I’m so not there yet.

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with a surgeon.

This was supposed to be a post about triumph over fear and regaining hope.

But I’m not there.

I keep hoping I’ll get there. But it’s not happening – not yet. I’m so angry and sad about my situation, and I can’t get past it to get better.

All of it. The pain, the fear, the lack of hope and faith. Having to pee so frequently that I don’t even want to watch a movie or go to parties or go to the store. Waking up a zillion times every single night because I can’t go more than an hour without peeing. I need to pee immediately, as soon as the urge hits, or it starts to hurt really badly – and sometimes, it hurts even then. If I cough or sneeze, it hurts – and makes me feel like my uterus is going to be forcibly ejected, and makes me immediately need to rush to the bathroom to pee. Even if I just fucking did, five minutes ago.

And that’s in addition to the constant hormonal wackiness, the mood swings, and the mild-to-hardcore cramping. And the random cravings for meat and other weird foods, and the raw hunger if I don’t eat every few hours – and not being able to eat even half of what I used to at a time, but still not losing any weight. And being tired all the time, and needing lots of extra sleep. And having little energy for anything.

Emotionally, I’m all over the place. I managed to isolate myself from my friends, because half of them are pregnant and it breaks my heart to hear them talk about baby stuff all the time – and I know I’m a total drag to be around because half the time I’m depressed and the other half I’m stressed. Or in the bathroom.

And then there’s the spiritual side. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with my broken heart and disconnected spirituality for months now. I want to trust, I want to fall – I want to say, “Here I am! I can’t do this anymore! Help!” I want to surrender.

As I said to Mark Silver, I feel like a tiny wooden boat, lost at sea on a stormy night, and the waves are beating me and tossing me about – and I know the answer. I know I need to sink the boat, and let the waves take me, and immerse myself in the great sea.

But I’m so incredibly fucking terrified.

I’ve been there before, when I was raped by my then-partner and wound up pregnant. I felt that the baby was Spirit’s way of saying, “I’m so sorry for your pain. Here is some hope. Have faith.” I even named her Faith.

And then I miscarried. And I spent months – over a year, in fact – in this same dark place of hopelessness and faithlessness and despair. The night I was losing the baby, I laid on the floor of our sanctuary – our holiest of holy places in our home – and begged Spirit not to take her, to no avail. But then, over years of work and finding the Reclaiming community in Chicago, becoming a core member/leader there, and years of self-work, I found my faith again. It’s never been the same, though, to be honest. There’s always been this sense of… “I wish I was more spiritual… but ((insert various reasons here)).”

And now this.

Now, I find myself frantic and desperate for a spiritual connection, to know that there is love and not just an endless series of horrible things that will break me until I fall completely apart… and at the same time, I’m filled with fear just at the thought of reaching out again. Or drilling the hole, as it were.

I don’t even know where to begin to get better.

Maybe tomorrow, maybe making progress toward healing the physical will help the rest of it fall into place. Maybe all I need is time.

I don’t know.

Tagged as: prolapse

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Have you read the Connection Manifesto? It tells the story of why there is so much hurt and sadness in the world, and how we can heal through connection.