It is nearly seven months since we saw the profile of a young boy we knew would be our son.
It is almost four months since we were matched to him.
It is a further three months since we thought he would be placed with us.
And still we don’t know when it will happen. Now we are starting to wonder if it ever will.

I am unravelling.

My mind and body are no longer as one and I am losing confidence in both.

Time is slipping away from me. I no longer know the day, month, year.

Each day stretches out like a swamp before me, that I must wade through to reach peace and safety. But the other side is not in sight and feels further and further away.

I feel sick and tired. I am sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.

My physical and mental health are strained. Only my wife and our shared resilience keep me sane. Oh, and the tablets the doctor prescribed. I’m punishing my body for my lack of control; a vicious circle I thought I’d ended for good.

Sleep evades me. I am up for 20 hours each day, but I am not awake. Deep sleep is something I can only dream of, alongside clarity, consensus, and control.

Work has become too much for me. Lacking the alertness I need to deal with people, I don’t trust myself not to say or do something I cannot come back from.

I know with a surety I have never possessed before that I can and will be good enough for our son. If we are ever given the chance.

Occasionally, we are temporarily boosted by snippets of good fortune, promises of news. But they don’t materialise. Our hopes are raised than dashed. It now feels like cruelty rather than mere incompetence.

I am losing faith. In everything and everyone. And that scares me.

Edit (July 2018): Six months on, I have reread this post and I cringe a little. It is melodramatic and jam-packed with the same angst that filled my teenage diaries. But it is still valid. That is how I felt at the time; overwhelmed in the same way that I did in my younger years. The difference now is that I know how to deal with such situations and who to ask to help me deal with such situations. For which I will be eternally grateful. Little Chick has been placed with us for about five months now and the waiting, the frustration, and the anger is (mostly) forgotten. In fact, I have surprised myself by not unravelling since Little Chick has lived with us. I have been stronger than I expected and better than I hoped. Long may it last.

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