Off the emotional wagon

I just can’t keep doing this. I just can’t keep being OK all the way up until I’m not OK at all.

I’m not OK, and that’s not OK.

Long story very short:

I got drunk

I cried

I embarrassed myself

I suck

I’m sad

So there are a few things that have to happen here. First, I have to identify what is actually wrong beyond dead babies. Dead babies will always be the thing that’s wrong. End of story. But the emotional stuff that kind of lives around the dead baby emotional stuff is the stuff that is the problem right now. Got it?

That stuff includes:

Forgiveness of my family

Forgiveness of my husband’s family

Forgiveness of myself

Letting go of guilt on SO MANY LEVELS

Being able to be in a room full of people without needing pills or even wine to cope

I was a little stunned to realize that I have not seen a counselor in two years. No talk therapy for TWO YEARS. Stupid deferred emotional maintenance. Keri (my counselor) quit and I just stopped going. So basically, I was diagnosed with PTSD and my response to that was to stop therapy. Not smart.

OK, then.

So back to therapy.

A big question: do I need medication? Inside, I say yes. I need help. This is bad. It can’t keep getting good and bad like this. I’m almost OK with being always sad, but having these very random, very unpredictable emotional breaks is exhausting. Would medication even the ship a little bit? Or capsize the whole thing?

And the forgiveness…well…I’m going to work on it. There are certain emotional cinder blocks that I have to carry with me wherever I go. The boys and the terminations and the sadness – I can’t put that cinder block down. But if I am going to emotionally move forward from the me that I hate so much, I have to be able to forgive people even when they are not sorry. I can’t think of anything harder, to be honest. But I know that I have to do it for me, not necessarily for them.

Forgiving my family for treating my boys as if they didn’t exist is going to nearly kill me. Forgiving my husband’s family for treating my boys like their lives weren’t as important as children who lived is going to kill me.

Not forgiving – or at least not moving on – is killing me.

How much of this is about the boys? How much of it is about thoughtless family members? How much of this is about me?

It’s time to find out. I don’t want to be the girl I hate so much anymore.