#writtenbygen

[writtenbygen]

For my son: who I held in my womb for his whole life, and will hold in my heart for the rest of mine.

I carried my son for 6 days.

We had 6 days of pure, innocent bliss. 6 days where I could refer to myself as “pregnant.” 6 days where I could put my hand over my stomach and fill with love knowing my baby boy was growing in there. 6 days where my husband would kiss me and my stomach goodnight. 6 days where we were so beyond our wildest dreams happy–our hearts were so full, and we had everything we had ever wanted.

My doctor told me that if the pregnancy didn’t end itself, we would have to terminate it so it doesn’t kill me. My gut reaction was: “that’s ok, but can we just save him?” I didn’t say it because of course, I knew that wasn’t possible. But it just goes to show that even only after 6 days, my brain had been completely rewired to love my son more than life itself, and to be fully ready and willing to give my life for him if I could.

But I couldn’t. There was nothing I could do to save him. And there is truly no worse feeling in the world than not being able to protect your child. I didn’t know how to move on, and if I even wanted to. I couldn’t believe this was my life. Why was this happening to us? What did we do to deserve this?

Meanwhile, it was gut-wrenching to watch my husband grieving. He wanted to keep the first positive pregnancy test because he wants to remember the joy that our son brought us even if only for a short while. I put it in his nightstand and told him I never wanted to see it again. I feel like I just need to wipe the memory of him, of what he could have been, at least for now. I guess everyone copes differently.

It’s been a dark time realizing that my life isn’t going to turn out the way I imagined. My birthday is coming up, and I was sure I’d be a mom by this one. I never imagined I wouldn’t be even pregnant yet. I certainly never imagined I’d be 1 in 6 to struggle with infertility and 1 in 4 to miscarry. But I’m working on the things I can control and making positive changes where I can. I have no control over where our journey goes but I do have control over how I react to it.

I’m overwhelmed with confusion, frustration, and grief. And for now, I’ve decided that’s ok. It’s ok to feel sad and to grieve what could have been and to wonder “why me?” and be filled with hurt and resentment.

But I’m also grateful that this doesn’t have to be the end of our journey. It is just another bump in what is turning into a longer road than we ever thought we’d have to go down.

As hard as it is to keep moving forward, we will keep moving forward. We have been beaten down, but not defeated. We will get up and we will keep fighting. This will be the end of a chapter, but not the end of our story.

-Excerpt from a book I may write someday

-September 2020

[writtenbygen]

–at long last, I finally wrote something new

-April 2018

[writtenbygen]

writer’s nook

embrace the quiet clicking of serene everlasting perplexities, bemused by an eloquent artifice in some book with yellowed pages, easily tear drops falling, ruminate in solitude, overcast– but not for too long a time, take this in stride, ceaseless contemplation manifests, leaves everything incomplete

writtenbygen

-October 2017

[writtenbygen]

​Self-portrait as a writer You are drowning– You are always drowning. The sky fills with darkness–it protrudes through your skull– it is more of an entity than you are. But you can’t quit– If you quit, you become a quitter and you are a lot of things but you are no quitter. You think that maybe if you remembered how to forget, you might be able to erase the aspects of yourself that you don’t want to immortalize– For a moment, you wish you were worthy of a second draft. But instead you have become the leaves on the ground the ticking clock the sand at the bottom of the ocean. There is beauty in darkness you are told– but all you see is nothing. You can’t quit– you are no quitter But it seems as if you are perpetually either drowning, or about to drown. You are treading water– You are always treading water until you stop. You are pulled down deeper and your mouth fills with saltwater Y o u c a n ’ t b r e a t h e for just a moment, and then suddenly before all goes still, you remember how to float.

-September-December 2017 writtenbygen

(Wrote this in September. Professor said it was too dark LOL. Here’s a new version. A little more hope this time.)

[writtenbygen]

Before and after I forgot what it was like to remember every detail about a person without even trying to, like the way their hair was parted that day, the precise dilation of their pupils, and the exact outfit they wore I forgot how to look at the stars–and not just look at them, I mean really look at them I forgot that “love” wasn’t a synonym for “anxiety” I forgot that trust wasn’t just a prerequisite for betrayal, and on that night I forgot that there was a world outside the three paneled windows that lined the wall of your living room I forgot the full moon, and how my mother used to tell me not to trust anything anyone said under a full moon I forgot that you had left before, and that you could again, and that you would when given the chance. But today I forgot all about that. I forgot how I had idealized you and I forgot how I had demonized you I forgot how much I loved you and I forgot how much I hated you. And most importantly, when you left, I forgot what you were wearing.

-December 2017 writtenbygen

[writtenbygen]

-September 2017

writtenbygen

(this is just an edit of what I posted the other day but ok)

Creative writing prompt: Write a poem titled “Why I Write” that uses (1) a word used to describe the place you lived when you were 8 years old (2) a word used to describe the place you live now (3) the word “verisimilar” (or a variation)

[writtenbygen]

-September 2017

writtenbygen

[writtenbygen]

-October 2017