That's what I told my husband this morning when I fell apart after trying to get dressed to leave the house this morning.
My mother has been here for almost a week - a steadying presence that has helped me limp along, slowly padding toward normalcy. But she had to leave today to get back to her own life. I guess my reaction to that very normal, practical, to-be-expected event is pretty telling of my actual mental state. That would be unstable, at best.
Scott also wanted to bring a bunch of stuff I had cleaned out from my former office to the creative re-use center (craft supply thrift shop) today. I had always wanted to visit the place so I had asked to go along. After he dropped CC off at my sister's house we'd pack the car and head there.
Then I tried to get dressed and everything went wobbly. I don't fit into my clothes because my body tends to explode when it gets pregnant. Even though I was still fairly early on my belly had already let loose into motherly roundness. It hasn't really gone back since I lost the first baby last summer. Between my swollen middle and the extra 10 pounds I've gained during this pregnancy everything I tried on felt tight and pinchy.
It seems like every hint of physical discomfort or practical frustration sets me off. I've got a massive stash of grief bottled up just waiting for any excuse to explode. I cried and sobbed and lost my breath. Scott came in and gave me a hug, then helped me find a stretchy skirt and a tshirt to wear instead of my jeans. He offered to help me go buy some new clothes that would fit but the idea of clothes shopping makes me cringe.
I cried some more, and then some more, and told him about how I missed my baby. He told me he missed it too.
I blew my nose and wandered out to the couch. My mom came over and patted me on the head for a while as I stared off into space.
I hate being sad. It's like a black hole that sucks away all of my energy. I'm left feeling numb and distant. I don't want to talk about what happened - because it just hurts too much to talk about. But I don't want to listen to people talk about the rest of life going on around me because I just don't have the will to listen or be interested.
Still, I hate to be alone. Over the past week I've developed a fear of being without Scott or my mother. My mom had to leave today but thankfully Scott had his vacation planned for this week. Some vacation, huh? It's not much like we had planned it.
When I sat there sobbing this morning over my Mom having to go home, the only words I could find to explain myself were that I just wasn't ready to live yet. I wasn't ready to face things like washing dishes or cooking dinner. I'm only surviving my heartbreak by muddling through one day at a time. I wake up. I get out of bed. I take care of CC.
My body was in too much pain to do much else for the first three days post-op. On day four I tried to plan out feeding myself, bought way too many groceries, and announced to everyone how I was going to start my new diet. So far I've been eating 1/2 diet food and 1/2 junk food. I don't know if that counts as improvement.
A couple of days ago I started working on my book again. It is due four days from now and I still have this delusional idea that I will get it finished in time. At least the project gives my head something to do - something productive.
Leaving the house without Scott or my Mom, or talking to other human beings is still just too much.