Alcohol is not a reliable numbing agent. It can be the ingredient that turns a lovely summer lunch into an afternoon of tears and panic. It’s disappointing really. I thought it’d be a nice way to occasionally speed time along. It’s not worth it for me though. I’m back to the drawing board.
So far I’ve tried smoking (disastrous- made me want to barf), dieting/eating healthy (pretty good- makes me feel proactive to eat well), drinking (big disappointment), traveling (mixed- it makes the time go by fast but can be sad), exercising (works perfectly but I need more time…two or three times a week isn’t enough), and spending money like a drunken sailor (bad idea, made me panic more).
August 25th looms. I don’t know why it should even matter- it was always just an arbitrary date. It was a place holder even when we thought everything was going to turn out normal. I guess now it’s just a reminder that Tommy Jr should still be in my belly. Still. He should be in there, growing, learning to use his hands and feet, eating what I eat, and hearing me laugh. Every time I see a little boy I wonder about Tommy. I think about him as a squirmy baby keeping me up all night. I imagine him running around and scraping his knees and catching bugs and doing all the things I’ll never get to see him do. I wonder what sports he would have played and what food he would have hated. And I miss him so much it hurts. I miss my little boy, I miss our future.
I can’t imagine a time where I won’t feel so close to the edge. I don’t blame myself as much anymore, and I don’t feel overwhelmed with self-hatred very often anymore. Now it’s just gentle waves of sadness, with the occasional hurricane.