The thing about pregnancy loss, at least for me, is that there is no escaping the mental pain. There is no taking a break from it, because I am the cause and the source of the pain. There is the constant reminder in the cramping, in the drip, drip, drip of blood. After my first two loses I was able to, after a time, dust myself off and focus on continuing the journey towards having another baby. It meant I didn't process those loses properly, but brushing them aside was easier, it was possible. I don't have that this time. This pregnancy was a total chance happening. I have worked so, so hard the past year at accepting that another baby wasn't going to happen, and when I saw that second line on Wednesday afternoon it was like a massive weight was lifted off my shoulders. I was so happy and excited, I swear I floated out of the bathroom I felt so light and free. And then my body failed me. Again. And I hate it. I mean, I really deeply, darkly hate my body. It fucked up my only chance. After the past few days I know that I'm not able to risk going through this again, I can't take the anxiety, I can't go through another loss, I think it would break me. I think I have broken.