White Lines

I took a 6th and final hpt on Saturday, which came out with one solid line and the other area so barren (hah) that I knew there was no chance that I was still pregnant. Oddly, I've felt better (used loosely) since seeing it; almost as if my psyche can deal better with no chance than a slim chance. I go to the doctor tomorrow still. I wonder what he will say.

I keep feeling depressed about this miscarriage. I'm fairly certain that nothing I did caused it, but I still have those black whispers running through my brain that something I did made it happen. Like I'd get frustrated with the Manling or think how I'd never be able to handle 2 kids and the self-incrimination says that I deserve another baby. It's truly the worst thing I've ever felt.

And I feel numb half the time; I haven't cried more than a few tears at a time. I feel deflated and limp. I have been not a great mom to the Manling either. I let him do anything around the house while I laid on the counch and watched the entire Roots miniseries. Luckily my friend Dara made me get out of the house a few days; she's the only local person who knows.

Mark had been planning a big party this Saturday on the same day as our local street fair, and I told him we could still have it. I'm less depressed when I'm staying busy, and maybe I'll get hammered to dull the pain (it's amazing how I feel so much pain yet feel so numb). I want to tell my friends, not to get sympathy but just to acknowledge that I was pregnant and this child-that-wasn't means something to me. But what do you say? What's new? Oh, I had a miscarriage. I'm sure that would go over like a lead balloon. I read that grief for a miscarriage is one of the hardest things to be acknowledged by society because what was lost was so internal and unnoticed. The possibilities lost are what is tearing me up. It plain sucks.