Raw

I was talking to a friend that battled infertility for years, and she said it was hard to talk about because it was so raw. That is the perfect word to describe this. Raw. And vulnerable. And shitty. And lonely. I don't like to tell anyone in my real life how I feel, because I don't want to be judged. I hate being in my own head, let alone letting anyone else in ... I am miserable, yet I am fine. I function. I go to work. I clean the house, I do the laundry, shop for groceries. But at the same time, I am just broken. Inside, I am broken. And outside, I go through the motions. My daughter died nine months ago and it still hurts like a stab in the chest.