While everything I write in this blog is true, I should admit that I don’t always share everything, and I try to leave some of the negatives out on purpose. When I read back through my past blogs, I almost feel like it’s some other person that must have written those things, someone stronger and wiser than me. I don’t feel strong or wise. I feel broken and battered. And sometimes, I. am. not. okay.

I think I’ve mentioned before that there is a darkness that comes with loss like this. Well, lately, the darkness has swallowed me whole, and it just won’t spit me out. I don’t write this as a cry for help, (I’m getting help) I write it for the sake of honesty. As Lucy’s six month milestone creeps nearer, I am not okay. As I continue to be tormented and then disappointed again by my own body, I am not okay. As I find more and more that hope simply isn’t enough to carry me through this, I am not okay. As I find myself wishing I just won’t wake up the next morning (because this is too damn hard) and the thought is met with immediate guilt at the idea of hurting those I love most, I am not okay. As I realize how tired I am of myself, I am not okay. When I realize how much distance this depression and grief has forced me to keep with some of my dearest friends, I am not okay. When I think of how there are years and years of this ahead of me, I am not okay. When I look around my classroom and wish more than anything I could just walk out, I am not okay. When one of my new students innocently asks if I have any kids, I am not okay. When I wish days, weeks, months, and years of my life away, I am not okay. When all I want in this entire world is to have my daughter back knowing it can never happen, I am not okay.

How can I be so very ‘not okay’, yet ‘okay’ at the same time? How can a person exist in a paradox like this? This is what Hell must be like. I don’t always know what to believe, but I now believe in Hell because I am living there every single day. It does exist. Just when I find a moment in which I think I’m okay, something changes that. I don’t want to do all of these things I’m obligated to do. I don’t want to teach (and to think, I used to think that was my purpose!), I don’t want to smile, I don’t want to go through the mundane motions of my miserable daily life right now. Yet it feels like I have no choice. I am so weary of always having to act like everything is okay, even when it is so clearly not. I have never been so tired before.

I think it won’t always be this way, but right now, it’s a heavy load to carry, and I’m starting to feel mighty weak.