Another breakdown

So apparently I can’t handle family gatherings with my in-laws.

You would not believe the rage I feel. I mean, somewhere inside me I know that she didn’t steal my babies. But the rage is as if she did. I can’t stand the sight of her or the baby.

Some women can be happy for other women’s pregnancies, even as they’re sad for not having one of their own, but I can’t. I’ve been extremely upset about this baby since I first knew she existed. Other pregnancies upset me, but this one was so much worse. Maybe it’s because of the way I found out, from her mother, with the flippant “Guess the birth control didn’t work” comment and the fight insisting I celebrate and support this. Maybe it’s how many times the parents have broken up and she’s sworn she’ll never go back. Maybe it’s that neither of them has a steady job. Maybe it’s just that it’s so horribly unfair that they have a baby and I had yet another miscarriage.

After Christmas with the family I cried until I threw up. I left town so I didn’t have to go to a party with them in January after three days of negative pregnancy tests though I was so sure I was pregnant. (Turned out I was, but I didn’t know until 5 days later.) I shouldn’t have gone to this party. I cried for an hour  just thinking about it. I stopped about an hour before we needed to leave, so I thought I could handle it. We agreed that when I was done we would leave the party. Luckily for me, she and the baby were three and a half hours late. But the child of the other accidental pregnancy in the family (same grandparents) was there and that was bad enough.

When I’d had enough torture, I told my husband I was done and he convinced me to stay another half hour. I couldn’t do anything but stare at my phone the whole way home. I started crying when we got home. He tried to make me feel better, but he really wasn’t helping, so I told him to go downstairs and let me cry by myself. I lit a candle for each of our babies. I bawled until I threw up again.

I miss our babies with a visceral pain as if I just lost them. But I’m also as hopeless and lonely as if I’ve lived a lifetime without them, and will live another pile of lifetimes without them.

I started thinking about how badly I want to be with them. That if I knew I could be, I would die. I don’t know why I can’t be sad without going there. I told my counselor in the morning. We made a deal that I would call her if I got worse or the thoughts got scary. I think it’s better. But I really need that psychiatrist appointment next Wednesday.

There’s something seriously wrong with me that wasn’t wrong before Josh and Caroline and Anastasia and Gregory, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know if it can ever be fixed, or if I will always feel this broken. Even if I do eventually have a baby that lives, will he or she always live in the shadow of dead siblings and their mother’s inability to cope?


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