Baby PTSD and depression

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Today I have to attend my stepsister’s baby shower.

The one living in the house I was kicked out of for becoming pregnant. The one getting every bit of assistance, gifts, and advice because she isn’t having the father step forward. Not that I’m saying mothers can’t do it “alone”. Just that I got treated like a plague despite having a supportive partner and a plan of action. Not enough for the Daughter of My Father though.

Perhaps she gets more because I’ve always gotten less and should know better.

They keep saying “another accident” but the way this one is being handled breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.

This morning I sobbed four times while wrapping the gifts. I was able to part with two generic Carter’s outfits from the box I bury in my closet (and take out regularly anyway- just so I don’t forget her). Nothing personalized and definitely nothing handmade goes into the gift bag.

They’re mine. Not for others.

This pain is still some of the rawest feelings I’ve ever experienced.

Other guests just keep saying I look tired. Okay. Sure.

Two Ativan and a couple Zoloft with ephedrine probably does make me look tired.

Bone tired of this subject.

If I could get out of this party I would.

I would probably remove a pinky or toe.

No. More. Babies.

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