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The loneliness of miscarriage

May 5, 2009

Sometimes, like today, I feel like a freak as grief attacked me in the middle of the day at work. I sat with an odd expression, far off and lost.  Someone made a joke about a good looking co-worker and I must have looked at her with a strange expression for she mumbled I was just kidding Kate…

I feel like my husband is tiring of this continuous grief.  I feel like people wonder when the hell I’ll move on. How many times can someone nod their heads with sympathy? How many times can they see my distant expression and feel compassion? They must wonder: She smiles and laughs one minute and the next she looks suicidal. How can I explain this to anyone when this baffles me too? There is only so far anyone can travel with me in my grief. They can follow me to a point- and then I must walk the rest of the road alone. My pain is private and only I reside within its reaches. Only I know how empty my heart is, how profusely my soul bleeds. I hate grief and how it can wreak havoc within me casting its shadow onto my exterior expressions despite my best attempts to hide it.

My mask is cracking. I’m tired of wearing it. I just want to be whole again.

Sometimes, like today, I feel all alone. I want a hug. I want someone to promise me it will be allright, and I want them to mean it. I want to melt into nothingness, numb to the pain that resides with me. Loneliness is an island, and though I am surrounded by people- in the end I am truly alone.

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2 comments

  1. Thank you for commenting on my old blog, I hope that you find it helpful.

    Never feel guilty about the grief, it is OK and everyone reacts differently. It has been well over 2 years since my loss and there are still days when I cry. It isn’t near as frequent, but there are still days.

    “I want someone to promise me it will be allright,” I promise you, it will. Right now it is fresh and it sucks, but I do promise it will eventually be allright. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in three months, but eventually it will be allright. If you had told me 2 years ago that I would ever feel normal again, I would have called you a liar. But today I do feel normal. Hang in there!

    Feel free to e-mail me if you have any questions. Rachel (dot) runner (at) gmail.com


  2. I’ve termed this IF bi-polar disorder. I have it almost every day now, especially since my miscarriage. The mask is always there, and there are times when I am genuinely happy, but always the grief and the pain returns. It does feel like minute to minute you are a different person. I still feel this. It has been 2 months since I lost my child.



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