The Power of Words

Words.

Words are powerful.

Words are uncountable.  According to Oxford Dictionaries, it’s impossible to truly count how many words comprise the English language.

These uncountable words hold the power to control, command, influence, enlighten, and destroy.  In prose, words can tell stories, transfixing the reader into another place and time, into someone else’s mind, into someone else’s world.  Words can show us the meaning of life and love, filling our souls with droves of emotions.  Words can show us the meaning of hurt, filling our beings with sadness and anger.  Words can be so strong that they alter our being, molding and shaping and changing us in ways that were unimaginable.

This holds true for words communicated between two people, except real life words hold the most power, because unlike words read in a book or a poem, words between people are purposely meant for the other.  Words that are directed towards a specific person are no longer in the safe world of fiction;  these words are real, born out of the relationship you hold together.  Because of this, we must be careful with words, because once they pass the lips and become audible to the intended audience, there is no taking them back.

I was going through some papers a few days ago and came across this:

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It’s the ticket stub from ZooLights.  T and I had gone there just days before the miscarriage. It’s one of my favorite holiday events, and since he had never gone, I was extra excited to attend that year.  My happiness was subdued, however.  I noticed he was staring more at the children running around than enjoying the scenery.  I felt myself become defensive, scared that he was too overcome with fear and anger about my pregnancy to enjoy himself. I thought he saw the kids as a reminder of his impending doom.

As we made our way back to the entrance of the zoo, we stopped for a minute to look at one of the displays.  He said something, and I can’t remember what his exact words were.  But I remember my response:

“Who knows, maybe this time next year there won’t be a baby.  We won’t be together and I’ll be blogging about you behind your back.”

I also can’t remember his response.  I think he might have laughed and said something snarky.

I think about those words, born out of my own fear and trepidation at the journey ahead.  Those words were spoken out of a need to protect myself, and were intended to push him further away.   If only I had understood when I spoke those words that no matter how much I tried to keep my heart safe, that he already had it in his hands, and I just needed to let go and trust in him and in myself.

Words used carelessly, as if they did not matter in any serious way, often allowed otherwise well-guarded truths to seep through.
― Douglas Adams

Instead, I used words to distance myself, as I had done many times before.  The words I spoke that night are not the only ones I wish I could take back.  I told my best friend the night my cat was sick that I didn’t want to be with T anymore.  I told T the day before I had my miscarriage that I wish I would just have a miscarriage to make all the stress go away.   It breaks my heart that I said those horrible things out loud, and they came to pass.

It’s been three months since the words that I unleashed upon the universe came true.  I lost the baby, and I lost T.  Sometimes I wonder if the universe saw that my negativity and decided that it would make my words come true and teach me a lesson.  Perhaps the universe wanted to make me reap what I was sowing.  Rationally, I understand that this is not reality.  As an atheist, I understand there is no higher power directing my actions or causing things to happen to me.  Things just happen.  That’s the reality of life.  I did everything I could to be a healthy expectant mother, but I was at the mercy of biology and nature.  There was nothing I could have done to change the outcome of my pregnancy.

Words.  Words can be poison and they can be medicine.  They can break a heart or heal a heart.  Words allow us to verbally communicate with each other in a way that no other species on earth can.  Yet, we humans are often to careless with what we say to each other.  We don’t think before we speak.  We don’t truly understand the strength our verbal discourse can hold over ourselves and others.

 “Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.” — Rudyard Kipling

I saw T last weekend for the first time about two months.  We got together to talk, to finally say all the things that had been brewing during our time apart.  When he walked into the tea shop, my heart skipped a beat.  He was as handsome as ever.  We hugged and kissed, and I breathed in his familiar scent.  He was wearing the shirt I gave him for Christmas, which was a beautiful gesture on his part.  He handed me a paper bag and said he got me a gift.  I was excited and opened it, only to find a janky broken Sex and the City collectors edition magic 8 ball.  I can’t remember the reason why he owned that.  I think it was something about it being worth money someday, despite the fact it didn’t work.  This was something I had teased him about just a few months prior.  When I pulled it out of the bag,  I laughed; partially because it was funny, and partially to cover my disappointment that it wasn’t a real gift.  Nevertheless, it was a good icebreaker.

We ordered our tea and began catching up.  There was an easiness and a nervousness in me.  He seemed different.  I realized later that he didn’t laugh that night.  Not the laugh I remember, anyway.  The infectious one that makes his face become more alive, the laugh where his eyes light up and their corners crinkle just enough to show his joy but not give away his age.

There was a heaviness instead.  A maturity that only comes with surviving a battle of a certain magnitude.  He talked about everything he is doing and all the things he has planned.  As the words tumbled out of his mouth, I felt happy that he was taking care of himself, but soon I realized that he really is moving on without me.  He is living life, enjoying himself, and healing what has been broken.  And when he is ready to date again, it won’t be with me.

At one point, we stopped talking and just smiled at each other.  It was a comforting smile, but a difficult silence.  I had so much I wanted to say.  So many words on my tongue, enough to fill an ocean and perhaps spill over into another.  Words that were pouring out of my heart and filling me up, so many words that spread down through my legs and jutted against my toes, words that bubbled up to the crown of my head the through the strands of my hair.  But my lips remained pressed together in silence, as all I knew I could do was smile.  Words, at that point, were useless.

He reached out and touched my arm.  I scooched in and he kissed me, and I wondered how something could feel so natural and foreign at the same time.  Natural because we had kissed a hundred times before, ever since he lit the upside-down firework and he picked me up and kissed me in the parking lot after the 4th of July.

Foreign because we are no longer those two people who embraced in perhaps one of the best stories of my life.   Because now we are two people who then went through one of the worst stories of my life, and the innocence we had that night was buried under the rubble of stress and emotion and words that we can never take back.

Instead of allowing the words that were brimming at the surface of my being to begin seeping out of my pores and past my lips, I said something meager and weak like, “I’ll always want the chance of a first date with you again.”  I knew that were was no place at that table, no room in that teahouse, for anything else.

The limits of my language means the limits of my world.” –Ludwig Wittenstein

He nodded and said okay.

After tea, he took me to dinner, and then dropped me off at my car.  We kissed goodbye, and he thanked me for coming out.  I said, “Talk to you soon.  Or sometime.  Or whenever.”

As I was getting out of his car, he said, “Don’t forget your bag.”

“Nope, I’m leaving that with you.  The next time you give me a bag, it will have a real gift in it,” I quipped.  I shut the door and got in my car.  I began driving before the tears could come, before I had too much time to become sad before I got home.

Because I knew that there wouldn’t be a bag with a real gift in it.  I knew that we wouldn’t talk soon.

Those are the kinds of things you say when you are parting with someone you care about, and don’t know what else to say.  You want to have that hope that there will be another cup of tea, another upside-down firework, or another first date.  But you know, deep down, that it’s over and you have to start driving away and leave it all behind you.

So that’s what I did.

My evening with T did two things for me.  We were able to tell each other that there was no more anger or resentment, no animosity or hard feelings.  We had gotten past those feelings, and now only had warm affection and respect for each other.  We gave apologies and explanations, and said all that needed to be said. Everything that needed to be said, was said.  There are no words left.

Where do the words go
when we have said them?
― Margaret Atwood

The other thing it did for me was show me that I need to move on.  I need to stop living in the past, because just like my words during pregnancy didn’t spark vengence from the universe, I know that no matter how much regret or hoping or wishing that I do, nothing will bring them back, either.  Nothing I say will fix this broken relationship.  Words may have the authority to start and end wars; they may have the power to cause hurt or create joy; words may have the strength to alter the course of your life.  But words cannot change the past, and words cannot create love where there is none.

Words are a pretext. It is the inner bond that draws one person to another, not words.”  –Rumi

It’s difficult to let go of life’s “what ifs.”  But I have to.  I really can’t live as this century’s Miss Havisham.  I have to find new words to say.  I have to find a new song to sing.  As I do so, I will remain aware of the energies that I am putting out into the universe.  Not because I think there is a vengeful and petty deity waiting to use my words against me.  No, it is because I don’t want to have more regrets, especially regrets over things I have said.  I want to be mindful of the words I give to those around me.  I want to harness the power of my words to create happiness instead of pain, to move me forward instead of remaining stagnant.  My words are my future, and only I can decide what to do with them.

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘It might have been.”― John Greenleaf Whittier

Ask yourself, “How will I use the power of my words to better my life?” It may be the most important question you ever let leave your lips.

Until next time ~ B

The Oregon Coast, Traveling Alone, and Unexpected Life Lessons

I had the opportunity to take a trip to the Southern Oregon coast, an area of the state to which I had never been.  I was excited to get out of the office and travel alone, as I so rarely have time to myself these days.  It’s hard to find privacy in a small two-bedroom abode with three adults and three cats.

So off to Bandon I went.  The weather was perfect: nothing but blue sky and warm sun.   My first stop was Drain for a survey, then Elkton for lunch.  As I traveled towards the coast, I stopped at the Elk Reserve.  Sadly, only a small group was visible from the viewpoint.  At this time last year, the fields were teeming with elk, who must have been hiding in the safety of the trees that lie past the fields, adjacent to the highway.   I hopped back in my state vehicle and continued driving, taking the 101 south to pass through Reedsport.  It felt weird traveling through the towns in which I served my last AmeriCorps term of service.  These were places I swore to never return.  The familiar sights and sounds reminded me of the difficulty of that year, and how I managed to get through it in once piece.

As I drove down the highway, I took the opportunity to stop at the scenic overlooks and lighthouses, taking in the gorgeous views of Oregon’s tall lush trees and the glittering blue of the Pacific Ocean.  Each time I stopped, there was some old man hanging out in his car, which I found unnerving.  How can there be this many dudes just chillin’ at overlooks?  At one viewpoint, two men were trying to coax a squirrel to come near them.  Being in Douglas County, I didn’t know if they wanted to feed it, or have it for supper.

I continued south, passing through Coos Bay and a myriad of other small towns.  Eventually I made my way into Bandon and found my motel, which was right next to the beach.  The second I stepped out of my car I took in the intoxicating aroma of the ocean.  My room was perfect.  Clean and quaint, with a balcony that faced the sunset.  Excited, I changed into a pair of jeans and sneakers and headed across the grass to the cliff, where an adorable wooden staircase spiraled to the sand.  Halfway down was a gazebo with a bench, where a couple sat gazing on the horizon.

I continued to stay perched on the bluff, watching the sun disappear behind the roaring waves, feeling the bittersweet rush of having the privilege to witness something so beautiful, yet having no one with which to share the moment.  I looked around to see a handful of couples, some on the cliff’s benches, others down in the sand.  Since there was no point in feeling sorry for myself, I perked up and headed down the stairs.  The tide was high and the waves were fierce as they crashed and pounded against the mountainous rocks that blocked their path to the shore.  As dusk fell, I stood and watched the water creep near my shoes.   The moon was bright behind me, while the sky was fiery with oranges and yellows in front of me.  I walked around until it became too chilly and dark to remain by the ocean’s edge, and headed back up to my room.

Sleep was slightly allusive, no thanks to the cold I had been battling all week.  I opened my eyes at 7:00, decided that was too early, and gave myself a little more time.  Just before 8:00, I pulled my tired body out of bed and threw on jeans and a hoodie for a morning walk on the beach.  The last time I was in a coastal town and taking a morning walk alone, my life was in a tailspin.  This time, things were much different.  I noted how I am no longer on an emotional nosedive.  Instead, things have evened out.  I mostly just feel an overarching sadness and regret that gets a little easier as each day passes.

I explored the rocky coastline, taking in the clean air and sound of the waves and wildlife.  When I went to Lincoln City in February, I noticed how the sand was speckled with shiny black stones.  I gathered as many as I could in the small bag I had on hand as a memento of my first solo trip.  In Bandon, there were just as many rocks, but of all different colors and sizes.  Again, I collected as many as I could to signify another adventure.  Finally I had to get back up to my room to prepare for the day.

After checking out, I had breakfast at a little café and then hit the road, bound for Port Orford.  The thirty-minute span between Bandon and my newest destination was insignificant, save for one small town (at least I think it was a town) that was a ‘don’t blink or you’ll miss it’ style.   I finally reached Port Orford, which was also fairly small.  The person I had planned on interviewing was gone on an emergency, so I loitered around the little town for a while.

I made my way to a beautiful overlook.  The ocean seemed to span for miles, reminding me how small and inconsequential my life is when compared to the vastness of the sea.   The sun was hot on my face and the water sparkled as if it was filled with millions of tiny diamonds.  Even the faint clouds looked gorgeous, covering parts of the sky in unique patterns.  There were a few surfers in the water, taking advantage of the waves and weather.

I tried capturing the moment with my iPhone camera, but of course could not do it justice.  I also attempted a few selfies, but could not get it right.  I noticed an older woman sitting on a bench. She had long, nearly waist length white hair that was flowing in the wind, and bangs she kept brushing out of her eyes.  She wore a simple oversized brown button down shirt and jeans with tennis shoes, and was busy writing in a notebook that sat on her lap.

I hesitated in bothering her, but figured the worst that could happen was she would say no.

I walked towards her.  “Excuse me, will you take my picture?” I asked.

She smiled and said, “of course!”  Afterwards, she handed me my camera back and made sure I liked the shot.

“Thank you so much.  Traveling alone can be fun, but there is no one to take pictures of you. I just end up with a bunch of selfies.”

She laughed a warm, hearty laugh that warmed my soul.  “I totally understand that!  I’m traveling alone as well.  I’m up from Southern California looking for a house to buy.”

Before I knew it, our conversation began rolling and she told me how she couldn’t handle the SoCal pollution anymore.   The endless smog hurt her lungs on a daily basis, causing her to feel older beyond her years.   “People in my family live to be ninety to a hundred years old.  I’ve got a lotta years left on me, and I want to spend them feeling good,” she told me with a laugh.

I told her she picked the right place, and she agreed.  Then she told me the story of how she has lived in many different places, including Arkansas.  At the time she was married to a long haul trucker who was gone for weeks at a time.  Their house was a shack, with no electricity or plumbing, and tarps covering holes in the windows and ceiling.  I was dumbfounded.  “How did you handle living like that?”

“Oh, I have an easy temperament,” she said.  She explained that the worst was the weather, including a tornado that came within five miles of her home.  She spoke of the horrific wreckage she witnessed, and knew that she didn’t want to stay there much longer.   She moved back to California, where she has been living the past fifteen years.   Now, she is ready to move on again.  “Luckily, traveling is in my bones,” she told me.  “I just listen to my gut instinct, do what it tells me to, and that’s how I get along in life.  It never steers me wrong.”

“I’m envious of you,” I replied.  “I feel like I can’t trust my gut anymore, because things keep going awry in my life.”

“Oh, well that’s because you are being distracted by the tiny voices in your head.  That is where you go wrong,” she said, brushing the hair out of her eyes.  “What you’ve got to do is tell that little voice to shut up.”

I laughed, and she said with a smile, “Oh, I’m completely serious.  One day I realized that those little voices were just screwing me up, and I literally screamed out loud to them ‘hey, SHUT UP!’  And that allowed me to focus on what my instincts were telling me.  So that is what you need to do.  Scream it out loud if you have to.  ‘Just shut up!’  It will work, I promise.”

I smiled back at her and nodded my head.  “I will definitely try that.  I have been at such a crossroads lately.  I’m having trouble figuring things out.”

“Oh, but look where you’ve come from! And look at you right now.  You are a brave woman.  You are in a job where you are traveling alone.  Not everyone can do that.  And now that you are at a crossroads, that just means that something isn’t working, so you need to pick a different direction.  You’ll figure it out.”

This may sound weird, but I felt honored to have been called brave by this stranger I just met no more than sixty minutes prior.  She had such a comforting smile and deep kind eyes that I wanted to sit and talk to her for hours.

“I hate to leave, but I have to head to Medford for a conference,” I said.  I knew I had to get her name, so I introduced myself.  “By the way, my name is B.”

She smiled.  “I’m Gwen.”

“Gwen, it was so lovely speaking with you.  Best of luck with your house search.”

“Oh, it won’t take luck,” she winked.  “Just a determination to find something that will work for me.  And I’ll find it.”

“I have no doubt you will, Gwen.  Thanks again.  Take care.”

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but think about what a strange wonderful incident this had been.  I was here to interview someone for work, and instead had an amazing conversation with someone else entirely.  Life is funny that way.

I drove out of Port Orford, back through Bandon, to make one last stop before leaving the coast: the Coquille River Lighthouse.  I almost passed my opportunity, not seeing the turnoff I needed to take to reach my destination.  I doubled back, headed down the windy road, and finally the lighthouse came into view.  It’s a historic place, and as much as I hate to admit it, very underwhelming.  I thought I had wasted my time going there, until I walked further toward the ocean to another magnificent view.

To my left was the Coquille River, to my vast right was the Pacific Ocean.  The air smelled rich and clean, and there was little sound except the ocean waves.  A long jetty separated the river from the sea, and I saw a man and his dog down the very far end of it. I didn’t realize you could walk on it, and debated on getting up there as well.  It seemed a little unsafe, but I thought about being brave and challenging myself to do new things, so I clamored over the rocks and hoisted myself up onto the jetty.  There was a pile of driftwood preventing me from going too far, and I was going to call it quits, until I remembered that I was likely never to have this opportunity again.  I managed to make my way past the driftwood and walked toward the ocean.

It was a surreal feeling being up there with water on three sides of me.  The waves were coming in fast and crashing violently against the far end of the jetty.  I made my way about half-way down and took in the moment.  The cold wind whipped around me and stung my skin.  The ocean air smelled clean and crisp.  I took a deep breath, and gave myself gratitude for coming this far, and for the progress I’ve made since the miscarriage and breakup.  I thought about the positives in my life, and reminded myself that I’ve been through hell and back before, and I can do it again.  I stood there for some time, when finally I saw that it was nearing 4:00.  I still had a three hour drive to Medford, so I headed back toward the shore to make the long trek east.

It was a wonderful two days, and ever since my Bandon adventure, my conversation with Gwen keeps popping into my head.  I always thought that my gut instinct was the little voice, but I’m realizing that your body can be sending you conflicting signals at the same time.  For example, there can be a difference between what you think you should do for whatever reason, be it obligations or fears or desires, and what you know, deep down, that you really need to do.  Or, it could be that your gut is telling you what your brain needs to accept.

I’ve been trying to apply this theory to my life lately.   I’m up for a job that I’m not sure I want, so I’ve been focusing on what my instincts are telling me to guide me to a decision.  I don’t have an offer yet, so it may not even come down to that.  However, I feel like I have enough information and instinct to steer me in the right direction.

Like with everything, only time will tell which direction I go or what happens to me.  If the past six months have taught me anything, its that the only thing you can expect in life is the unexpected.    Everything else is a crapshoot.

Until next time ~ B

I Danced, Because I had Nothing Left To Lose

I left the house ready for a wedding.  Dress was on, hair was curled, and makeup was dark.  I felt as confident as I was going to get for that evening, threw a smile on my face, and headed to a downtown Portland ballroom that overlooked the city.

I returned from the wedding exhausted.  My hair lost most of its curl, my eye makeup had begun to creep downward, and my feet ached from a night of dancing.  I hopped in the shower and let the hot water wash over me as I scrubbed the eyeliner and mascara off my eyes and wiped the sweat off my body.  I took a little longer than needed, absorbing the hot steam into my pores, relaxing my already sore muscles, and thinking about the events of the evening.

It was a beautiful wedding.  Not just the venue, which was gorgeous, but the entire event was amazing.  It was one of those weddings in which you could really feel the love and energy into the room.  The bride was beyond stunning, and the groom, quite handsome in his suit, looked as if he would float away from happiness.  She walked down the aisle to Coldplay’s “Til Kingdom Come,” more radiant that I have ever seen her.  The look on his face as he saw his future wife walk towards him and their new life together was priceless.  I feel so lucky to have shared in their day.

I did my best to focus on the event unfolding in front of me, an event I have been looking forward to since their engagement.  It was hard to focus, though.  I wish my former love didn’t creep into my thoughts so often.  In my defense, it is incredibly difficult to focus on someone else’s nuptials without thinking about your own trials and tribulations in love.  I was one of the very few single guests, surrounded by sea of couples, young and old.  Much to my chagrin, the DJ peppered a few slow songs throughout the evening, one of which was Adele’s cover of “Make You Feel My Love.”   I watched as the aforementioned couples made their way to the dance floor, hand in hand, and celebrated their own love.   To say it was bittersweet would be an understatement.

I hate to admit how sad I felt at moments, my chest heavy with longing and regret, wishing he was there with me.  I also had to put on my game face around all of the babies.  It’s a special kind of difficult to see couples with babies at a wedding after the events of the past few months.  Naturally it made me think of all the things I was looking forward to, until that last week of December when I first lost the baby and then lost the fella.  I tried to brush those thoughts away immediately and just enjoy the evening and the new friends I was making.   All things considered, I think I did a pretty good job.

And then I danced.  I danced my heart out, as if the world was my stage and this was my grand debut.  I danced till my heart pounded, my breath was short, and sweat had to be wiped from my brow.  I danced and I laughed and I let myself feel truly happy for the first time in months.  As we said goodbye, the bride told me I was one of the photographer’s favorite guests to shoot because I had a huge smile on my face at all times.  The bride’s smother came up to me and told me how great I looked on the dance floor.

I went all out up on that stage, because I had nothing to lose.

As I sit here typing this, the energy is leaving my body and the wind is howling outside my bedroom window.   I must close my eyes soon, but first I need to put pen to paper and purge these ruminations from my mind. I thought about happiness as I drove home.   As much as I felt envy for the bride and groom on this day, I realized it wasn’t just their wedding, but their happiness that I long for, and I won’t reach that kind of happiness with a partner until I find it on my own. I am a prideful person.  It is one of my greatest faults.  It is time to put pride aside and become the best version of myself that I can be.  I have work to do.  I have things to fix.  I have demons to slay.   I have actions for which I need to atone.

Just as important, I need to dance more.  I need to laugh daily.  I need to find my own joy, because no one will bring it to me.  I need to discover new things and meet new people.  I need to stop allowing the past to interfere with the present.

My first order of business I have already accomplished, which was a solo trip out of town.  It was something I have always wanted to do, and finally just went for it.  I will definitely be planning another trip soon.  The second order of business was not bringing a date to this wedding.  Although I had options, I did not want to bring someone just for the sake of having a date.  More importantly, I wanted to prove that I could enjoy myself at a wedding as a single guest.  I could find happiness alone.  And I succeeded.

Tonight was a small step in the right direction, but it still a step forward.  I can do this.  I have to do this.  I don’t want life to pass me by.  I don’t want the chance for love to pass me by, either.   I am truly doing the best I can, and while there are still many struggles ahead of me, I saw a ray of hope in myself tonight.  A small glimmer that said, “you’re going to be okay.”  And that is something that I will try to hold on to.

Until next time ~B

Bitterness And Avoidance: My Life After Miscarriage (M Word Part IV)

I am so, so bitter.  So bitter, in fact, that I cannot bring myself to share in the pregnancy joy of others.  I don’t want to hear about it, I don’t want to know about it, I want to pretend their pregnancies don’t exist.  I feel awful for admitting that out loud, but each time my friend brings her pregnancy up to me, it feels like any progress I’ve done to stich my heart back up is unraveled.  I know two pregnant women, and I had to block them from my FB newsfeed so I don’t have to read their updates and see their pictures. 

How long is miscarriage grief supposed to last?  When will I be able to see baby bumps and not feel a lump in my throat the size of an orange?   When will I walk past the baby section of a store and no longer fight back tears?  When will I see a young couple with a baby and no longer imagine what my family would have looked like?  When will I see a man holding a baby and not flash to the image of what it would have looked like with my ex holding our baby?

I do my best to compartmentalize my life so I can get through each day.  I spend one hour a week talking about my loss in therapy, and then the rest of the week I shove the pain into a box, only to be reopened at the following session.   While I think about my ex all the time, it’s somehow easy for me not to think about my miscarriage until I am triggered.  I don’t know why that is.  Perhaps it is because there is no bringing my baby back, but my ex is still walking around living his life.  Details on his life are just a social media click away.

I would have been four months pregnant on Saturday.  I told someone how sad that made me, and they said, “don’t be sad about that.  You just need to live your life and move forward.”  If healing my heart and moving forward was that easy, I would.  Believe me, I don’t like feeling this way.  I don’t like reaching milestones that will never be realized because the baby died and feel an ache reverberate through my body.  I have to choose my words carefully these days, because it’s like I can’t even be sad anymore.  People either say, “oh, don’t be sad, just move on,” or they say, “Oh, well, maybe you should go to counseling/talk about that in counseling.” No one wants to hear about what I’ve been through.   

Because no one wants to talk about dead babies and lost loves.

So, So bitter.  I just want to fast-forward to a time when this no longer breaks my heart over and over again.  I need something, anything, to go right. 

Fuck.

Until next time ~ Bitter B