Thoughts Of A Cyborg Mom

I stepped onto a particular train on April Fool’s Day, 2018 and I haven’t been able to get off of it.

I think the train is a good metaphor for a lot of things in my life right now. I feel like I’ve been hit by a train physically, mentally, emotionally. While my memory is not blacked out, I have a hard time connecting myself to anything before my labor and delivery. My pregnancy is more fuzzy to me with each passing day. Was I ever pregnant? They put me to sleep when they cut me open and one small, forced span of dreamless sleep divided the before and the after. Everything changed. Nothing was ever the same. A baby placed in my arms as I struggled to bring my emotions forth.

I’m still struggling. I am so disassociated that my thoughts and emotions feel like clothes that no longer fit, much like half of my closet right now. My body has changed and foreign hands reached inside my cut-open body. My purity shattered. I feel like a synthetic woman, sewn back together and dumped after only 48 hours. What was taken from me? What was ever there?

She lays beside me asleep and for another wistful night I attempt to put down words which might encapsulate my own thoughts.

Life was so different only one year ago. I jumped on an unexpected train with no brakes or conductor. I feel like I’ll never be able to jump off.

I look at my hands and they are strangers to me now. My face is sad and indifferent as I try to relate to the images in the mirror. My circuits are fried.

I feel panic and a tightened chest at the sound of a baby cry.

3 thoughts on “Thoughts Of A Cyborg Mom

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s