Dark thoughts one month later

4 weeks ago I was in the hospital waiting to start medications that would induce labor.

4 weeks and 5 hours ago I found out that my son was dead.

For the first few weeks afterward, I was encouraged to gradually feel a little better every week. Recovering physically helped my mental state, as did getting through the funeral.

Imagine bleeding heavily, feeling painful cramps, and having milk come in (also painful)...  which remind you every single second that your baby is dead, and prevent you from being very active and able to distract yourself.

Imagine the dread that comes from knowing you'll soon be seeing a tiny baby-sized coffin and have to watch it be lowered into the ground.

So yeah, it did help to get past those things.

But after the initial relief of getting past those difficult times, I just don't feel well this week or last week. I feel like every moment I'm fighting feeling depressed. It's a constant battle to stay distracted.

When I'm not actively doing something, I feel horrible. The depression and despair are always trying to creep up.

Here are a few of my dark thoughts, in the hopes that writing them down will get them out of my head. Writing is one of the only things that helps me when I feel hopeless. So if you happen to read all of my depressing thoughts, know that this is therapy for me and I will probably feel better after getting this out.

I hate my life right now. It's so empty. I can amuse myself and distract myself with shallow things, but none of it matters. I don't feel like I have a purpose. 

I feel like everyone I know has a better life than me. Yes, I know. Play the tiny violin. I'm embarrassed to admit I feel this way, but that's what's going on in my head. Jealousy is a terrible feeling and I feel it so keenly right now.

Jealous of family members, jealous of people of social media, jealous of coworkers, jealous of people at church, jealous of random pregnant women I see in stores. Why couldn't it be their babies that died? Especially the people who didn't have to wait for years and struggle to get pregnant. I feel like almost no one deserves to have their baby live as much as I did.

In very dark moments, I'm even jealous of people who had older children that died. Although in some ways I think it must be much harder to lose an older child, I feel jealous of people who get to have memories of their dead children. I don't have any memories of my son. I can't remember the good times when I'm feeling down, because I didn't get to meet him.

I don't even get to know what he would have looked like as a full-term baby. I wish I could at least have pictures of him while he was alive- pictures where he wasn't extremely frail with bright red skin. Pictures of happy memories that I could look back on instead of pictures too disturbing to even show anyone.

I hate my body. As of now, it seems like my son was perfectly healthy until my body killed him through my water breaking. I'm angry at my body. Besides its glaring horrible failure... my body is not even fully functional or even attractive. I've tried to exercise a lot more to stay distracted, and I can't fully enjoy it because of my knee. My knee has basically disabled me since I was 24 and I hate it. 

I hate what I look like.

I'm not grateful for anything. Yes, I do have amazing blessings in my life. But none of them matter compared to the life of my son. I would rather give up anything else. I would give up my own life if it meant he could have lived. 

I can't imagine being happy again. Even if I have a baby someday- how I could I be happy if this baby is still gone? I can't imagine holding another baby without thinking of him. I can't imagine ever believing my next baby wouldn't die. 

It's not bringing me comfort at the moment to know that Christian is in a better place. I think heaven is a much better place than Earth, but I still think that the best place for a baby is to be with their mom. 

I believe that I'll see my son again and that there's another life after this one. That should comfort me more, but all I can think about right now is how far away that reunion likely is. 

There's nothing that makes it better. There's nothing I can do, there's nothing anyone else can do or say or give me that takes away the pain.

I'm struggling to feel God's love.