Creator of life, take it away; I should be relieved but I’m just in denial. Baby, mine is not mine anymore. Never yours to hold. I held it until I had to bury it. How do I bury this? I chose not to tell you of the existence from the start of growth, but I had good reason for it.
Your indifference before you walked out was all I needed to know. Don’t give this man a life-changing revelation – he will only resent you for it. You resented me anyway. You were distinctly un-you for weeks or months or maybe longer, and it was getting harder to reach inside your head. It was getting harder to make you smile. Your touch was hesitant. You got quiet. Tired. Distant. But I reasoned with myself that I knew us – I knew your rationality and kind spirit – and nothing was going to break that. I asked unavoidable questions I thought I knew the answers to; received nothing but reassurance that we were okay. Everything was okay. You were just overworked, working hard for a planned-out future we both agreed upon. I believed you, too (I guess we’re both liars now).
Suppress it, pretend it doesn’t exist.
It was space you were after and it could not have come at a worse time. I panicked. I started to see that I was your problem all along. You didn’t want to fix this anymore, said it’s beyond repair while I was breaking apart and you had no idea – you never said anything at all. I got angry. Tore up memories and begged for clarity you would not provide. I screamed in solitude and I wanted you to hurt like I did…I stooped so low because I was so low. I needed you to know that actions have consequences and if God wasn’t going to provide them, then I would. Stupid girl. There was no point in trying to be like the universe, but I was searching for a point to anything at all. A reason to believe that I’m not just getting toyed with. The universe has me on a string and I can’t move without it, but I never expected you to do the same.
Here’s what was happening from my end: fear. Total, complete, irrational fear because there was life blooming inside me and I was not ready for it. I was not ready to be alone with another human. To be responsible in loneliness.
The more distant you became, the more I denied the sickness. The waking up each morning re-learning how to pretend for the day. The knowing of truth, but rationalizing it away. Impossible, I thought. I thought and thought until I convinced myself that I was crazy. Until I went crazy. I lost myself in this losing process just like you did. I guess we can at least relate in that way.
For someone who loves the start of new life and would have loved the one that came from such heartache, I met fragility with recklessness. My fear became their undoing. Have a few more drinks, ride every roller coaster you can possibly get on and ride them all again, take those pills, don’t think about the consequences, he said you’re always so concerned with consequences, not this time. Because consequences stopped seeming to exist anymore, at least for you…so why not give it a try myself? The concept of consequence meant nothing and I was determined to be as much of a nothing as I felt. Hollow out my stomach to match the hollowed out heart.
I am so sorry.
I told you I’m sorry more than anything else because that’s all I can manage to feel. The lifelessness in us, in my hands, is my fault and I’m sorry. Did you believe me? Is that why we don’t talk anymore?
You left, and two weeks later (right down to the day), I was forced to remember that I don’t get to pick and choose my consequences. My bloody hands and aching pit of a stomach are always my own cross to bear. I’m trying to bear it, but it’s been easier to pretend that nothing ever happens in the first place. I’ve gotten so good at pretending in these past few months, haven’t I? I told one soul that isn’t you and they reassure me that I did nothing wrong, I need to feel everything as it comes, but how does one heart deal with two losses? How does one person handle this much hurt? I can be broken up by a break up, that makes some semblance of sense to me, but this part just doesn’t click. This part is so far from reality that I’m not sure I can ever hurt in the ways that are asked of me. My emptiness makes me numb, and it’s like a sigh of relief. Finally, I don’t have to cry.
But it isn’t a relief at all. I would have rather held life in my hands than a motionless corpse so small. A promise of what almost was. What we created and destroyed in one swift motion. We’re monsters. Horrible, sick, and too human for our own good. Immature in the worst ways. We’re a wreck and I didn’t even know it until I was too late.
After the longest silence I could muster, I thought you ought to know about the pain. Even if I didn’t want you to have the right to this kind of knowledge, you did, and I had to honor that. I suffered alone at both of our expenses, but it was time for honesty…this is the most dishonest I’ve ever had to be, and that isn’t me. It isn’t you either. Still, I don’t regret my silence; I hate how I must have come across without knowing this part, but you were going to walk away no matter what was inside me. A heartbeat or an empty shell, it made no difference.
Your response should have been shocking. It should have shaken me. It should have torn me down, but I barely exist enough to be torn down. I can’t get any lower. I can’t do anything but sit here and hope to God I can take the place of the unborn. As I heard your words, I felt the emptiness in my chest grow and the realization that I am unworthy only became stronger.
Stop wallowing, Isabelle. Shut the fuck up, Isabelle. I can’t be there to support you, Isabelle.
Oh my God, I’ve never felt so alone.
While I was wondering if my life would turn into every stereotype I never expected it to become, you got an out. You got to leave and live like life still has a purpose, because for you it does. And you’re still getting so much that I never can, because now I don’t even get to be the stereotype. I never got a choice. A say in all of this. I’ve been silenced, and this time it was not my own undoing that caused it. I can’t leave my house anymore because the outside world is still moving and you’re still moving and I don’t want to pretend to be moving.
You couldn’t have known of the trail we were about to embark on, because I didn’t tell you it was upcoming. If you, Max, had been there from the start then I wouldn’t have been too afraid to say anything in the first place, but maybe I should have said it anyway. I knew you would get upset, resent me, leave me if it was really true. Scratch that, I never thought you would leave me, but you did anyway. You did the impossible while the impossible happened inside my stomach. I wish, at least, you believed in me.
I wanted to call it (or him, or her – I never have the right words) ours. Some crazy part of me expected that this would knock you back into your senses and see that I had my reasons to be hurt too. I had my reasons to push you. I was scared. Unsure of tomorrow and wanting to run away just as badly as you did…you got to run, while I lied on a cold tile floor at two in the morning clutching the life we almost cultivated together. Every trace of us truly forever gone in an instant.
Stop wallowing. Shut the fuck up. No one can be here to support you. He isn’t showing up to fix anything. I just want something fixed. I don’t want to be this bad.
Excess loss changes nothing. You can’t love a broken thing, and this is what broke me – not you. I’m sorry if I can’t continue pretending that my life has meaning. I’m sorry if I can’t look at tomorrow like a chance; it looks like a mountain and I’m being told to sit at the bottom until I freeze to death. I wish I would.
I said I expected nothing from you, not exactly because that’s true but because hope is not in my vocabulary nowadays. That is why I promised I wanted nothing in return for the heart breaking story I’m still convinced is just a story. Can this all be a story? When will I wake up? This does not make sense. I know you’re even more convinced of the false sense of falsehood at the idea of fatherhood. You didn’t have to feel life form and then watch it slip away, and that shows.
In reality, I know I always expected more than I got, and I felt sorry about that until the moment when you should have stepped up, been a man, and done exactly what I hoped for. One time – this one time – you should have put your own fear aside to reason with me. I needed a lifeline, but you can’t face the accountability that I have been forced to choke down, so I continue choking while you go get drunk with your friends who will never understand.
I’m sorry you don’t feel like you played a part in all this. I’m sorry that I can’t deal with myself anymore. I’m sorry that I asked God to take my life before I do, because I want to be as far gone as I feel but I don’t want to prove you right. I can’t handle it after all. I’m sorry that I cannot be stronger right now, or the exact woman you wanted me to be. The person you decided I can’t be – don’t get to be. I’m sorry you’re just not “feeling it” anymore, but I can’t feel anything. I tried all I could until it all was taken from me. I would still try to get it back, if you wanted me to. If you wanted me…pathetic thoughts make you look desperate, Isabelle. I am desperate, for meaning. For someone I used to understand. For anything left in me to offer. You took me away. God did. I did. I don’t know, but who’s fault it is doesn’t matter because everything is gone.
So it isn’t yours. It isn’t ours. You won’t try to lay claim to this life – I know – but if you ever do, then I have to say no. This lifeless being is not yours after you made it clear you washed your hands of us. You never had blood on your hands, not like I did. There is no us now. Three of us, almost. I wish there was at least the two of us, but wishing is like hoping and both are too dangerous for my liking. I wanted a little empathy, but we rarely get what we want out of life…except you did. You’re getting it now. Life can be so cruel in the way it gives life to some and not to others. An unfair balance in our ecosystem. Continue to move on and keep your distance while I continue to pray about what we caused. How I’m supposed to pay retribution, or if I should sit and wait for God to take me out of this game. If that’s how this story must end, so be it.
I’ve already done so much damage. I’ve already taken too much.
Hey there, author here. I know this is a little more intense than my normal writing and it is not exactly a poem, but I’m writing a new book about the fragility of life and relationships and everything of that nature. So this is a little sneak peak of that. I think it sums the book up pretty well, and is a good look into what the rest of it is going to be like. Not every part of it will be this heavy, of course, but you get the idea. It’s been a tough one to write, because it’s very emotionally draining to write about such difficult topics. But I think it’s all important to say, and I hope it will resonate with someone. Loss is all too familiar for too many people, and this book will compound it into one story.