What if it never gets better? (Yes, I know. Everyone says it will get better, but what if I'm so damaged I can't? What if I'm so fucked up anyway, I'm just not strong enough? I have moments, hours, sometimes a day or two where it's not so bad, but hitting the ground hurts each time hurts as bad as the first.)
It took me so long to get to a decent place, mentally, emotionally. I'm so afraid I'll never get back there.
I know I won't be the same. I know that. But what if I don't like the person I've become? I'm already uncomfortable in my own skin. The world feels like a minefield. And I'm blind and groping around on all fours. I feel everything, and little of it good. Every rock, every thorn. The holes that knock me off balance. I'm so tired of it. I can have a good day, and then there's the hole. There's the mine.
What if I never regain a sense of trust in the world? In myself? It seems the circle of safe people has shrunk. And continues to shrink.
When we first lost the boys, I couldn't wait to get pregnant again. Now the idea scares the hell out of me. And the idea of not having more children scares me just as much. And the clock ticks. What if we run out of time before I'm ready?
I've always wanted to raise my children to believe in the good in the world, to trust in people. What if I can't do that now?