The great pretender

That's the conclusion I've arrived at.

I've spent the better part of the last three years merely pretending I was okay and "better," but I couldn't be further from that.

There's a tremendous amount of guilt that I shoulder - that I still feel this way after grieving for so long. And, especially since I've finally received the sweetest of blessings in the form of Megan. She's saved me from myself in many ways, but she's not the cure-all, end-all as some people would believe. There's still a giant, empty hole in my heart, filled with infinite sadness.

My sadness ebbs and flows. But, most of the time I can't be who I really am. I can't be that desperately sad mother who still longs for her baby boy. I can't be in a somber mood around the masses and instead put on a half-hearted smile to spare them all the angst in my heart.

I've spent the last few months curled up in my shell, where I know I'm safe - where I can be me. Where I don't have to answer the never-ending, "What's wrong?" or "Are you alright?"

I'm tired of pretending I'm someone that everyone else wants me to be.