Melancholy

It's the relentless weighty blanket determined to shadow me throughout my days. My own personal cloud of dreary grey. Even when the sun is shining, it's the covering of grief over what was lost, over earnest desire that can never be fulfilled, of longing that must be forcibly quelled time and again because it has no reasonable place to land.

My mind rebels against the reality of what is. It schemes and plots and wants to force a way where none exists. I've always been tenacious. My tendencies work against me. Accepting is not my strength. Maybe one more try, just one last treatment, another few months, we could do this, it could work this time...

Only I know I can't. It won't.

Everywhere I look they are there. The announcements. Ones that would have been born the same time as mine. The swollen bellies. The strollers and carriers and plush blankets and tiny whimpers and supplies and miniature clothes I have no need to buy. The photos of pride and joy. The rejoicing. The jokes and complaints and warnings about raging hormones. 

It hurts to look. Anywhere. Everywhere. I want to stay home, offline where they can't reach me. Where my heart is insulated, protected from the ache produced with the simple swipe of a finger - another day, another elated announcement, they will meet their babies. Do they know how lucky they are? I want to tell them. I want to scream it. I want to curl up in a ball and wail.

I dream over and over at night that it was a mistake, they were wrong. It's still alive. It will be born! The physical remains still departing my body remind me. It's not alive. It won't be born. It is gone.

I've spent years in this vein. Focused. I think in terms of little ones. Always. All the time. I want nothing more on this physical earth. How do I change everything that I am, everything that I crave? For most people, this would be enough. More than enough. There is no category for people like me. My brain doesn't work the way I wish it would. I have to forcibly will it to change.

Life marches on and I do too. I am one of the fortunate ones. It could always be worse. There is so much worse happening to people every day. My heart shatters for those without. I can not imagine. I am so sorry. I have beautiful children. Many beautiful children. I love them so much. They are the beat of my heart. Staying home, raising kids, making a life within these walls is my passion, my delight, my devotion, my skill, my ability, my drive, my motivation, my ambition. I want only to do this. I was made for this job. I want to do it forever. I know it can't last, but I yearned to begin again, just one last time. I have gone to extreme measures for one last time. I would give nearly anything for one last time.  

I'm not usually prone to extended sadness. With great hope for light I anticipate normalcy resuming. But it will take time.

I'm going to allow myself the grace and hours and days and nights I need. There is no healthy way to skirt around. I must keep walking. Straight through. Thankful for all that I have.