Still struggling.

Feeling hopeless. Like a disappointment. Like a failure.

Having someone take care of my son part-time feels like a failure on my part. Like I can’t hack this mom thing.

Oh, and I just got my yearly reminder in the mail: I have a frozen embryo on tap. What do I want to do with it?

I want to discard it. Because I can’t imagine that I can be a good mother a second time around. I’m having a hard time being a good mom THIS time around.

But I won’t. My morals (belief in the value of life and all that jazz) won’t let me do that.

Postpartum depression, anxiety, OCD—all of it—has taken a hold of my soul and won’t let go. I have cried several times this week. More times than I’ve cried since the sixth week of my son’s life.

The screechy crying. It’s like the wail of a dying baby. It never ceases to freak me out. I feel like such a horrible mom for strapping him into the car seat while he’s crying and then the high-pitched wail reverberates through the car sending figurative splinters under my nails.

I still have thoughts of suicide but little impulse to act upon it. Right now.

I’m still here.

https://thisjourneyismyown.wordpress.com/selected-lyrics/by-a-thread/