I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but so much is. I don’t know who I am anymore. I know it’s not okay for my husband to hit me, but there must be something wrong with me that I can provoke so much rage. He’s well liked, he has plenty of friends. It must be me. I feel worthless, like my life has no point. I’d never kill myself, but sometimes I wish I were dead. I’m weak. I don’t fight back anymore. I miss my friends, and my family. We don’t speak anymore. I must have alienated them all, and he used to get jealous anyway. But I still miss them.
Last week I had a miscarriage. And I was relieved. So, so relieved. Because this is no way, no place for a child to live. And I’m not strong enough to raise one. Not anymore. And yet, I still feel broken, like I lost something, and now I just feel empty.