Dear A

 Hey friend. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, I’m not really sure why. Maybe you’re always a little bit on my mind, even if I try to think about other things. 

I wanna talk about the hard stuff. The stuff we couldn’t put into words when we were 6 years old. Or 10 and 16 years old. The stuff we didn’t really understand. You were my best friend. And I had my issues, my weirdness. My traumas. But you… I think you were going through so much worse and I didn’t know. I still don’t really know. I just want to ask you… were you safe? 

I wasn’t safe that one night alone in the den on the pull-out sofa. I don’t know how I knew I wasn’t safe. I don’t know what made me flip over and try to protect myself. But he came in anyway and did what he did. And I think about that a lot. Because the second I told my safe people, a wall of protection came around me and I never had a sleepover with anyone ever again. I was protected. 

What about you? Did it happen to you? Did you ever have peace? He was supposed to be your protector. And he was a monster. Did anyone ever listen to you? Were your siblings safe? Did you grow up and move away and cut off all contact, or is he still there, fluttering around the edges of your life, reminding you that he is undefeated?  

There were rumors of why you moved, but I never knew them until I was an adult. The day I told you what happened, we were both so young. I shouldn’t have said anything to you when I didn’t fully understand it. You went so catatonic, just sitting on the swing in my orchard, staring forward. I didn’t understand that. I thought you were being goofy. I thought you didn’t believe me. I did anything I could to try to “cheer you up”, and I honestly… don’t remember what happened after that.

When I saw you at your cousin’s wedding, he wasn’t there and I felt like we had one of the best weekends of our friendship. When we went to a Celtic Festival. It was the first time I had seen him since that night. He grabbed my sides and roared to give me a jump scare. And I didn’t know what to do, but you pulled me away and while we hustled far away from his sneering chuckle, you whispered, “I hate (him).” With so much anger, I suddenly realized… what if I’m not the only one? What if you lived in that scared moment every night of your life? What if there was no one to slam down a wall of safety? 

A, I think about it. And if it didn’t happen to you… I’m sorry it happened to your friends. I’m sorry you couldn’t trust him. I’m sorry he made you lose people. Like you slowly lost me. I think about you so often. When we reconnected on social media and chatted a bit, you said that your parents were still married. That your family was all in the same general area. And it hurt my heart. It made me so angry. Nothing ever happened to him? He just stayed married to your gentle, happy, crunchy mom… who danced like a fairy and laughed with her head back and her curls bouncing.

I just want to know what happened. I wanna know if you’re okay. I wanna know if you’re hurting. I wanna know if I can help at all. I couldn’t help you then. Maybe I still can’t. But if you ever need to talk about it… from someone who might have seen a small part of what your secrets were… I am here. 

Love always,

Me. 

Political Politics

 I have no political insights. I have no depth of understanding. I personally believe if you can get to the point where you could actually be elected president, you're too corrupt to run the country. But walking away from this election... it's been such a bizarre experience. That a felon could be elected over a female human. That the largest voter turnout in years yielded a cheeto-colored racist misogynist freudster with a history of sexual assault and a bathroom full of classified documents... won. And people are celebrating by turning on minorities in their communities, gleefully boasting about getting to have more say over what happens over a woman's body than she does, and comparing the dumpster-fire of a president-elect to King David in the bible. 

    I'm not saying that his opponent was the cream of the crop or that I was excited about her and all her policies... But she was the lesser of two evils. She was something new. She was a beacon of hope towards a progressive future... the first Woman President. I don't understand how that didn't win over toxic masculinity in a puffy-hateful baboon of a human. 

    I was listening to someone talk about what happened with the far-right was the ruling majority in all branches of government in Poland. It wasn't a pretty story for them. I don't know that that is what is going to happen in America... I'm just saying I can see why people are scared. 

Catching the Blue

 The thing about depression is it's hard to know you're really depressed. Especially if you're like me and you go from totally fine to wanting to die in 24 hours notice. I don't know that its actually a desire to die though. It's a desire for something else. But having absolutely no energy for anything. I can smile and even laugh, I can enjoy myself... and still feel totally separate from those emotions. Its just a thing that is happening, it's not actually changing the depression. I want to explain it to someone, but I don't know how to say it. It's not something that feels explainable. I hate everyone and everything, but also desperately want to connect, but have no desire to do anything to connect with people who love me and probably want to help me.     

My husband feels a thousand miles away. He can walk in and ask me how I'm doing and I can say one of a thousand answers, none of which would actually make him understand me or give me the connection I want from him. Sometimes it feels like I'm trapped in a dream world where I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and everyone around me is just staring like nothing's happening. Or they start laughing. I'm panic-in carnet and they are all just giggling like I'm being funny.    

I have nightmares that he's cheating on me constantly. Maybe its because we don't really have anything in common. He's one sexy secretary away from realizing I'm a lazy fat piece of shit with too many insecurities to love anyone because I'm too wrapped up in my own problems. He's not a stud by any stretch of the imagination, but I love him and am insanely attracted to him and I can easily imagine any other woman being attracted to him too. It's all in my head though. But then... everything is. Love is in my head. Emotions. Personality. Depression. Isn't it all just in my head? What changes something from being "just in your head" into being real? Something other people can also experience I suppose.

  But how do you make someone else experience your depression so they take you seriously? I don't feel taken seriously. I don't really feel anything some days. Maybe I need to up my Zoloft. I feel like a shell. I constantly want to disassociate. Why does my depression need someone else to validate it? What would make it valid? If I killed myself? I don't want to do that. I don't actually want to die. I just want to feel like I'm alive. And it hasn't felt like that in a few days. 

I wonder how often people are supposed to feel this down. Blue days. Its like a cold sometimes. I just catch a blue. This Blue is particularly nasty. I still managed to take care of the kids, cook three meals. Clean the kitchen. Do laundry. Wash all the dishes. And get dressed this morning. I suppose if I didn't manage, then someone might take me more seriously. But it feels like the depression makes me mask extra hard when it's this numbing. If I can do, then I will survive. But why would I want to continue to survive to feel... nothing? 

I don't think you're supposed to seek seratonin boosts from your husband. I mean, you're definitely supposed to feel supported and loved and feel good around your husband, why else would anyone seek companionship? But I don't think you're supposed to chase after it like a drug. Or not feel anything unless he's around. Or get angry when he doesn't automatically understand how to fill you up. I want him to fill me up. Feel me up. Do all the husband/boyfriend/lover things that give you tingles to your toes and make you feel like a person who is worthy of attention. Lusted after. I don't know that he knows how to do that. I don't think he wants to lust after ANYONE real. Its sinful. 

I don't feel a desire to pray about it. The farthest I get is "Dear Heavenly Father" but it bounces around my clogged brain and goes nowhere. I don't know that I believe in any of it anymore. It was comforting once. Now its just a lot of platitudes and childhood cult doctrines. I don't know how to make it feel real again. I don't think God forgives you for turning on your whole religion, no matter what heading it falls under. 

My head feels thick. It's hard to keep it upright. I just want to lie down all the time. Gravity is working extra hard today and I'm living in my bedroom again. I just want to be engaged with life, but life seems too exhausting. I wonder who's out living right now? I'd love to hear a happy story. I bet people had healthy babies today. Something probably got married. Someone is celebrating a birthday, a promotion, a win that makes their day. Someone just met the love of their life. Someone is confiding in their best friend and feeling heard and supported for the first time. Its all happening outside in the world at this exact moment. Will I ever feel those zings ever again? I've never really been a happy cryer. Will that ever happen to me? Maybe when my kids get married. Or I meet my grandbabies. Maybe I will live long enough to see everyone I love happy and settled somewhere. 

Its okay to feel blue. It's okay to be depressed. This will no last. But I'm going to lie back down until I feel like I can survive upright again. 

Updates and Downdates

 It wasn't my fault. I know that much. Vials and vials of blood. Tests run on me and on him. But the only answer we're left with is... no one really knows why. Women have gone through their whole pregnancies doing drugs and drinking alcohol and smoking and taking multiple sex partners. And they have given birth to healthy babies. Maybe small babies. Maybe addicted babies. But whole, full-term babies who will one day outlive the abuse of living in a mother who didn't care about being pregnant. But here I am, relatively healthy, never tried a single drug, never smoked anything, gave up drinking when my mother-in-law died months before getting pregnant, but never really was much of a drinker to begin with. And my baby is gone. For no real tangible reason. 

    It makes me mad. But it also gives me some peace. I can try to blame myself for drinking caffeine occasionally... taking a single ibuprofen for a raging headache... blame my BMI, perhaps, but I can't hold on to any of those for very long because a thousand other things tell me my baby should have been healthy. I didn't do anything wrong. I just had bad luck. Bad timing. Bad something that I will never know for sure. 

    I find myself turning angry anyway. Angry with myself. My husband. My 3 children. I just want to be peaceful. I want to feel normal. I want to turn my brain off. Why does it burn eternally with a never ending narration? I fall asleep to it and wake up to it. It's negative and repetitive and noisy and obnoxious and it never shuts up. 

I don't have anything to say

 I'm not sure why I feel the need to type, but I just do. I don't really have anything to say. I feel broken, and weirdly normal, and totally devastated. I kind of want to disappear, but I'm also fine with existing. I hate everyone, but I want to be surrounded by people. I hate being alone, but I am so tired of anyone looking at, touching, or talking to me. I don't want to explain. I am dying to tell every detail. I don't wanna talk about it or think about it or be in this moment, but if you don't bring it up, I'll go crazy. I want to curl up and sleep for a year, but I don't want to miss anything with my kids. My kids. My poor children who don't understand why mommy is snapping one second and then begging for cuddles the next. I don't want anyone to be here. But I wish I could snuggle with my sister. 

I don't want to say goodbye. I wanna go back in time to when I was blissfully ignorant. I just want to be pregnant with my perfect baby boy and not live in this moment where its all been ripped away from me. I don't wanna stay home, but I cannot bring myself to leave the house. I need a therapist. I'm terrified it won't help. Can I just go numb for a while? Can I please just have the long sleep that Ava Marie got in Big Stone Gap? I just want to be unconscious for like... a week or two. There's nothing here for anyone else. I just want to be gone mentally. But I feel like that's not good enough. Not for Sarah. Sarah can't recoil from all the things. She has to rally and be a beast... Boss it up and stand tall and talk it through with everyone. She has to praise God for the good things and clean her living room a day after getting out of the hospital. She has to throw birthday parties. She has to be available to talk. 

Fuck you, Sarah. I want to be dead. Not literally. Just enough to heal. Let me be unavailable for a little while. Stop trying to be better and just let me be bad for a while. 

Ruined Summer, Worse Fall

 My mother arrived and two days later I found myself staring at a positive pregnancy test. It was not my plan for the summer. My summer was going to be a hot girl summer with my mom, exploring Europe, losing weight, packing the fun in until the summer exploded with joy. Instead, a wave of nausea washed over me and week after week of me laying in a lump on the couch, wishing there was SOMETHING that would take away the ever-present nausea. But hopes built and despite feeling like I had wasted my mom’s time and money having her come out to visit the limp-lump version that I had become in the throes of the first trimester, I found myself dreaming about this future baby and felt okay with suffering. This is my last time. Last baby. Soak it all up. 

Second trimester, I said goodbye to my mom and hello to the joys of the pregnant glow. We made more announcements, I had a dramatic decrease in nausea, and a whole lot more energy. Soaking it up. This is the last time! 

Midwife appointments brought some joy, hearing the heartbeat, getting comfortable with this person who will see me at my most vulnerable. But some stress… my shy veins resulted in some dramatic bruising… and it was all very expensive. 

I felt so good. I told anyone who cared to listen. My second-born decided he wanted a baby sister. And he was going to name her Treehouse. But I wanted a boy. Two of each. I had the perfect boy named picked out. I had so much hope. And I was soaking it up. Cuz this was going to be my last time. 

I didn’t know it was actually my first time. My first time wiping blood. My first time rushing to my neighbor’s house. My first time driving to the hospital. My first time hearing they couldn’t see a heartbeat, but that my body was already in labor. 

Surrounded by the most loving, decent, hard-working ladies in the world, I cried and joked and hurt and eased a teeny tiny still baby into this world. 7 ounces. A perfect baby boy. He looked like an alien. He was supposed to be the bow that tied up this phase of my life… the last baby. But now I have to sit here holding a version of humanity I never really wanted to witness face to face… he fit in one hand. He wasn’t quite a person. Just an empty vessel where a soul was supposed to be. 

Part of me is sad I did it alone. Part of me is glad my husband wasn’t able to be there. How do you comfort someone else when your grief is so huge? How do you let someone else carry you, when you just want to curl up and disappear. 

I was almost halfway done. I was one day shy of being able to say, “Halfway there!” 19 weeks. And 6 days. Barely even counts as a stillbirth, still young enough to sort of be considered a miscarriage. By one day. 

My milk will still come in. Postpartum depression. But with all the complications of not taking my baby home with me. 

My summer started with a reroute, a sudden change in the direction I had thought I was going. My fall has started so much worse. 

Ranting Religiously

 There are almost 8 billion people in the world. There are 4,000 religions that worship 2500 different versions of gods and God. Of all the times and all the places in the world and all the families and cultures you could have been born into… how can you be so sure that your’s is The Right One?

 People who don’t question it, people who don’t look at themselves and the church they’ve always gone to and don’t reflect on the doctrines and dogmas that their religion teach? Those people are the most close-minded, backwards, hard-hearted people on the planet. 

I believe in God because there is an unshakable faith in me that refuses to let me go, but people and religion and one of hundreds of Holy Books and re-translated Bibles? I have a much harder time committing my whole belief-system around. The religion I grew up in taught us People are the hands and feet and representation of Christ here on earth. And then when you point out hurt and hypocrisy that happens in churches… we’re told not to let that drive us from religion. But in a lot of ways, that’s all we’ve got!!! Someone who is supposed to know more than us, standing on a pulpit, telling us how to love God and love each other. And if he (because it’s ALWAYS A MAN) does it wrong, where does that leave anyone?? Searching for a new church, where you don’t know anyone, feeling like an outsider and always the new guy. 

I’m so tired of feeling like I’m wrong. I’m wrong if I question it. I’m wrong if I accept things the church doesn’t. I’m wrong if I do everything right!! I am wrong for being a woman, for being a human, for having feelings and thoughts and emotions. Pride is sinful. Sloth is sinful. Lust is sinful. But even if your pride is in doing good work. Or singing well. Or just having any self-esteem. You are being prideful. Keep yourself humble! You’re not humble enough! Taking a break is sinful, that’s lazy, that’s slothful. Work yourself to the bone for God. Having a sex-drive is sinful, it keeps you from God. Even if the only person you’ve ever slept with is your spouse.

When everything you do is constantly being measured against an impossible standard, how are you supposed to know and understand the security of God’s love, the GIFT of salvation. There is literally nothing you can DO to earn it. And that doesn’t stop every religion from trying to strip you down… but they NEVER build you back up again. They keep you low, wiggling like a worm, never fully accepting your salvation and gatekeeping it from others who don’t believe exactly as you do. 

God is not looking for reasons to keep anyone out of heaven. There is no gate. And I think God can go by many names. I don’t believe He’s sitting on a thrown, smiling at only the Christians and ready to burn the rest for eternity. 

I’ve been lost for a while. I’ve been told I’m a blasphemer by someone I trust and love. I’ve been told that my questions are pulling me away from salvation. But I don’t believe that. If anything, I feel more convicted of the undeniable truth of God’s love, the fallibility of humanity, but also the deep need we have for community and fellowship. Yes, my faith in the bible has waned, but I continue to search the Bible to make sense of who I am trying to understand… which doesn’t feel like God. He makes sense. His love and fatherhood clicks for me. But who people are? Who I am?? Who we are supposed to be to each other? Maybe that’s in there somewhere. Mistranslated, out-of-context, archaic and often misrepresenting what God meant, but clues left behind.