I missed the ultrasound appointment. Tomorrow, assuming I can stand to leave the house (which may require Caleb purchasing some disposable earplugs and me finding one of my blindfolds) I need to go back to see the doctor. Find out what to do next. The next ultrasound appointment is available... on the 22nd. Which will be after we leave for Portland.

I'm still in pain. Still spotting. Walking is getting harder now; my back feels like it's on fire in the general area of my kidneys and my tailbone. Vicodin... helps. Sorta.

Not much else to say, really. I'm tired of hurting. Starting to get scared again. It'll be ok. Sooner or later, it's always ok, right? I'll be fine.

Just... old fears. I remember this kind of pain. I remember curling up, hugging myself because my mother wouldn't touch me, didn't want her to after a while so it was ok. Crying. Listening to doctors telling her that I was dying. Like I couldn't hear. Like I wasn't there. Like the moment they wrote me off, I ceased to exist. That's what I feel like lately, with the way things have been going. Like I'm ceasing to exist again. Just shadows, illusions. The doctors won't talk to me. Look through me, like I'm just a ghost.

Scared. It's 4:00 in the morning and I am terrified. I want...

...I don't know what I want. Safety. Reassurance. Comfort. The things I try to give my boys. The things it gets harder to give, when I'm running out, when I get none myself, when I find myself awake and shivering, throat tight, wondering if this is it.

I don't want to die. Not like this, not with the universe deciding when, not with this loss of control, not afraid. If I go, dammit, I want it to be my choice. I want it to mean something. I don't want to just... cease.

Funny. Some nights, I wish I was dead. Some nights, I just want to stay alive. Geez, I feel freakin' emo. *twitch*