cagejam (cagejam) wrote,
cagejam
cagejam





I am sitting outside. The day is warm but damp and wet too. My dreams have been deranged lately, when I’m even able to sleep. Time is passing. In just a couple more weeks there will be a baby in my arms. Knowing that I have to leave them in the hospital breaks my heart and crushes my soul. At least a week- up to a month. I plan on getting a hotel room if they don’t allow me to set up camp wherever the baby goes. Time will tell, all plans are subject to change. Having to go to the methadone clinic will be a challenge in itself, living an hour away from my hospital. All of the typical nerves plus a lot of bonus ones. No doctors can give me comfort or security. But the baby is the right size and in the proper position so I am holding onto faith unless proven otherwise. I am so ready to meet you.

I don’t feel particularly beautiful lately. Nor particularly ugly. Side effects or something similar. The doubt creeps in and I do my best to offer it comfort. The unfortunate consideration that I may have to do it all alone regardless of promises made. Regardless of good days. Regardless of progress. I had high hopes and comfort once. Chiseled away. I have been left out in the cold enough times to remember to bring a jacket (no matter what the weatherman says.)

I make sure to say what I mean. To speak the truth. Fallacy is exhausting and not for me. However, this dedication has led me down a path that helped me forget how inconsequential words truly are. The meaning and lack of. The truth is subjective at best and absent at worst. Some vibrating vocal chords or sweet-seeming text messages offer me no comfort these days. “I am a fish.” It’s that easy. One can say anything they want to. Sometimes trust is naive. Does my acceptance come from his rejection? “Of course not.” I do wish I felt more beautiful and desirable. I wish my confidence weren’t shaken. She wasn’t beautiful or unique. Blonde, American Eagle, soccer player. She’d just graduated high school. I’d probably be more comfortable if sex had been involved, rather than just foolin’ around and cuddles and sweet words that I needed to hear. I don’t dwell on it but it has just been a week. Denying my emotions isn’t the answer, even if I know nothing else for sure. If there were someone else I wanted to fuck or touch or even talk to? I don’t know. I can hate the situation and enjoy the effect it has had on me. Everyone at work knows. He’d been telling them about his feelings for her. It adds to my paranoia- knowing of their knowledge.

I have so much to feel excited for regardless. There are worse things than doing it alone. I am sitting calmly in my discomfort now. In my uncertainty. I refuse to allow my identity to shift for the sake of temporary approval. I’ve never wanted to get to know myself more. This is where my focus remains most of the day. On my baby. On myself. But writing about it heals me and so I do that too. I can’t make you want to know me, but I can get to know myself. Amaze myself. Realize my heights and depths and enjoy the view. Find comfort in knowing that I would never do this to you.
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