I can feel rock bottom slipping away from me.

Do you *really* understand how bad it can be? Yes or no.

I can run through in my head a quick scan of my regular readers. About half of you understand. I cant decide if that makes the feeling more or less valid.

John and I fought tonight. It wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t his, and it doesn’t mean we don’t support or love each other. We are grieving differently. We don’t see eye to eye on certain things. How is it that the other parent grieving the same little girl doesn’t see things the same way I do? I cant fathom it, and yet it’s the truth.

He’s sleeping next to me. About 3 feet away on the other side of our king sized bed. Facing the other way. I want to poke him, wake him up, reiterate the point I tried to make earlier that caused the fight: the hardest thing for me right now, the most difficult to accept and the thing I think of most. And he doesn’t see it the way I do.

Help is on the way. In less than 12 hours, I am meeting with a nurse to begin the process of an intensive program of therapy.

I need to open my heart a little before this happens. I’m closed off to a few things, I can admit that. Im closed off to someone telling me that it’s going to be ok. No. It’s not going to be ok. Don’t fucking tell me that my infant daughter’s death is ok. I don’t really understand how I could be having the reaction any different to the one I’m having. I’m completely thrown. Devastated. Wouldn’t you be? How am I SUPPOSED to react?? I want every single person in the world to line up and to think of the WORST POSSIBLE thing that could happen to them. I have written countless times about how I’ve wanted a baby my entire life, how I prefer the company of persons under age 1 to any other person. Line me up, and the worst possible thing I could list would be for my baby to die. And it happened. That’s not ok. It will never be ok. I hope they have something to offer me other than telling me it’s going to be ok.

I hope that during this therapy, I will cry and scream and slam my fist against things like I did tonight towards my husband. He cant handle it. Well, I mean, he *did* handle it, because he didn’t have a choice. But he shouldn’t have to handle it. He’s hurting too. The fact is though, that I’m hurting worse, and he’s helplessly watching the whole process. It’s time for someone who’s *not* grieving Kathlyn to take some of the brunt of it. Even someone different from all of you, because in some form or another, you’re all grieving her too.

It feels natural to cry and scream and slam my fists against things. The rest of the time, I’m just suppressing the urge to do so. My purpose in life right now is to grieve my daughter. It’s very painful, but there’s nothing else for me to do. I shouldn’t be expected to do anything else.

Whether it’s my purpose or not though, something has to change. I can’t live like this. I’m fighting and fighting with everything I have but I’m tiring out. I’m holding on by merely a thread. I can’t miss any more work. I can’t spend any more weekends in the emergency room. I can’t slam my fists against my husband’s shoulder while he sleeps. I can’t slip down any farther past rock bottom.