Cocoon

These last few months I've had very little desire to write or talk to anyone, which is why I haven't posted anything in a while.  Even though the isolation exacerbates my loneliness and the pain I've accumulated by going through my loss alone, living inside a cocoon is safer than the alternative. When I talk to people, it seems as if no one can say anything right or what they say is timed poorly.  I end up getting offended or become so overwhelmed with sadness and grief I can't function. And with my daughter's due date approaching combined with not having conceived yet, I can't return to certain relationships or every day life as if my experiences and losses didn't happen or matter.

So right now I'm not a good friend, wife, or daughter.  And I don't want to be.  I am so tired of being accommodating that I've given up on things that don't center on what I am enduring.  My therapist told me it's normal to feel like that and it was good to hear someone say it.  In fact, I got a lot out of this morning's session compared to previous ones because it was very reassuring to have someone tell me my reactions and emotions are expected.  Having someone understand why I would be upset over specific and general situations was a relief because someone finally understood why losing a child is tragic in nature and devastating to the mother.  Most of the people in my life have treated my daughter and I with very little care or concern and it hurts.  But I'm also angry, which has shaped how I see people.  It's made me step back from relationships.

My therapist said my loss is still too new and that things are going to be difficult, especially with it being December.  But that it's okay.  It's okay that I haven't moved on.  It's okay that I'm focusing on me.  It's okay that I have new perspectives and expectations of people.  It's okay.