No man is an island, nor should one try to be.

479

It's a little past two. In four hundred and seventy nine days I'll either already be, or very very close to being a married woman. Wedding Mass is at one. Getting that email a few weeks ago from Deacon Gene stating that the church is reserved for me on a specific date and at a specific time was surreal. It still is, but it seems as with every passing second I get more and more of a foothold of a dream that has all the possibility of coming true.

Four hundred and seventy nine days is a long time from now, but it is so reachable. I daily quiet down the excitement that builds up from within me. I'm being cautious, but optimistically so. Optimism rarely enters my life but I can't help but allow it to creep in. Jury is still out on the positive ramifications of this change.

I have a hard time forming sentences lately. A difficult time placing my thoughts appropriately. All I know how to say is that despite everything, I love him. I love him this deep and indescribable type of love that is at time debilitating but at its source is life giving. He's my best friend, and a piece of me that I'm nearly positive I can't survive without.

The road I'm walking is hard, but its end of destination appeal keeps me going.  

Wedding Bell Blues

My wedding day is something I have always dreamed about. It is perhaps the most girlish childlike fantasy I have ever had. My entire life I have searched for love. I have needed to be loved. I thought at a young age that once I found it I'd be fulfilled. I'd find this wonderful man who would adore me and make me feel like I mattered. Make me feel like I was worth something. Then he would one day ask me to be his wife in a grand expression illustrating his great love for me. I'd throw myself into planning a wedding, and that day will come and I would truly know happiness. All that dreaming has just set me up for disappointment and perhaps put too much pressure on everyone involved. I like to think I don't ask for much, but maybe I do. And maybe that void in me is too big for anyone to ever fill. Love has not brought me everlasting joy. It has caused me great pain and make me doubt everything.

I'm scared of so much. I want to be confident but the smallest thing makes me run back into my well lived in corner. I have buried anger stinging beneath my tears and I walk around in this constant ache. I don't even know what I'm looking for anymore or what direction I'm heading.

I want to get excited. I want to have the freedom to dream. I want to share happiness with those important to me. But I think I'm standing alone and there is this huge possibility that I'm not even standing. I'm more crumbled up in a ball on the floor.

Shattered

I feel broken. Like I'm walking around missing pieces of me. And the pieces that are still there are barely intact. Every step I take just hurts. I'm hollowed out.

I don't know how to be whole again.

And I'm running out of words to say.

Enter Sandman

Sometimes, on my good days I have this dream. I wake up, and the sun is shining. There are clouds gracing the sky and they're the kind that make you wish you could go jump in them. The temperature is exactly 72 degrees and everything feels perfect. Then in a flash I'm in this room, and I'm staring at myself in the mirror. An unfamiliar satisfaction enters my mind. I can't help but smile at myself because for the first time in my life I see my reflection and the first word that came to mind was beautiful. Then in another flash I'm looking at you from a distance. Your eyes are lit up in a smile, and a wide grin is spread across your face. You look down at your feet quickly in embarrassment and then quickly back at me.  Our eyes lock and then everything freezes. I just breathe in that moment with you and it lasts until something stirs me awake.

Dreams are stupid.

Inner Child

I am not a little kid. I don't even know when I stopped being a kid. It was before most, I'm sure. However not being a child did not make me immune from being naive. It did not prevent me from attaining a type of immaturity that only time and hard life experience can take away. I've had to grow up a lot over the years, and even now I am not afraid to admit that I still have more growing up to do. I have not been fully molded yet, and perhaps the idea that one day I will be is another example of how much more I need to grow.

It is with this that I find myself overly frustrated. Completely exhausted over the fact that at their rawest point my emotions are child-like. Like a spoiled child who hasn't gotten her way, I'm internally throwing the biggest temper tantrum ever. Perhaps I am outwardly as well. My heart is consumed with jealously, and anger that cannot be fully rationalized. I want to scream for this life that I almost feel entitled to but the fight in me is distinguished. I just sit in the corner, arms crossed, and lips extended in a pout.

However, at the root of all my emotions is a feeling a child, I believe, cannot fully grasp. For once this emotion is felt to this extent, childhood is but a distant past. The pain, hurt, and betrayal that weigh me down are fully grown. They are a lifetime's worth.

I keep being told that love isn't easy. I never expected easy. But how much pain can love bear before it stops truly being love?

Hourglass

The only way I can actually get my emotions out is through writing. For some reason saying things out loud seems temporary to me. I have to see my words. I wish I had the time to blog more, or even journal. But I have yet to master getting everything I need to do and take care of my daughter who is basically on me 24/7. Not that I mind, but sometimes I just need a break. And more than just time for a ten minute shower, which I do need and appreciate. I don't know though. I'll manage.

I dislike using Facebook or Twitter as an outlet for my emotions. But I have that need to just say something. I'm not in it for the likes or comments. I just need an outlet. Lately I've been feeling more and more trapped in my mind. I'm struggling with countless things and there seems no end in sight. I'm trying to figure out which way to go but I second guess myself at every turn. Nothing is certain yet I'm in need of much more solid ground.

I'm trying but I'm wearing thin.

Going Home

I am a glutton for self punishment. If I do something wrong I torture myself and treat myself as a criminal. Forgiveness? Not a possibility. I'll be brutally honest here. I conceived the greatest gift and blessing of my life during pre-marital make up sex and every part of me hated myself for it. I did everything wrong and I ruined every last ounce of self respect I had for myself. So in turn I walked away from the only place I felt at home, stopped doing the only thing that truly fulfills me, and isolated myself completely. Leaving Holy Cross and youth ministry killed me. If possible, it was worse than my whole St. Anne debacle. I did nothing wrong to warrant the childish Church politics and betrayal in that situation and although hurt and bitter, I was able to hold my head still up. This? I emotionally balled myself up in shame.

My daughter is my light in a very dark world. She saves me from myself every single day. And as much as I was punishing myself, I knew deep down that I could not afford to punish her for my mistakes. From my experience from St. Anne, I should have known that a Catholic church is simply not uniformly welcome everywhere. The celebration of Mass is constant, but there is a giant difference in being surrounded by a community and being a part of it. I needed Holy Cross, not just for my sake, but for hers as well.

This evening was the first time in eight months that I sat in the pews of Holy Cross, perhaps appropriately on Divine Mercy Sunday. And my daughter and I were literally welcomed with open arms.

Clock on the Wall

I don't live in a fairy tale. My thoughts certainly aren't bright and cheerful either, but here I stand. Throughout my life I have had to jump through many hoops and fight my way through endless obstacles. Sometimes I wonder if I'm better for it or just worn out and damaged because of it. Jury is still out.

I desire many things. One thing in particular keeps gnawing at my brain. As each day passes I begin to lose more and more hope, yet my desire grows stronger. I don't really know how to talk about it with anyone. The situation is so complicated and I just want to fast forward through all this hard part. And I keep wondering when and if I'll come across a time when something in my life just comes easy.

If retrospect, I'm not an impatient person. But I don't like waiting. Especially not now.

Baby is crying. Me time is officially over.

And that's okay.

Right before I gave my final push while delivering my daughter I said a Hail Mary out loud. My thought in that moment was more than me needing some divine intervention or a release from the pain of childbirth. I wanted Mary's strength and her selflessness. I wanted to tap into her perfect motherhood as I knew mine was about to truly begin. More than anything did I not want to fail. I never want to fail my daughter.

I should have everything right now and be at the top of the world, but I'm not. I just sit here with pieces of my life scattered on the ground and my hands too full to pick any of them up. My thoughts consume me, my fear runs me into the ground and my paranoia weakens my soul. I can't live this way but everything is beyond my control. I'm powerless. Constantly I need to be comforted and reassured but the peace ends as quickly as it begins. I'm trying so hard to remain standing but I can't take much more.

My promises bind me, and my love holds me still.

Minutes to Spare

Right now I feel like I need a day where I can catch up. A day where I can discuss my state of mind, and the absolute beautiful journey that is motherhood. I desire to go on and on about my perfect little baby girl and the happenings of our life together. I want to explain everything my heart feels and release all my emotions out here in front of me, open for anyone to read. But time is not on my side. For now, I just want to say this:

There was a moment when you came and laid down next to me on the floor and I stared into your eyes. Our daughter lay asleep in her crib, and we whispered to each other. A sudden fear swept me, and then was quickly consumed by a rush of unwavering love that I have quietly reserved for you. I heard our daughter sigh as I studied your face. If I had an ounce of artistic talent, I could close my eyes and draw you perfectly from memory. I didn't want to move. I just wanted to freeze time, staring at you forever and listening to Alexis breathe. I don't want to let us go.

God made me out a certain type of armor. This I'm sure.

Too Much, Too Soon? Not for me.

This morning Michael woke up and I watched him sleepily make his way to the closest. He rummaged through his clothes and found a pair of scrubs and walked into the bathroom. Mere seconds later he walked back out and made his way back to the closest. He had grabbed the wrong scrubs and he searched for the right ones. A couple minutes passed and he remained looking. He called my name and said he thought I told him I washed them.  I got up,  told him to move and found his gray scrubs in less than 15 seconds and handed them to him.

I've never considered myself to be a stereotypical woman. I hate being in a kitchen, I hate doing my hair, the idea of staying at home and raising kids and doing housework is a foreign place I wish not to travel.  I don't care about styles, I despise shopping and painting my nails is not my definition of a good time.  Yet even this morning's simple act of finding my fiance's scrubs made me feel like the type of woman a man may need.  The one he needs.

Despite my pregnancy and recent struggles that I'm not ready to talk about,  I am a very devout Catholic. My heart screams out my faith and is consumed by my love for Christ and His Bride the Church.  So being pregnant out of wedlock and cohabiting with my future husband tends to make me nauseated if I think too much on it. I however do not regret my child and I know that living with Michael is my only valid option due to finances.  And so here I find myself,  ready to give birth and living with the one person who truly has me completely.  It is nowhere near the life I envisioned.

Michael moving in hasn't overwhelmed me. If anything, it has calmed me down.  It has made me feel secure. Doing his laundry, picking up after him and my occasional cooking doesn't bother me. I'm in no way trying to play house, but I have easily transitioned into a role I'm comfortable with.  Although too early,  this wasn't a step that I wasn't ready to take.  Change is scary but I often think I handle it better than most.

Lately I feel alone in my transition. I feel more prepared for the life I'm living.  I don't feel trapped or like I've just settled. I am not unhappy.  But I'm afraid I'm alone in this.  I said earlier that I'm the type of woman Michael needs.  But life has told me that often people's needs don't match their wants.

One day at a time,  I suppose.

Write to Me

Although I very much risk the chance of repeating myself,  I love words. Especially the written word. I love getting notes and cards and letters. Writing something takes time and thought. It tends to be less sloppy than when we speak without fully understanding what we are saying.  I suppose like all things,  it is different for every person.  I, however, want to be written to and my best expression of myself is found if I take the time to write to you.

When I first became pregnant I bought a journal for my baby.  I wanted to give her a gift of my thoughts, feelings and all the happenings of my pregnancy with her.  It started off well but I slowly began avoiding writing. The thought always came up but I brushed it aside. I couldn't connect my feelings to my words. Or maybe yet, I didn't want to.  There was too much I felt like I couldn't say and too much I felt obliged to.  I didn't want to be fake, so I stopped writing.

My darling little girl will be here soon and I only have a third of a journal filled out. My desire to pick up the pen is burning but I feel as though I'm being blocked as well. I don't know what to make of this fear.

Perhaps one day,  I'll make a bit of sense.

It's so painful not knowing where to turn. It's heart wrenching having a life filled with people yet no one who you can actually depend on. When your world shatters you hope someone is there to help you pick up the pieces. To hold you while you stare at the remains of who you used to be and what you knew and help sort through the pain. But honestly I've never been that blessed. I've never had a go to person that would drop everything for me and be there. I've never been not afraid to fall, knowing I would be caught.

I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know how to be at this stage and feel this way. I don't know when everything changed and how I completely missed it. I don't know how to attain happiness that I once knew. I don't know how to take a step forward.

All I know right now is pain and that familiar sense of abandonment. And how much I can't afford to be like this right now.

Body Bag

Have you ever felt like you were dying? Every breath is harder to take and you begin panicking as not enough life sustaining oxygen enters your lungs. Your body aches in unimaginable pain and nothing you do eases it. You sit there praying and just waiting for the final blow to take you. Waiting for the last ounce of your strength and fight to fade away. You wait for everything to go dark. But it never comes and you're left without the ability to cope.

I can tell you from experience that actually dying is a lot easier to handle than just imagining that you are. When you actually are dying you have a time frame. Someone gives you an estimation at how much longer you have to suffer. But when you are just imagining it? When every pain feels so real but there is no end in sight? Yeah. That's a million times worse and ironically, more fatal.

I've never felt so naive. So stupid. I feel like I was blindfolded and led down a dark hole as whispers of happiness and life-long promises were filling my ears. When the blindfold was finally taken off I was simply waist deep in a hole, unable to move.

It's an indescribable feeling realizing that you were wrong. Realizing that you aren't the world to someone, you're just part of it.

What It Is.

I have all these unkempt emotions and thoughts floating all around me. It's like I'm in a bubble that can't break. I keep trying to mold myself together but my hands are unsteady so I just sit there gripping onto pieces of myself with trembling hands. I'm 33 weeks and two days pregnant and being a mom gives me no fear at all. Having my life being solely dedicated to another human being and being in charge of their well being does not seem daunting whatsoever. It is what I was built for and am wired to do. Other things cause me fear. Never truly being who I need to be for myself scares me.

I don't say all the things I need to say. I keep everything hidden to the point where I forget what I'm feeling. Then I experience moments of flashbacks that stop me in my tracks and momentarily paralyze me. I relive every feeling as though it was happening right then and for a moment I'm swept away and I cannot be reached.

I live in a haze and either no one notices or no one dares trying to bring me out. It's a disease that is unrelatable to most and feared by all.

I want to know the moment I ceased to be that and became this. And when did everyone start creeping away.