I feel that I survived Mother’s Day fairly unscathed.

That holiday is a duel-edged dagger.
When it comes to motherhood, I feel an intense guilt and lack of fulfillment as I can never be a biological mother. Cancer and, probably, anorexia stole that from me.

But I also feel shame as I feel that I’m a burden on my mother, and cannot provide Jason a child, or contribute to my family. My sister will not be an aunt and nor my brother be an uncle. My mother won’t be a grandmother — although they would have been caring and loving. The child would have been spoiled rotten – without a doubt – and intelligent, sarcastic, and willful. But also caring, accepting, and independent. The child and Jason would play games in the evenings.

I don’t know how I know this but I just do.

But it doesn’t matter. It’s a universe unseen. A reality untouched. A path untaken.

And I’m okay with that.
Well, no. Not really. But that doesn’t matter. I’ll have to be.

— This is my second week of being out of the Center.
After attending for two months, it’s rather refreshing not to have to go or be hounded by Medicab drivers. For some reason, I became highly apprehensive when some all but demanded my phone number. They already knew where I lived. That was more than enough.

I received an invite to join the RO DBT group. I’m not a big fan of radically open dialectical behavior therapy. I think I’ll pass but I’m not sure if that’s allowed.

If I did, I’d just see it as a way to muck around with the therapist’s head. It would be a challenge to challenge her. Ultimately, I’d probably just upset her, disrupt the group (if there is a group) and be considered too out of control or not vested in my recovery (as it was presumed in the psyche ward).

I honestly don’t know if I want to waste my time and hers.

I can barely stand setting ‘goals’ at Centerstone. Let alone with them.

Maybe I’m getting a bit burnt out on all of this supposed ‘help.’