I don't know

Every breath I take I am reliving that day. I just remember sitting and staring at him, mesmerized by how beautiful and perfect he was, and thinking that he'll cry any second. Even before his umbilical cord was cut by the doctor and he announced that there was no heart beat in the cord, I thought that I was going to witness a miracle. I thought that surely God couldn't - wouldn't - allow something so cruel to happen to us after all we've been through. I try to move through it, but I can't push away the memories. They come to me when I least expect it. The memories rear their gorgeous yet deadly selves when I am sleeping, when I'm awake, when I'm breathing. What I've lived through has caused so many problems inside of me. I'm anxious in crowds. I feel isolated from my friends and family. I feel angry at God. I don't sleep and I don't eat. I can't focus on anything for more than 10 minutes. I have no desire to clean or do anything for myself. I have just enough energy to breathe. Crying is even too hard. Life isn't even close to fair. If it was then I wouldn't have had to go through morning sickness, cravings, and emotional mood swings three times, labor twice, and an actual birth once and still have arms that ache for the weight of a baby and ears that strain to hear a cry and breasts that still leak. I don't know if I grieve the loss of Matthew or the loss of myself more sometimes. It's hard to grieve someone you love so much and also grieve the death of who you were while searching for who you are now.

I don't know. I don't know what I feel or need. I'm lost.