Everything.

This has been the most painful week I've had in years. I've reached the point where I can almost talk about what happened without crying, though there are still times that I can't breathe because of the pain. I know I'm not ready to have a kid. I know I'm still a kid myself. But I wanted that one and now I'll never get to have it. I miss my child, if you can call it that. These days, the term 'fetus' would be considered more politically correct, though I believe that that was a person in its own right. Who he or she would have been, I'll never know. And that still kills me. Every time I see a woman with her kids, I get this sense of utter loss that I don't think I can handle. I know I should just get over it, but I can't right now. That could've been me, if something didn't go wrong. Everyone tells me there will be others, but no one seems to understand that I don't WANT another. I want mine. I want that one. I want the one I'll never get to see, never get to hold, never get to love properly. I would have given that child everything. So I guess that's it. I'll never be a mother, because the only way I would want to be one is if somehow, I could have what I had. I'll never love anything like I love what I lost, because I don't think I CAN love anything like I love what I can't have. I don't think it's fair that people like James Holmes and Hitler got to live when my child, who would have had all the love in the world, didn't even get to make it through the first trimester. I don't think it's fair that people like Casey Anthony (whether she killed her daughter or not), who clearly didn't care about her child, get to give birth and I don't. I don't think it's fair that women can just decide they don't want to accept the consequences of their actions and have abortions and I'll never get the chance to hold my child in my arms. Life isn't fair, is it? No. Life fucking sucks. And then you die. Hang on, Ness

Safe Places

My car has become the only place where I can mourn. As usual, at work and at home, I have to pretend that I'm not being ripped apart so that I can continue to make enough money to survive and to perpetuate the permanent lie that has become my entire existence: that nothing is wrong. Because in my house, you don't cry. It's like stealing or kicking old people: you just don't. So, I can cry twice a day: on the way to work, and on the way home. Would this kid have been a singer like me? Or smart like its father? Would it have my eyes? Would it be an optimist, like he is, or a pessimist like me? I'm killing myself asking these questions, but I can't stop. Just like I can't breathe. Is this some kind of punishment for something I did? Everybody says that this doesn't mean I can't have kids when I grow up...but I don't want others. I want that one. I want the one I couldn't keep safe the first time. I want the one I can't stop thinking about now. I don't want to live anymore.

Chemical

I probably shouldn't be posting this online, because someone may see it, but I need to write it out. Earlier this month, I found out I was pregnant. Then, I had what they call a 'chemical pregnancy', which is when you miscarry very early. I am devastated. I didn't even want kids until I knew I had one. And now, I don't know how to take this. Should I just get over it, because I wasn't even really expecting it? Because I didn't have time to get to know what would have been my child? Should I continue to feel like a piece of me died? Because that's exactly what it was. I'll never get to take this kid to school. Or hold it's hand while we cross the street. Or find out if it looked like me or him, and it's killing me inside. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you alive. I'm sorry I'll never know your name, get to hold you, or tell you you'll be alright. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe. I love you.

The Times, They Are A-Changing...

...and I don't know what to make of it. I'm transferring to a new store...this one is at least an hour away. I say 'at least' because the commute could take God knows how long with traffic. I'm getting a raise with this transfer, which is nice. I'm also getting bumped up in line for promotion, which is nicer. But I'm still worried...this company, like all companies, has a tendency to screw people over. Fuck this shit. In addition to my new location, I've encountered a new and particularly uncomfortable bout of depression, and I don't know what to do about it. I'm extra lonely right now. And extra sad. I don't know what else in my life is going to change soon, but I feel like something is coming. And I don't know if it's good or bad. I need a big fat hug. Hang on, Ness

All I Want For Christmas Is...

...is something I can't put on my wishlist, because I'm afraid someone will find out. Everybody wants something. Ask anyone; gay, straight, male, female, black, white, rich, poor, priest, pariah, famous, or relatively alone...and they'll name at least one thing they want. I really, really, really want something, and I can't say what the hell it is. Fuck this shit. Hang on, Ness

Can't Pay My Rent, 'Cause All My Money's Spent...

...but that's ok, 'cause I'm still fly.

I have been spending a ridiculous amount of money lately on things that promise to make me pretty and perfect, and none of them live up to their claims. No matter what I do, I still feel ugly. And I still feel hollow inside.
I am desperate to feel something other than ugly, and nothing I do makes me feel any better. I'm obsessed with my appearance and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of constantly looking at myself. I'm sick of feeling like I look like I feel. I spent over $800 this month on cosmetics, clothes, and various and sundry appliances to hide the way I feel and its really getting out of hand.
Everyone I talk to says the same thing. That I am pretty. This doesn't help. The boob job I'm saving up for won't help. The $200 hair extensions I'm saving up for won't help. Whitening my teeth, losing weight, tanning, new clothes, new shoes, plastic surgery, hair color, jewelry, a total fucking rebuild won't help. Because no matter what, I'm still me, and I'm still going to feel this way.

Hang on,
Ness

All My Love...

...is yours to waste.

Yesterday, I had the curious experience of laughing and crying at the same time. Crying and I are bitter enemies; in myself, I see it as a sign of weakness. Laughing is one of those things I do nearly as often as I breathe, because my life is so fucking funny. Sometimes it's a cosmic joke. Sometimes it's a punchline.
The problem with me is that love is always accompanied by pain. When I love, I love with every single cell, and that hurts sometimes. I'm still not sure why. So I laughed and cried and was ecstatically happy and in bitter pain at the same time. Damn confusing.
I have had the unbelievable honor of spending the past year with the most amazing man ever created. He's not perfect, but he's perfect for me and I am completely dumbfounded at this turn my life has taken. I must be the luckiest person alive. He makes everything that happened to me ok.

I hope every girl finds a guy like him.

Hang on,
Ness