Being eaten alive

This is supposed to be such a happy time for me, with this new life (hopefully) growing inside me. Instead, I feel like I'm being eaten alive by my grief - that somehow it's grown into this horrible monster than I can't fend off, no matter how hard I try. And, for all the healing I've done in the past two years, it feels like I'm unraveling at a lightning-fast pace ... almost like I've made no progress at all in that time.

I cannot enjoy this pregnancy. I want this little one more than words could ever describe, and yet I'm terrified and worried and anxious every waking second. I feel like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for detonation and for my life as I know it to once again end.

I'm almost ten weeks along, and no amount of promising news can shake my fear that this will all end badly again. Sure, we saw and heard this bean's heartbeat at our last appointment, but to me, all that means is that, fortunately, he/she hasn't died yet. And, with having almost no pregnancy symptoms other than daily headaches and tender breasts, I don't find much comfort in feeling so good since that's not always a good thing, either. I need stronger reassurances than statistics can offer, but those just don't exist. My reality is stronger and more vivid than any of the odds out there. I guess that's where faith comes into play, and I clearly lack that.

I never imagined that another pregnancy would be so horribly difficult and disappointing. I realize that sounds incredibly selfish and ungrateful, but I'm not saying that I don't want this wonderful blessing. I just wish I weren't so jaded by my past so I could truly savor every tiny moment of this little one's presence and his/her tremendous impact on my life. He/she doesn't deserve to be overshadowed by something so horrible and tragic, and yet I don't know how to change that.

I just pray that tomorrow's appointment yields promising news ...