I’m painfully aware of my empty womb today.

The idea of a child seems like just that, a concept.

I guess that’s why they call it conception? Ironic.

A veiled mystery that I am incapable of discovering.

No small flutters within me.

No tiny heartbeat resides in my belly.

At night I dream of faces, so many faces.

All the babies, I reach for them.

But they are too far away from me and I cannot reach.

Percentages are thrown around, statistics, but I can’t really hear them.

All I hear is the women in the next room throwing up.

Morning sickness. Weird to be jealous of that isn’t it?

I’m also oddly aware of the clock and how loud the ticking is.

The doctor says something else and I realize he is asking me a question.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

How do you answer that, how does anyone answer that?

Categories: Anxiety, bipolar disorder, Depression, Homeopathic Remedies, Infertility, Mental Health, OCD, Parenting, PCOS, Poetry, Pregnancy, Self Esteem


2 replies

  1. beautifully written, but oh so sad x


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