It’s been just shy of two years since I’ve written here. I’m sure no one is lingering in these dusty halls any longer. And yet, I find myself back here, longing for a place that once felt like home.
There will be no Future Fords. This name is a lie.
The divorce is imminent. I haven’t even tried getting pregnant since the ectopic pregnancy and subsequent termination. Even this keyboard feels foreign as I type. A laptop used pretty much as a conveyance to type my thoughts here, the keys feel clunky and spaced awkwardly. There’s been a lot of deleting and re-typing.
On this, this day of Thanksgiving, I am finding it hard to be thankful. I can’t be thankful that most days are spent dragging myself out of bed. That my first thought every morning is still, ‘when will I get my baby?’ My last thought when I fall asleep is much the same. I can’t be thankful that I am caught up in this terrible cycle, knowing where I’ve been and what it will likely take to get back there again. The only thing worse than trying, is not trying and knowing what trying again means.
I’ve seen the dark side and I’m not sure there’s any coming back from that. I’m not sure there is any dragging another man down into the trenches with me. I’m not sure there is any hope left in this broken body of mine, this broken mind of mine.
But it’s what I want.
It’s what I’m willing to go down for.
It’s what keeps gets me out of bed despite feelings to the contrary.
It’s what makes me know I’m ready to try again it whatever form that may take.
And it’s what lets me know I’m ready to start writing about it once more.