Now what?
What do you do when you’ve unpacked all your trauma? You’ve folded it all neatly and put it away. Donated what you no longer need. Now what? Why is this suitcase still chained to my ankle?
Posts
I’ve decided to just continue along with my quest to add more beauty into this world. It’s not my responsibility to bring the ugly to light, it will do that all by itself, even though I’m pretty good at articulating it. Nobody that could actually do anything about the issues I’m concerned with gives a shit anyway, so what’s the point? I should just forget it and get over the fact that America elected a rapist for their president, right? I should just stop crying about it and move on, right? Well here you go America. Here’s a fistful of flowers with a hearty fuck you behind it. I’m sure you’ll get exactly what you deserve, one way or another.
Miscarriage
It wasn’t planned. My first born son was just a toddler, not even two yet. I was pregnant again. I remember this overwhelming feeling of fear when I first found out. I was not prepared for another baby so soon and wasn’t even sure at that point in my life if I wanted to have more than one child. At the first gynecologist appointment, everything appeared fine. A healthy heartbeat was detected. I was given pictures of the ultrasound. A due date was set. I was trying to come to terms with having another child so soon after the first. A couple of weeks later, when I was approximately eight or nine weeks along, I became sick. I’m not sure if it was a virus or food poisoning, but it caused me to vomit so violently that I started to bleed. I knew something was wrong. I scheduled a follow up gynecological appointment. The ultrasound technician had to call the doctor into the room. They could no longer detect a fetal heartbeat. My doctor looked at the ultrasound screen and said, “The brai...