In typical April fashion, I am feeling like SHIT right now.
“I know I’m pregnant, but can I kill myself anyway? Maybe it would just be easier for everyone.”
I asked my husband that question earlier today. Half joking, but also mostly not joking. I feel lower than I’d like to admit. I’m exhausted, and I’m just….sad.
I’m angry and lashing out because I can’t drink and it’s all I want to do. I want a drink. I don’t even care anymore. There needs to be an escape for this pain. But there isn’t one that exists for me right now.
I think I’m actually so miserable that my husband is considering letting me have a (tiny, small) drink. It’s failing, and I don’t want to, but I think it’s funny that I’m literally that miserable, and he knows it would help. I won’t do it, but the fact that he’d consider it speaks volumes to my mental state.
I hate April. I hate today. And most of all, I fucking HATE Monday. His birthday. I shouldn’t be forced to live this life if he can’t be with me, too.
Tomorrow holds a lot of weight, as does Monday, obviously. I scheduled a massage for myself tomorrow and other than that, I’m hoping to lay in bed and do absolutely nothing for the next 2 days.
I can’t do this, just can’t. Last night I didn’t sleep at all, and the exhaustion, both physical and mental, is unbearable.
I’m sorry I’m not better at this. I’m sorry I’m not stronger.
And I’m sorry that I want to give up.