Does pain ever win?

Tonight is shit. It hurts. We’re approaching midnight, and I just don’t feel like lying about it or dismissing it.

I hate tonight.

I hate this week.

All I want to do is quit. I feel so fucking alone.

Tonight was all of our last therapies until after January. No more PT or OT or speech for the boys….no more of my own therapy for me.

Tonight ends with a too full glass (x2…or 3…?) too many, a book, and a pen…ready to admit defeat.

I feel alone and hopeless.

Tonight bore too much pain unanswered.

Tonight, I don’t fake it. I don’t lie. I don’t care what the scars of tomorrow hold.

Tonight, therapy was fine. It was good. It was hard, but not in the bad ways.

But I wasn’t met with what I needed to be met with when I got home.

I’m struggling. A lot.

Here’s to another night where the nights turn into mornings. Or maybe they just…don’t.

I’m sick of hurting. I’m sick of lying about it.

Tonight is shit. I feel alone and scared. I want to give up.

The boy that made me a mom….he isn’t mine to love. I love him anyway…but he’ll never be mine in any way that matters.

Tonight hurts in a way that tomorrow doesn’t have the answers to.

But damn.

Wasn’t it me, who very recently said “questions without answers are often my favorite…”?

Tonight begs for all of the hard questions.

Tonight questions why I should ignore the intensifying pain, why I should fight…why I shouldn’t just give up.

Maybe tonight doesn’t offer any of the answers.

Therapy went well. Hard things were dealt with that, believe me, were much better off being dealt with in there than…well, right here, alone, right now.

I’m glad everyone will get a chance to get away from me for the next 2 weeks…at least.

They all deserve it.

I’m not easy.

I’m not lovable.

I’m not worth fighting for.

Or maybe that’s just all the shit I’m supposed to stop lying to myself about, I mean changing my thinking about.

Whatever.

Tonight is hard. And I feel like shit. I’m valid in my feelings and in my pain.

I’m wrong in it making me want to die. I’m wrong in pouring another drink to drown it out. I’m wrong in so many ways.

But I’m not wrong in how I feel.

I miss my son. I fucking miss the very thing that ever made me feel…..anything.

I’ll never be wrong for feeling about him.

….even if it’s wrong.

Fucking damn do I miss him.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I’m yelling, is that okay?)

I miss my fucking child. I love him. And I feel empty and useless without him.

There’s so much more behind the scenes…so much more that I’m learning. But I’m choosing to believe that he is okay.

I know he’s loved. And I know his parents are doing their best. I love them, and I love him.

Even when things are hard…it’s no one’s fault.

But holy SHIT do I miss him.

Nothing can cause me pain like he can. Fuck.

((I miss you always, but today I miss you SOOOO much extra))

Thank you for the blankets. Even if they were never for me. ……