[writtenwordsinthedark]

Today I tell my story. Today I do not hide and cry in the privacy of my closet. Today I cry in public and I let the world know.

1 in 4 pregnancies will end in miscarriage.

1 in 50 pregnancies will end in ectopic pregnancy.

I am both the 15% of miscarriages and the 2% of ectopic.

I have lost my left Fallopian tube. Had emergency surgery because my ectopic ruptured and I was bleeding internally.

I have cursed and cried and yelled and punched wondering just how I got the shit luck.

Why my babies didn’t make it.

Why my body was incapable of allowing me to carry a baby and become a mom.

Why my hopes and dreams didn’t matter to the universe.

Today we say #FUCKLOSS.

Today we let the world know that we are not “weak” because we are sad. We are strong because we live every single day with that pain.

Today and every day we will let the women that go through this know that they are not alone. That their feelings matter. And their babies mattered.

Go ahead. Ask me how old my miscarriage would be. Ask me how far along I would be if mine wasn’t an ectopic. Because I know.

[writtenwordsinthedark]

We told our secrets in the dead of the night with only the moon as our guidance. We spoke of our inner demons and our how we believed ourselves to be fucked beyond fixing. Our souls met that night and I hope they never have to say goodbye.

[writtenwordsinthedark]

Growing up my mother told me about the type of man to let inside your heart. The one that tells you your self worth, that lays gentle hands on your body, that speaks about you like you hung the moon and all the stars. The man that gives you an inner peace. But she gave me no advice on what kind of man to let into my soul. So is it any surprise that I let a man leave handprints on my soul instead of my heart.

[astridalen]

“Well to join the club, you have to be turned into a vampire.”

“What?!”

“I’m just kidding.”

“Oh.”

“It’s actually a werewolf pack.”

[writtenwordsinthedark]

"You've survived a great deal of things. But have you lived?"

[writtenwordsinthedark]

The house is the same from her nightmares. The paint is peeling away from the structure, the windows are boarded up with plywood, the yard is still trashed with old car parts and broken glass. She starts to feel the panic crawling up like a monster itching to escape. She knows she should run and never look back but she won’t. On the other side of those doors sits her family. She stands on the sidewalk and let’s herself wonder for the first time in five years. She wonders if her brothers jaw still ticks when he gets angry. If her little sister would even recognize her. If her mother is dancing around the kitchen with a beer bottle in her hand singing along to Stevie Nicks. She wonders where they had buried their father. She wonders if they will welcome her home like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t changed. Her feet start walking towards the door without her permission and she wants to scream. Her right hand gracefully runs across the left inner elbow and for a second she can’t remember why she’s back. Then she lifts her hand and knocks twice on the door and waits.