Ugly Me.

I try to hold on to hope.
I always have.
Even that night.
Six Septembers ago.
I talked about how blessed we were.
The peace I felt.

And it was all true.

But that is not the whole story.
There was an ugly me.
Gripped by the pain of what had just happened.
Gripped by the horrific thought that my baby was dead.
Dead in the next room.
And I couldn't bear to see him again.
Not that way.
There was no peace in that.

All true.

And I hear of people who are pregnant.
Pregnant after years of trying.
Pregnant with multiples.
And I am so happy for them.

All true.

And still- almost seven years later-
I feel it creep upon me.
The jealousy.
Why do they live?
or more importantly...
Why didn't he?

All true.

Jealousy rears its ugly head.
And normally I keep it at bay.
Normally.

In those early years I would write in my journal.
The ugly me.
So raw.
So real.
I would write through the pain-
Tear-stained face-
clenched teeth-
Tight hands.
The ugly me.

I worked through it and learned more and more about her.
When she would come.
And sometimes I welcomed her.
And needed her.

But every time- When I felt she would swallow me up-
my words would pour out upon wet pages
and the waves would subside.
And that peace I felt.
That peace I felt in that room- six Septembers ago-
Would return.
I'd return.

I know that my reality is this.
This is my reality.
My Peace.
My Jealously.
My Ugly.
My Me.

All of it.
Comes and goes-
Ebbs and flows-
Down again.

Jealous?
Yes.
The Ugly me.