Grief is not a linear path. I recognize the inverse relationship between my blogging and my happiness.
wasn't writing very often for a stretch--things were going well. I was
meeting people who might be a in a position to give me a job. I was
spending time with AFF and other friends. I was "doing stuff." I still
am...on all counts...but things are not going well.
I blame the holidays. I blame the neighbors' stupid
floodlights that shine into my room and have chased me to another bed
most nights. I blame the all-too-life-like,
Prozac-induced dreams I have each night. They are crazy and vivid even though almost exclusively still in black and white.
In the early days I didn't want to go to sleep because I didn't want to wake up. These days I don't want to go to sleep because I don't want to dream.
Last night I dreamt of a positive pregnancy test I kept hidden in a linen closet. When I woke up in the morning I really didn't know that I hadn't woken up in the middle of the night, peed into a paper cup, saw two blue lines, and learned that I was pregnant. Once I figured out it wasn't true, I didn't expect not to be a in sort of funk all day. I just didn't expect the funk to keep deepening as the day wore on. Now it's almost time to go to sleep, but I am fighting it, and I am tired but I am sad and I am angry.
My grief is anything but pure today. It is so much anger and frustration it is rage. I am irritable. I am belligerent. I am hopeless and depressed about the other crap in life. I am brittle, unpredictable, and utterly inconsolable.
I blame the babyless-ness.