Dear body,

I know it’s not your fault, what happened this weekend. Not entirely, anyway. But still. It’s hard for me. It’s hard not to be angry with you. It’s hard not to feel betrayed. It’s hard not to rage against you for getting rid of what I so desperately wanted.

I’m sure, in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, it’s for the best. There was probably something wrong with it from conception. A chromosome anomaly that would have made life difficult, if not impossible, for a child. An infant.  I know I’ll have other chances, and that odds are I’ll have healthy, happy children sometime in the future.

But right now? I don’t give a shit about any of that. I need someone, something, to blame, and it’s going to be you. And I’m not going to be sorry for that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to give you time to heal. I’m going to pamper you. But I need you to know, that deep down inside, I sort of hate you right now. One of your most primal duties, so to speak, is to protect and nurture the life that grows inside of you. And you failed.

I want to ask if I did something wrong, but I only want to know if the answer is “no.” I took the vitamins, even though they made me heave until, I swear to God, my liver was about to just up and walk out. I cut out all alcohol and caffeine, and you KNOW how hard that was for me (mostly on the coffee front).

I can’t help but wonder if this was some sort of revenge. I treated you horribly for years. I starved you, I cut you, I tried to kill you. I’ve been trying to make up for it, but maybe there was too much resentment built up. I dunno.

None of it matters, really. And this letter is incredibly melodramatic and “oh mah gawd no one understands my pain,” even though there are far too many women who DO understand this pain. And despite of what I just said, through my rage and anger, I do know that you did what you could, and you were just protecting me and that little, tiny life. Thanks for letting me blame you anyway.

When this is all over I’ll treat you to some double margaritas. On me.