Black Cat Journal

another year.  another ring around my trunk.  another notch in the bedpost of my life.

i feel old.  i feel young.

but this new life has just begun.

it’s going to be a good year.

in ten days i’ll be 32.  i’ll be much much older than i ever thought i could be.  i’ll be married for 5 years.  separated for 4 months shy of 2 years.  and i’ll be a mother for all of 54 days.

it’s been a busy couple of months.  it’s been a hard couple of years.  my exile.  his exit.  my depression.  our less than successful attempts of reconciliation.  the successful impregnation of my womb.  my acceptance of how things are.  and my determination that things can be better.

even after all the bigtop like circus flair that has been going on in my limping love life.  somehow we still keep opening the door to each other.  this time i’m promising myself and my daughter that i’ll not push him away without first talking it through.  i hope he’s promising himself and our daughter that he’ll talk.

and though many things have happened in the near two years that should be roadblocks good and proper.  i’m stepping over them.  reaching past them.  and giving them less than a second thought.  there is a future here.  if we’re strong enough to build it.

i’m a dreamer.

and i’m painting those fences white.

also ought to learn to communicate vocally and not just in my head.

really ought to stop wearing ones heart on ones sleeve…

i can suddenly see.

fifteen days ago i was still so angry and hurt and unsure and terrified.

fifteen days ago i was hard hearted and determined.

then.

a tiny cry.  so tiny it couldn’t even be considered a cry.  a mewl.  a whimper.  a sigh.

and the insecurities.  the anger.  the pain.  the fear.  gone.

replaced with joy.  and love.  and purpose.  and confidence.  and calm.

yes i still have pain and anger.  and i know my depression is still something i need to deal with. but for these past 15 days.  i can feel the thick skin of the past 2 years, slowly begin to slough off.

just in time for the new year.

i find that once you begin to explain the current source of your depression.  the floodgates are opened.  and though you mean to only expose the bare minimum.  you find that you are stark naked in the middle of a room.  the only thing covering you is your guilt, regret, and the cold tears dripping from your chin.

so it was the other day.  in one of many appointments i have to attend.  mostly all are in regard to the restless little one nestled in my womb.  and even the mental ones are for her benefit.  to ensure that i am not stressed.  that i am eating.  that i am healthy.  that i have some semblance of support.  despite being what is classed as an “unsupported mother”… read, single mother.  abandoned.  left.  thrown away.  forgotten.  gotten over.  alone.

sometimes i forget about my depression.  i think i’m doing okay.  i’m happy.  but then i remember.  and my hand feels as empty as my heart.  my steps on the cold pavement are slow and unsteady without the stronger footfall i was so accustomed to hearing.  and suddenly my head tilts down and i can’t breathe for crying.

i still don’t understand.  i can’t understand.  why i wasn’t worth the effort of trying.

why i don’t deserve the white picket fences.  why i have to go through this alone.  while everyone else around me is getting married.  counting their blessings.  raising their new babies hand in hand with the one who loves them.  why must i curl up in a cold bed alone.  why must i be both mother and father.

and there is no answer.  none that could ease the pain.

likewise is there no answer for why my heart still wishes for him.  for why my body still aches for him.  or why my eyes forever weep for him.  even though my head screams and rages against these pathetic emotions.

i love what is essentially dead and buried.

and i am not a necromancer.

the due date beckons.  my child is active and healthy.  and my mind wanders.

forever wandering.  to how things could have been.  should have been.  will never be.

forever wondering.  how things happened this way.  why things happened this way.  why did i deserve this…

what could i have done?  what should i have done.

and what will i do from now on.

i’m going to be a mother.  alone.  and hurting.  how will i raise this tiny impressionable being.  without tainting her innocence with my jagged edges.  how can i show her love between a man and woman.  when i will never trust my heart to another again.

this is usually my favorite season.  cold chills.  brisk mornings.  the promise of snow.  laughter that hangs, tinkling in the air.  the idea of cuddling next to someone.  wrapping presents.  decorating a tree.  planning a new year.

but the thought of any season cheer sends my heart into a cold lump.

and now.  with the perpetual visitors.  with the prospect of not having a moment alone.  with my mother here.  ever watchful.  always trying to follow into my hospital appointments.  to know what every phone call is about.  what every visit is about.  i have no time to cry.  or mourn.  or sit and stare into the distance.  forward or back.

i wonder if there will ever be a season.  that i don’t find unbearable to live.

… giving up.  giving in.  just trying desperately to let go.

to forgive.  to forget.  to wish away the regret.

every step in life builds character.  every twist and turn adds complexity and wisdom.

and yet.  if i ever got my hands on a time machine.

i would never have said “i do”.  or “yes”.  or let his blue eyes tempt me with a kiss.

granted i would never have the friends i have here.

but my heart would be whole.

and the resident sadness behind my eyes would never have come into being.

as usual.  my life is nothing but regret.

but i have to wade on through.

always always i expect something more than i receive.  and my poor stupid little heart.  breaks and weeps every single time.

you’d think i would have learned by now.

but no.  i still love you.

empty and unrequited.

trying to create a home within my broken heart.  trying to make a place in this house for the small life flickering and fighting.

trying to ignore the goalposts of my previous life.  to forget the conversations that never happened.  to pretend the imagined future was never dreamed.

there are no white picket fences surrounding my nest.

only a circle of thorns.  dotted with the softness that used to be my heart.