My house

I hate our house.
I come in and I see the stove where I burned my pregnant belly on. I see the drawer where I held all the diaper coupons. Move the basement where I would sit and daydream about trying to navigate the stairs with two babies. I remember getting my brand new laptop computer, taking it downstairs and making silly videos of ourselves as parents.
The upstairs is, by far, the worse. The bed where I would lay each night, reading books about pregnancy and parenting, surfing the net for baby stuff, watching episodes of Gilmore Girls and One Tree Hill to relax at night since I should "take it easy."
The room.
THE room.
That damn room.
That we painted dancing green.
That I sat in a glider, listening to lullabies and reading aloud whatever book I was reading to the babies.

The stove that now I don't even feel like cooking on.
The drawer that has toothpaste coupons.
The basement that is so empty. Void of personal photos. Void.
The bed where my water broke. Where I laid for two weeks, pleading with God. Trying to bargain. Begging him to watch my husband so he could see how good of a dad he would be. The bed where I spent weeks after the babies were born, bleeding, hurting, sore, tired, empty. So, so empty. Surfing the net trying to find someone with whom I could connect.
The room.
That damn room.
That we repainted white (3 coats).
That I won't go in. That closet that is stuffed with maternity clothes and a maternity pillow and random things of the babies that I couldn't part with.

I hate this house.
And no one wants to buy it. No one knows. They don't know how much I want to be out of here. They don't understand the pain I feel when I am here. That it's the one place you're supposed to feel comfortable and I hate it more than anything.

I suppose I can't really run away from it. That the pain is inside of ME not in this place. It's the memories, not the actual rooms and paint and walls that is the problem.

But I want to be gone. I want to go. I want to start over someplace else, hope for a happy us someplace else.

We called the realtor cause we've had no activity lately. He says the only we can do is drop the price. Well, we so would if we could. If we had planned on moving. If we had saved money for that. But we hadn't and we didn't. So we are stuck here. It's quickly approaching winter and soon the market will be slow. Slower than it already is.

One of my friends from school just sold her house.
I am so irrational. All I could think was, She doesn't deserve it! She's only moving because she wants a bigger house! She doesn't NEED it. I NEED it.
First of all, that is so irrational, and I know this.
Second of all, I don't NEED it. I feel like there's a part of me that would be comforted by starting over, by having something to focus on that's a sure thing.
But in life, we don't get what we deserve. People get hurt for no.good.reason. Bad shit happens. And just because it did doesn't mean that I get a free pass in whatever comes next, ya know?