I don't know anymore

I am a different person.

I'm snappy.

I'm bitter.

I'm sad.

I hate it.

I see glimmers of what used to be-the joy I used to feel with the simplicity of life. When I was home visiting my mom, Brian and I were coming home one night, late. I grew up where it's basically all still farmland-it smells like home, it looks like home. Heck, it sounds like home. My mom and I were driving, 65 mph down a country road, with the windows down, singing along to Oldies at the top of our lungs. I let the air swirl around me, my hair whipping me in the face and gathering into little snarly knots. I knew all the words. My mom doesn't really, but sings along anyway, saying the wrong words when she doesn't know, and grinning when she does. I felt like a kid-carefree.

It never lasts, though.

Today I was mowing the lawn at my mother-in-laws. She has a huge lawn. I was on a riding mower, listening to my ipod, feeling the sun warm every inch of my skin. I sang at the top of my lungs to songs that inspire me; that make me feel. A moment of peace.

But I always return.

To that place where my babies are dead. To that place where I am NOT a mom. To where I talk to my dog as if he were my kid. Where I can't concentrate on anything. Where I snap. Where I cry. Where I feel like I am ruined, that nothing will be right again.

Listen, I know it could be worse. I could have paid 20 grand for fertility treatment and had this happen. I could be 41 years old and this was my only chance at children. I could lose my child to something different after they had lived.

But as much as I rationalize with this, I can't change the agony that I feel. The hell that I live in every day.

I went into school this week. It was terrible. My room was a disaster. There was baby stuff everywhere. It was just a reminder of who I was. Who I used to be.

Seeing everyone from back home was weird. When you don't see people often, it's like I just wanted to talk about the babies. I have one amazing friend, who brought it up right away. I'm so thankful for this. Everyone else ignored it. Pretended it didn't happen to varying degrees. I suppose I don't know what I would do. But I go from wanting to talk non=stop about them to not wanting to talk about them at all.

I just sold the last piece of baby furniture. It's all gone now. All gone.

I swear, there is evidence that this happened. But sometimes it doesn't feel real. Sometimes it feels like a dream that I had. I was never pregnant. I never heard those two heartbeats inside of me. I never laid in bed, Brian rubbing one baby and me the other, trying desperately to do anything to keep them inside of me for even just a little longer.

I don't know anymore.

I just don't know much of anything, it seems.