Ernest Hemingway said to write hard and clear about what hurts. I've been hurting for a while now, and I feel like I have no good reason to. Maybe if I write a bit about it and get it all out, I'll feel some sort of comfort. So, here we go.
The other morning, on my walk to work, I realized my subconscious was speaking something over and over again, like a broken record playing in my head. I stopped mid-step to listen to it, and was pretty disturbed by what I heard. What I found myself saying was i hate everyone, I hate everyone, I hate everyone with each step. Tears immediately came to my eyes and my throat tightened with emotion. I felt something cold and hard in the pit of my stomach. I am unhappy, I admitted to myself.
How can I be so unhappy? It's really hard to pinpoint why.
I look around right now and all I see is this pretty apartment I'm writing to you from, this puppy who is sound asleep next to me on the sofa, softly snoring in the sliver of sunlight she found and crawled into, this amazing husband who is in the bedroom, reading his New York Times in bed. These are the things I have coveted my entire life. This is a life to be grateful for. This is what I've wanted since I was old enough to dream about my future. How, then, can I feel so profoundly sad and lonely? Why does it feel like a piece of me is missing?
A thought escaped my lips the other day, which seems to have dug its way into the crux of my being and set up camp there. I was talking to Mark about how I just don't seem to like people these days. I don't care to make new friends, I don't want to see old friends. So I said, "I think when you're tired of the people around you, it's time to make new people." After I said it I felt the words resonate through me. It's like things started clicking, places in my body starting syncing. It felt like an epiphany. He kinda just shrugged. He's just finishing up his first semester of grad school, only one of us is working at the moment, my health insurance hasn't kicked in yet, and we are living in the most expensive part of the country. Now would be the absolute worst time to think about babies. But babies, of course, are all I think about right now.
Maybe I'm getting so far past my yearning desire to be a mother, I'm starting to become depressed about it. Has anyone ever felt this way? Is that when you know it's time? When you're through with everyone around you? When all you want is a house full of babies to love and care for? A family of your own to fill your days with?
It's ridiculous to think that a baby is a solution for feeling depressed, but really...is it that crazy? I mean, these are instinctual, hormonal, biological elements we're dealing with here. Reproduction is as second nature to most women as breathing. And when you go against and deprive your nature, doesn't it make sense that you'd feel an immense sense of conflict?
Sorry to get all woe-is-me here. I know there are people out there with actual problems, and my heart goes out to them, but these are just feelings I'm feeling right now. And we can't help but feel what we feel, right?
So, onward and upward! Today I am feeling good. I ate a ridiculously sugary sweet morning bun from the bakery down the street for breakfast, my apartment is filling up with the smells of my brand new Penelope candle as we speak, I still have over 400 pages of Gone with the Wind left, and there's a cute new sweater hanging in my closet, just begging to be thrown on over a pair of comfy leggings. These are things that make me happy, and I have to admit, this life is a good one.
For now, at least. Maybe one day I'll look back on this post, sleep deprived and covered in baby puke, and laugh at my own stupid naivety.
One can only hope.