Photo taken from Google images. For illustration purposes only.
Wipe away the tears. Sit straight. Breathe deeply one more time.
I’ve promised I’ll put it behind me. No more heavy drama on every good news I hear. Damn, these people need to be congratulated, not cried upon! I am sure I am happy for each and every one of them, especially the ones who told me of their good news first among anyone else. I’m touched and honored.
But when the dust of excitement settles and the chats finish, I cry. Is this even normal behavior? I don’t know. I don’t want to know.
My sweet sister in-law is pregnant. She’s reading this so hey, don’t get me wrong I am so happy for you. I’m so so happy for my brother who said he’s really desperate to spread his wonderful DNA. Heh. They’ll be having a beautiful baby (they’re both good looking and I’m not saying this because the father to be is my brother), I can tell. What I’m not happy about is how I feel about myself. Must be part of PCOS thing, oh yeah, depression is one of the ugly monsters that come out of it, the Mayo Clinic says so this must just be one of the episodes.
Lately I have began to think that I have sixth sense – I don’t see dead people but preggies. They are EVERYWHERE – friends I regularly see and those online. Even the stray cats in the building basement are pregnant. Lotsa them.
I feel sorry for myself every single time I see them (the women, not the cats). And I hate that. I don’t hate them, but I hate myself and the unnecessary fucking tears. I even cried when I saw a mom in the train with a girl who’s Pristine’s age and a boy about 3 years old. What’s up with that!
So much with saying I have moved on. Who am I kidding.