I will regard my chest and see a dressmaker’s doll, with stitches I don’t care for and contours I don’t recognise.

I will second guess, odds assess, and throw the book.

I will lie on my back and have saline injected into me via a terrifying syringe. I will grip the nurse’s hand and fill my ears with tears. It’s because it doesn’t hurt, that it hurts.

I will regularly reach into my bag of fucks to give, and find it entirely empty.

I will look for strength in vulnerability and sometimes I’ll find it. More typically, I’ll find more vulnerability.

I will dig deep physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.

I will see my flexibility unravel, my biceps unsculpt. My toes can’t be touched and I can’t raise my arms.

I will spiral down from optimist to cynic, I will cheerlead and sneer.

I will feel bored and dismayed by the amount of real estate you occupy in my head.

I will make some people advance and others retreat. Some surprise hug me, others cross the street.

I will write and cry, write and cry.

I will survey mental rubble and face a mammoth rebuild effort.

I can do it all, and see a way out of it ALL. But I am broken forever and completely and surely beyond repair by this fact: every time I see my daughters’ tiny naked bodies, I will wonder.

3 Comments on Because of you

  1. Oh God Sam, I have had the same thoughts for my girl. Sometimes for that reason I have been happy I got 2 boys. I know thats screwed up but thats what I have thought sometimes.

  2. I want to hit ‘like’ to let you know I’m here, but it seems highly inappropriate, there is nothing remotely likable about this beast.

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