My sister is having her baby tomorrow. I can say with sincerity that I am truly happy for her. I am happy that she will have the love of another human being; I am happy that she will be able to experience the gift of life; I am happy that she is having a healthy baby.
My tears are for her happiness. Yet behind them there is pain. I am also jealous, an emotion I feel guilty of, I would like to only feel true happiness for her – making my feelings for her more ‘pure’ somehow, but I cannot avoid the guilt because I cannot ignore the jealousy. As much joy as I know she will feel tomorrow when her little baby is placed in her arms . . .
I am happy that she will be able to experience that joy. I am going to try, diligently, to only feel the warmth of her joy tomorrow.


But for now . . .

Jealousy threatens to take my breath away. I am fighting back the tears because I refuse to let them flow. I refuse to feel their warmth upon my cheek. It may feel better to allow myself to cry, but I will not. I am not worthy of the release that crying may bring. Others would think it silly –tears for something I should have come to grips with, surely by now I should have made an attempt at acceptance – if only they understood the lengths I have gone to in order to make peace with it, even giving up God. At least I no longer question why. I want so badly not to feel. I want to slip into another body or another time, another place . . .

Recently I have found an escape. One I am embarrassed of. I have escaped into the thoughts of a tortured vampire, into a series of books by author Stephenie Meyer. A world so different from my own, a world where the pain of existence has purpose. When I began to read the first of the series I assumed that I would find some kind of solace and companionship with the main character, Bella. I never imagined that I would find myself in the stories monster. I should have known.