I have a heavy duty case of the blahs and I have had them all week long.  I’m neither overly sad nor overly happy, I’m just…..

BLAH.

I hate blah.  I don’t want to do anything, clean, shop, dance, cry.  Maybe just eat, sometimes shower, talk to my kids, look at my husband blankly.

Sometimes I blame the anti-depressants I am on.  After I had Racecar, my OB put me on an anti-depressant (am I supposed to hyphen that or am I wasting pinky energy?) and I can recall feeling this way after awhile.  I was never happy and I was totally incapable of crying.  I hated it.  (although right now I am NOT incapable of crying, I just feel…dead, most of the time.  When I feel sad, I FEEL sad, sometimes it feels good to feel something, even if it’s sadness.)

Before I even delivered James and Jake, one of my OB’s prescribed Prozac to me, without telling me.  I found out when a nurse came in and said "here’s your prozac."  and I was like "pro, who?"  The doctor had never talked to me about this prescription and it upset me.  I told her "no, thank you" and sent her on her merry way, explaining that I wasn’t ready and that I hadn’t even talked to the doctor about it.  The nurse left.

The next day, another nurse came in with prozac.  The situation was the same as the day before, the doctor still hadn’t talked to me about it and I was being blinded sided by all of the  prozac flying around.  I began to refer to these people as The Prozac Posse.  (I think it’s important for me to say that the doctor PUSHING THE PROZAC was not the FAVORITE, AWESOME, LOVING, CARING, GREATEST DOCTOR TO WALK THIS EARTH doctor.) 

It was the other one.  (I’m very affectionate towards her, as you can probably see.)

And believe it or not, before leaving the hospital, after saying I would just like a prescription for Prozac, that I would have it filled when I was ready in a few days or weeks, the Prozac Posse brought me another one.  I began to wonder if they were given a dollar per pill per patient from Prozac.  (that’s a whole lot of P’s!)  Of course, I did not really think that, but it was still hard for me to believe that they were totally ignoring my requests, making me feel like a chart without a voice rather than a person with an opinion.

They did explain to me that Prozac takes many weeks for it to take effect, and I understood that, but I just wanted to feel, without help, what I am supposed to feel.  Even if it meant feeling intense sorrow and sadness, I wanted to feel that, for James and Jake.

The day after the memorial service, I grabbed the prescription from the fridge, brought it to Brian and said "PLEASE GO TO WALGREENS, AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE, AND FILL THIS FREAKIN’ PRESCRIPTION BECAUSE I CAN’T FEEL THIS INTENSELY SAD AND BROKEN AND DEAD FOR MUCH LONGER."

He leaped from his chair and ran to Walgreens and I proceeded to have one of the biggest, yet, most necessary, breakdowns I had ever had in my life up to that point, there with my two sisters and my Mom.  It’s was meant to happen that way, they were supposed to see me show the honest depths of my pain, and I was supposed to learn that showing real emotions, in front of others, was a sign of strength, not weakness.

Something I am still struggling to learn.

So, this past week, when I think back on that moment, I almost envy that girl, sitting on the couch surrounded by her family, crying, unable to stop.  I envy that it was expected of her to cry that way, at any given moment, I envy her ability to physically cry.

Because right now, when I’m surrounded by others and I think about how sad I am at that very moment, I think about how inappropriate it would be for me to just break down and cry, right there, while sitting on my couch.

And you can tell me it’s okay to cry during those moments, but it’s not. 

So, I don’t, I hold it in and this road called grief, becomes lonelier and lonelier with each mile I tread, each milestone I pass.  I am thankful for others who express their grief and their feelings, openly, like me.  My heart may be broken, but when others openly share their feelings of grief, this road doesn’t feel so desolate.

As each day passes, I realize how incredibly numb I have become, and it just seems to be getting worse.  At what point can I stop popping the prozac?  It seems like never will be a good time.  Sometimes I wonder if I can truly dealing with my feelings of sadness when I am taking prozac, does taking prozac mask something?  If I weren’t taking prozac would I be able to get out of bed each morning?

Time does not heal all wounds, you just learn how to deal with them, on your own. 

I wish I could punch the person who made that shit up.

I’m not in a very good place right now, mentally and emotionally.

Tonight, we had our new swing set delivered, the kids were so excited to finally have something to do outside, they swung and played and laughed and the weather was beautiful, almost chilly.

Everything was so good.  But as I watched our children play so freely and happily, I felt sadness knowing that James and Jake should be sharing that swing set with them in a few years.  Can you imagine the fun?  Having these beautiful, identical twin boys, swinging in their safety swings, laughing and us laughing, I would for sure be taking pictures. 

It just made me so sad that we won’t have that.

But it also made me sad that THEY won’t have that.  That they don’t get to feel the sun and the wind on their face while swinging on the swings.  They can’t laugh at a field of lightning bugs, they can’t feel the chill of a snowball in their hands, they won’t feel the hugs we have to offer, they won’t know the joy of playing "this little piggy" over and over again, or know the pride of learning to ride a bike.

I know many of you will tell me that they are in heaven doing those things, but that doesn’t make me feel better, because for one…we don’t KNOW that.  And two…I want them to do these things on earth, with us.

I can’t seem to understand why our boys were taken from us.  I can’t understand why this happened to us when there are thousands of abortions each year, I can’t understand why Brad and Angelina have twins right now.  Not that I think they shouldn’t have twins, but why do they and we don’t?

My pregnancy with James and Jake was the best pregnancy I had ever had, although we had so many scares and I had some health issues, my weight was good, my mentality was good and I had never been happier.

Why was that ripped away from us?   

On the other hand, just this morning I could barely contain the happiness and love I was feeling.  I was listening to The Beatles "I have to admit it’s getting better, all the time."  You know that song, right?  Well, that’s what I was thinking – "I have to admit it’s getting better."  And it is, my life, as a whole, is better because I now realize all that I have, I can see that now and I saw it before, but not quite this clearly.

But it’s almost as if my grief is hiding around the corner somewhere just waiting to jump out at me, waiting to make me sad again, sometimes when I least expect it, it arrives, boldly, in my heart. 

I can remember, just hours after learning that James and Jake had died, I was sitting in my hospital bed, talking with Brian and my parents and I said "this makes me realize what miracles Ariel and Racecar truly are.  Life is so precious and so fragile and so incredibly detailed, from the moment of conception everything has to go just perfectly in order for a child to be born."   And there I sat, in my hospital bed, with those boys still inside my belly, me not feeling the reality of our very sad and heart wrenching situation, waiting to deliver my sons who were no longer alive, realizing and appreciating the gifts in our lives.

Although things are getting better, that doesn’t mean we do not feel sadness and emptiness, because we are still sad and empty, we are constantly aware of what is missing from our lives.

We are also constantly aware of what we have and that is what will get us through this.

Slowly, but surely.

But sometimes, like tonight, the reality of all that we have been through, just hurts so much and it’s so difficult to accept.  No matter how good we have it, sometimes the pain is so big and so intense, it cripples me and makes me wonder how I’ll ever get through my life, feeling the pain that I do.