I have come to accept the fact that I will never completely be cured from my anxiety and depression, or be able to settle my self conscious mind. I have began to accept that I cannot play God, I can’t save people who do not want to be saved and I can’t put other people’s problems and needs before my own. I have accepted and made peace with my dads passing, my grandmas passing and the fact that my home no longer feels like home, but rather a giant reminder of pain and loss. 

But there’s one thing I cannot accept. That my ability to carry and have my own children is compromised by evil little sacs that contain the beginning stage of my unborn. 

Tiny, and not so tiny, cysts fill and crowd my ovaries and my endometrial walls. Holding hostage my only dream. 

I have longed to be a mom since the day I began playing with dolls. I loved all babies, minus my shit head cousin, and enjoyed interacting with them throughout my entire life. When I became sexually active at 14 I dreamed about our baby, how proud I would of been to be a mom; yes proud at 14. I prayed and hoped that I would fall pregnant and have someone that I could teach all the things my mom taught me. I know how far fetched and unimaginably stupid that sounds & I had so many things to look forward to at 14 but a baby was my biggest dream. While it was never confirmed, I believe that for a while a little baby lived within the walls of my womb. I remember the intense pain and nausea, I remember the heavier then usual “period” that soaked through every tampon and pad I tried to use and the “clots” that stained. At the time, young and stupid, I had no idea what a miscarriage really was but I knew something wasn’t normal. I was experiencing stress that was nothing like I ever imagined, my boyfriend coming out, my grandma dying and my dad getting sick controlled my only thoughts and I assumed the unusual period was because of that. I know that God has plans for us that we cannot understand, and maybe he knew the confusion my baby would go through, or the father B wouldn’t be and decided to take my baby back home. Whatever the reason, I know he is safe in the arms of the Angels and that God is telling him all about how much I loved him then and how I think about who he could of been everyday. 

He is my only angel baby, my body gave up after him I’m sure. I began to have my period less and less and finally last year I talked to my doctor about it. Being thrown into an unstoppable tornado of emotions and prescriptions and doctors and blood being taken and ultrasounds my biggest fear came true. “You have PCOS” she said, “Re-test your levels in 3 months” was the only answer I recieved. No medication or ways to get rid of it, just a print out of what PCOS was. I had no answers, no reassurance that I could still have children, just a diagnosis. 

While I am not sexually active at the moment my heart still breaks thinking that my only dream will never come true and that’s something I cannot begin to accept 


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