I’m sitting on my deck, alone except for Willow who is prowling the perimeter. The sun is warm on my face. Birds are chirping. And I feel nothing. Nothing at all.
I haven’t done any blogging because I’ve got nothing much to say. I’ve thought about describing my plans for my kitchen renovation or posting pictures of the sofa and loveseat I ordered, but whenever the thought hit me to do so, I’d manage to follow it with a, “I’d rather play another game of Bejeweled 2” or “Maybe I’ll watch another episode of ‘Lost’.” I don’t seem to care enough about anything to make it matter. Except maybe Rory and Willow, my cats. They manage to stir some positive emotions in me. Yet for the most part I just feel numb.
You know that congested feeling you get in your head with an upper respiratory infection? Somehow my thoughts seem to be congested as well. I have a near constant urge to shake my head a bit such that the thoughts will sort themselves out. I’m not sure that would work very well, though.
For a couple of days I had enough emotion to at least feel angry. I’m not sure exactly what my anger was directed toward. Perhaps my life, maybe God, maybe everything. I also felt such hopelessness. I knew that if I tried a FET, either it wouldn’t work or I’d miscarry again. If I went to adopt a baby, either I would never be chosen by a birth mother or after giving me the baby, the mother would change her mind and take the baby back from me. No matter what, I wouldn’t ever get to be a parent.
Then I got sick of myself for having these thoughts. I was so tired of being pitiful and pitiable. Friends have started cajoling me about finding my natural optimism in the face of adversity. Optimism? I don’t think that is a word I’m familiar with. I’ve never been an optimist. I’ve always expected the worst and have received it. What I used to be halfway good at was continuing to put one foot in front of the other whenever more shit hit the proverbial fan. But I wouldn’t call that optimism. I know that it’s time to start moving forward again, planning next steps and proving to my friends and myself that I am the ever-resilient Liana, yet though I am past the worst of the sadness, I don’t seem to be able to throw myself back into gear.
I’ve become a one-trick-pony, only able to speak about one subject. On Black-Ivy, a listserver I belong to, there were great discussions about the issue of marriage in the black community, gender roles and what it means to adopt your husband’s name. Normally I would be motivated to blog on such important topics to my heart, but again, there was another game of Spider Mahjongg or Sudoku in the way. Even when I think about riffing on something silly, like how I’ve just discovered Lost (and have started watching from the beginning) or the stupid sweater I’m knitting, or my feeble attempts at getting into shape to run a 5K in a month, my words are blocked and I just play another game of something…killing time. Shoot, this is my first season ever watching American Idol and there are lots of silly things I could say about that, but no. I’m a one-trick-pony.
So now I seem to have shut down on all my emotions. There’s no passion left. I feel like an automaton, just going through the motions of life. There’s nothing to look forward to. Nothing makes me happy. All I want is to be alone.
Oh yeah, that’s another thing. I don’t want to see or talk to anyone. Voice mail has become my best friend. When I have to call someone back, I pray for a recorded message, otherwise I have to pretend to act like a normal person. Actually it isn’t even like acting like a normal person. The problem is that I have to act like a person, period. For in my head I feel less than human. When you’ve lost the ability to feel, your humanity suffers a good deal.
The sunshine is great. The weather, wonderful. My now two kitty sentries are adorable as they enjoy some rare outdoor time. I just wish I could feel something other than nothing.