A snowy winter is more depressing than consistent cloud coverage and rain, because then at least there is greenery. Out here in Winter Wonderland everything is just…dead.
Help, my womb is empty!: It’s been a while since I have talked about my infertility. This is my... »
Is it okay that I reblog this? I think it’s really important to share as I know you are not the only one going through this.It’s been a while since I have talked about my infertility. This is my only outlet anymore besides the Facebook infertility support group that is becoming almost unbearable to go to anymore. I try to forget it-honestly I do. Around the holidays is the most difficult time in having this disease(…
They Said
Forget second nature, this pain is clearly first.
I could drag my pen to suffer for days
and still my heart has felt much worse.
They told me to be strong, find strength in some way,
“Don’t show them that you’re weak,” they say,
“be careful of your raw skin, protect it
so they cannot inflict more pain.”
So I tried that.
I grabbed every bandage I could find,
purchased every sewing needle I could buy,
tried to stitch up these open wounds,
attempt to suck the poison from my mind.
I swallowed each pill, numbed myself for a while,
suppressed my fears, tranquilized worry;
took a vacation from insanity.
“Go to him,” they said,
“find peace and a seat on a pew,
he’ll heal your wounds and show you love
like you never knew.”
So I did just that.
I carried my heavy heart and my bloodshot eyes to a church.
As I opened the doors to the building,
my attention shot to the sanctuary.
With each step I took to the front of the room,
my world slowed to a crawl and suddenly,
each head in the crowd turned to stare.
I kept my feet moving, avoiding the eyes of scrutiny,
trying to keep face in a room full of “faith”.
I didn’t reach peace in the house of the Lord,
because as soon as I took a seat,
I was cast out by God’s army.
They said that the cuts on my wrists were
the work of the devil and the scars on my legs were
unholy at best.
They threw stones at my head and chased
me out of their place of worship,
screamed that one day the devil would
have his way with me.
Well, maybe this is what they meant.
Because none of those remedies
resuscitated my heart and my head.
The bandages fell into the sewers,
the stitching unraveled and the pills
came right back up to burn
my throat and my tongue,
but I’m still numb.
I’m still numb.
