Liar - full of hate

I lied. I am not okay. I hate this. I hate this murderous womb. I hate blood and chunks coming out of me. I hate destroying the planet throwing away pads because I can't have my homemade cloth ones associated with this much death. I hate having to wait AGAIN. I hate the idea of more forced sex. I hate that I can't think of anything except how much I hate this. I hate the bleeding. I hate having to leave the coffee shop because I'm crying. I hate the term rainbow baby. I hate story time at the fucking library. I hate the innocent. I hate that I get pregnant so easy and kill them off just as easy. I hate that I don't know what to do with myself. I hate that everything, even doing the fucking laundry, makes me bleed harder. I hate that all the blood taken from me in little vials over the last year shows that NOTHING IS WRONG WITH ME! I hate that all the car seats in my basement closet are going to expire before anyone can use them. I hate that I want to run away but can't think of anyplace I want to be. I hate that I am beginning to wonder how my kids would be without me. I hate that my brain will even go there. I hate that my teenager hates living here. I hate that I hate living here. I hate that I cannot think of one single thing in this stupid world that would make me happy. I hate that I am selfish. I hate that a year ago and just a couple weeks ago I had a living child in my belly and now I don't. I hate that my five year-old is being raised by the TV. I hate that I have so few coping mechanisms. I hate that I am spending all our health care money on therapy.
/ rant (but not really)

Rock? ... Meet hard place.

A miscarriage? huh? After pushing my fully formed, ready to be born, dead child out of my vagina and sending him to be burned up, you would think it would be a cake walk. After all the "at leasts" right? At least it was early, at least I didn't get attached, at least I know I CAN get pregnant ... blah blah blah. Fuck that shit. What I know know is that my uterus is a traitorous bitch and can't be trusted. And the next time I get pregnant I will have to be even more detached and that every week spent charting and bleeding and having procreative, boring, sex is another week waiting for more damage to my already broken spirit. And every week NOT trying and not peeing on sticks and not holding just one more baby in my arms is also one more week crushing my heart into a lump of useless rock.

And I can be thankful for what I already have and focus on them; blah blah blah. Just what every kid wants. A beaten mom going through the motions because they are all she's got.

And yeah Dad a lot of people have it a lot worse than me. Honestly thinking about all the shit going on in the world isn't as helpful as you might think. And thanks doc, but knowing that we, as a species are doomed to only birth 40% of our conceived offspring and that only a percentage of those will live too. Also not helpful.

But... To those that bring wine, and beer made with coffee, and doughnuts and a cheery chorus of FUCK YOU UNIVERSE! Thank you.

So, I guess what all this means is that I will live to avenge and the universe better watch the FUCK OUT. Because I will get you fucker and all my DBM and IF and 'almost killed by buses' and 'barely scraping by' and 'barely have a shred of hope' mamas will
KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS!

SO WATCH OUT AND BACK THE FUCK OFF!

(And, just so it knows that we are serious; please leave a comment if you at all agree with the aforementioned sentiments)