I spent the past week in a state of… I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m devastated, yes. I’m also angry. So incredibly angry.
I also just feel.. defeated. I feel empty. Like I was walking down a dark alley carrying everything dear to my heart, and suddenly getting jumped from behind and getting the shit kicked out of me by an unknown enemy, having it all taken from me.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to blog, I didn’t want to read blogs. I didn’t want to eat healthy, or go to the gym. I cried a lot. A lot. I would cry until there was nothing left, and then I would cry again.
I haven’t replied to your comments, both on here and on Facebook. I read them though. Chris reads them. We talk about them. And we appreciate them more than you know. If I replied back with the customary, “Thanks so much! I really appreciate it,” it diminishes the true feelings I really have. I started this blog to educate fertiles and to reach out to infertiles. But I also do it for selfish reasons. I need the support. And to those who have given it, please continue. I need it badly. So even though I am not saying anything back, I truly do appreciate it.
And thanks for sticking in there, for reading the good, as well as the ugly. I know my personal “Dear Diary” in a public light is bound to offend some people. It’s bound to make some uncomfortable. This post is probably one of them.
I’m just so bitter.
Any little thing would set me off this week. I saw a post on Fertilebook of someone complaining about how they can’t be induced for two more days and how crabby they were. I wanted to scream, “You bitch. Do you have any idea how lucky you are???” I know, it’s mean. I’m mean. But I would do anything for mind-numbing heartburn. For a giant belly that keeps me awake at night. For 24-hour-a-day nausea. I would do anything.
My stomach clenches up in knots every time a new mom reminds me how much work a baby is. The whole, “I know you really want a baby, but they are a lot of work, you know. I’m exhausted. Mine was up all night.”
I don’t care. Because I’m exhausted too. And I would gladly, gladly, switched places with you. I can be the sleep-deprived new mommy with her child crying in her arms and you can be the pathetic infertile whose arms are empty.
I’m not being very nice. I know.
But the truth is, I am so tired of people not understanding. Of people who read my damn blog and then still tell me to, “Relax and give it to God,” or tell me, “my time will come.” Of people who ask me if I’m “ok.”
I’ll let you in on a secret. No. I’m not ok. I had my third fucking IUI that didn’t work. I’m not “ok.” Everyone asks me, “Are you ok?” If I don’t trust you, I will smile and reassure you, to put your own self at ease, that yes, I am hanging in there. If I trust you, if you are one of the few in real life, I will burst into tears. Because I’m not ok.
I know the world can’t stop because some of you get pregnant and I don’t. I get it. But people that used to be so supportive, now have their own babies and have stopped talking to us. Maybe they think it’s easier for us. Maybe they don’t know what to say. Infertility is one of the loneliest things someone can go through. Because no matter how much you try and explain, no matter how much someone reads your blog, or tells you they know how you feel, you still wind up feeling alone. Every negative test; every needle poke in your arm, or stomach; every ultrasound… is a reminder of the line that divides you against other women. The women who are so fucking fertile that they can make “April Fool’s” jokes about a fake pregnancy. The women who tell you they support you, and then in the same breath, tell you about how being a mother is life’s greatest gift.
I knew this last IUI probably wouldn’t work. I knew that we would be moving on to something else. I didn’t think it would hurt this bad. Maybe it is the added hormones detoxing from my body. Maybe my heart is just broken.
So please don’t tell me, “I just want you to be ok.”
Please don’t tell me, “There’s always next time.”
Please don’t tell me, “You’re probably just stressed out. You’ll be done with school soon. Maybe your body just needs to be less stressed.”
And now I just feel bitter. I know people are just sick of my constant failure. I understand people are just trying to be nice, but will inevitably say something like, “There is a reason for all of this.” Because why not? You kick the alcoholic when they’re down. Why not me too?
So go ahead. Kick me when I’m down. Right in the uterus. There’s nothing in there you can hurt anyway.