Contortionist

I am a contortionist.
I can take anything that is said, or done, and change it in my mind. It twists and turns and shapes until it is what I want to be. Which is sometimes something so terrible that I am sick and other times fluffy nonsense that I know is the ultimate un-reality.
I wake up in the night to use the bathroom and then I lie down in bed and I take the days events and they fly around in my brain. Swish, swosh. They fumble around. I try to make sense. I try not to think of the worst. I don't let myself replay "that" night anymore. Nothing good seems to come of it. These thoughts become so un-real that they cause me to have random nightmares. Strange, strange nightmares.

Sometimes I feel crazy. Sometimes I feel like I miss these two babies too entirely much because, really, I didn't know them. Then sometimes I feel like I am that horrible person who doesn't feel sad enough for her loss. Doesn't feel "in touch" with her loss. I don't see them in my dreams. I don't really see "signs" of them anywhere. I don't have a symbol, really, that screams out "Aiden and Sophie" to me. Sometimes I feel so numb. Maybe I am just really bad at doing this; at being this.

Instead of thinking about bringing a baby home in July, I play in my mind what I will do this time when this baby dies. What I will bring to the hospital, who I will call and how, how I will make myself go back to work. The only thing I think about baby wise is a name, because I figure at 13 weeks along if I lose this baby any time after now he/she should at least have a name. This makes me feel sick. I feel like a horrible person. I want to enjoy this. I need to. I deserve to. But I'm so scared. My imagination doesn't go beyond March 20th, when I turn 24 weeks. I don't know how to fix this. I feel twisted, delusional, like a terrible mother both to Aiden and Sophie and to this baby as well.

This past week was so hard. I know I don't have to tell you, because you know. You know what it's like. Hubby and I had lunch with my father today. It was strange. I haven't seen him in 2 years. I try to look past what happened in my childhood and beyond. But I cannot. Too much happened. So we chat. Superficial level. Have you sold your house? How's work? How's the dog? I am my father's only child. His first daughter, Mary, is buried next to my grandma. We have this is common. He doesn't mention it. His hair is cut too short, he is too thin. He talks about "buddies" but I'm not sure they exist. Guilt, Guilt, Guilt. You're his only family. He is lonely. He has no one. My head screams out, "HE DID IT TO HIMSELF. HE LEFT US. HE CHEATED ON US." Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

I feel like a broken record.
I don't know how to do this.
I just don't know how to do this.