Freedom

The freedom is making me giddy.

Having to make the decision to stop trying to have a family sucked balls, but there has been this slow, creeping slither of freedom sliding up my limbs and through my blood. It’s nice. Nice to plan a holiday , nice to have sex because you’re horny (or hungover) rather than because you have to, because it’s the right time in your cycle, nice to consider the possibility of adventure. To consider a bigger picture. All without the threatening clouds of doctors and pregnancy and miscarriage and operations governing and spoiling absolutely everything.

But sometimes the freedom feels like it’s blurring my edges, like without the restrictions of dates, drugs and tests and hope and pain and disappointment drawing lines around me, I’m dissolving. That all this possibility is a bit too big, a bit abstract and that I’ve lost some of myself. I guess that’s direction. In the process of having to design a new picture of me, a new future, new goals, I’m a bit foggy, unsubstantial until I can figure out what will draw a new outline, make me solid again. And I wonder how long that will take, and how much of a jelly fish I’ll be by the time this possibility becomes a little more tangible.