Day: June 22, 2012
Status

Ugly Truths

I wish yesterday had never happened.  I wish I hadn’t spent a half hour crying in front of my office building in the middle of the workday.

But it happened, and I did.

I have some things for which I need to apologize, and then some things I feel I need to better explain.

First, I approached a situation in an inappropriate way yesterday, and in doing so, hurt someone I care deeply about.

I’m sorry.  I was out of line.  I could have conveyed my message in a far less inflammatory way, and it wouldn’t have led into the blow-out that it did.

Second, I allowed my feelings about my infertility to take over a situation that had nothing to do with infertility in the first place.

I’m sorry.  I pray every day for the grace to be able to control the way I express my feelings about my lack of fertility, and I often fail.  I know I’m not the only one who fails at some of their attempts, but it never feels good to have to acknowledge that fact.  It feels almost as bad as the devastating effects of infertility…

Third, I word-vomited all over said person about whom I care deeply, thereby making said person feel like I resent their fertility and pregnancy.

I’m sorry.  I do not resent you, your family, your child-to-be, or your ability to create said child.  I do, on the other hand, sometimes feel resentful toward all people who are able to conceive without much trouble.  That is not your fault.  It’s mine.

And this is where the ugly truths come out.

  • Chances are, if you are someone close to me who has become pregnant in the past two years, I have, at one point, felt resentfully toward you.  Not because I feel that you got knocked up to spite me, or to rub it in my face, but because of petty jealousy that I try, and often fail, to control.
  • This is not to say that I will continue to feel this way.  Every person close to me who has become pregnant while the husband and I have been struggling to conceive has created a child (or children) to whom I have become very attached.  I love you, and I love your children.  It’s just that sometimes the overwhelming feeling of “Life’s Not Fair!” comes over me, and while I can usually smile my way through it, sometimes it just comes out all over the place like so much word-vomit.
  • It takes me a while to reconcile my feelings when I find out that someone is pregnant.  The closer you are to me, the harder it is.  It’s not pretty, but that’s apparently how it works.  If I had any way to control that, trust me, I would choose to not feel this way at all!
  • The only cure for my bitterness, jealousy, and feelings of selfishness and guilt are God’s grace, and having my very own child.  I wish I could say that I was capable of working toward being able to stifle my emotions, but the longer I am on this journey, the harder it becomes.
  • Life is not fair.  Nowhere is it written that it is.  I know this, all too well sometimes, but I also know that I am better off than many.  I know that I should not cast stones in a glass house and that everyone in the world has their problems, but sometimes infertility makes me want to throw shit around and break everything in my path.  I’m not proud of it, and I don’t like when I become that person.  I want to be better, and I will try to be.  I will sometimes fail, and I need you to still love me even when I do.
  • I hate that when I get into one of my “break shit” moods, there is often collateral damage.  If it were just material things I can replace, then fine.  Often though, it’s relationships that take a beating when I am not in control of my emotions.  The things I feel are dark, powerful and all-consuming sometimes, but I know that expressing them can often be offensive and hard to swallow for those who have never dealt with something so crippling.
  • I sometimes say things I regret.  Sometimes out of bitterness and jealousy and hormone-induced emotional outbursts, and sometimes because I am Tracy, and I cannot control the litany of expletives that occasionally fly from my lips.  I do not relish these explosive word-vomits, nor do I relish hurting people close to me.  But it happens.  And I’m sorry.  Every. Single.  Time.
  • I am not familiar or comfortable with my emotions in any way.  I am not the type of person who cries at the drop of a hat.  Or ever, typically.  This process, these hormones, and this whole journey are forcing me – kicking and screaming – to face my emotions, and I am doing so clumsily at best.  I’m not a crier.  Except lately, when I am.
  • When I don’t have it in me to cry, I sometimes become withdrawn.  Sometimes I don’t eat.  Sometimes I am nauseous for days.  Sometimes I actually-vomit.  When my emotions don’t come out, they plague me internally.  Sometimes even when they do come out, I still feel guilt for having burdened others.  I’ve felt this way for almost 24 hours now, and I hate it.
  • I truly despise the fact that this process has taken such a toll on me.  The only thing I hate more is the toll it’s taking on those I care about most.  Whether they are the recipients of my word-vomit, the perpetual shoulder upon which I lean, or the dear friend who is forced to witness one of my emotional breakdowns, it doesn’t get any easier.
  • Having friends and family who are supportive is wonderful.  I understand that it can be difficult to be supportive of something you cannot possibly fathom, however, and I appreciate all attempts… despite the way I may act.  I want to make this easier for others to understand, but I can see that in some cases, doing so is only making me feel better, and them feel worse.
  • This is not my intention, and I am working on learning who I should be brutally honest with, and who I should leave out of the messy details.
  • Some people dealing with infertility go to therapy.  Blogging is my therapy.  It works amazingly well for me, but it lacks one of the key components of therapy… Privacy.  Which is kind of the point, right?  I want to share this journey with other Infertiles to make them feel less isolated in their own journeys, and to help the Fertiles understand that there is a constant hurricane of emotions going on inside of every person dealing with this process.
  • Sharing this process helps me, but it may hurt others.  If you are hurt by what I share here, I urge you to either talk to me about it, or stop reading.  I can work to control the way I express myself out loud, but this is my safe zone to say what I am feeling, whether it’s happy and hopeful, or dark and depressing.
  • That being said, I do not ever mean to offend anyone with my words.  That’s the thing… they’re my words.  My feelings.  My journey.  My infertility.  This is the hand I’ve been dealt, and if you are in my life, then sadly, you’ve been dealt it too.  I will try to protect you from the worst of what I feel, but if you ask me, I will be totally, devastatingly honest.
  • I want to be better, and I am trying.  It’s exhausting to express my feelings, and even more exhausting to hide them.  The fact that I have them in the first place makes me want to curl up in bed and not come out for days.
  • A wise man (believe it or not!) once told me that this process is like the worst lottery ever.  Everyone you know enters, and everyone you know wins a million dollars.  Sometimes they win three, four, five million dollars.  You enter the drawing the same way they did, and yet you still cannot win.  You are poor, and your friends are rich.  Sometimes people who don’t even enter the contest land a jackpot.  You want to be happy for them, but it grows more and more difficult.  It’s infuriating and unfair, and all you can do is watch, grow jealous, and continue to enter the drawing month after month with nothing to show for your attempts but an empty bank account and a constant sadness.
  • The worst part is that if this process were really about money, I would be in a much better place emotionally.  This is worse though, because while in real life your friends will rarely win a million dollars, they will probably procreate.  Money can be made over and over again in a lifetime.  It can be spent and gained back, gambled away and earned in earnest.  Fertility is hit or miss.  You have 3 to 5 days per month to conceive, and no more than a 20% chance even then.  Infertiles have far fewer chances, and their lottery entries are made painstakingly carefully every time, and are always met with disappointment on the drawing day.

So that’s the truth.  I’m not proud of it, but there it is.

Raw.  Honest.

Unfortunate, but sadly realistic.

To the person (people) I hurt yesterday, I’m sorry.  I love you.  All three of you.  I hate that what I’m going through has changed our relationship, but I know we still have some elasticity and bounce-back.

None of what I’m doing is happy, and everything you have is amazing and joyous.  I am rejoicing along with you, and trying to reconcile the rest of my feelings at the same time.

It’s all a process.  I’m in the middle of the ride.  The rest is still unwritten.  Life goes on.  Carry on my wayward son.  …Okay, that last one didn’t really work, but… meh.

I hate infertility.  I love my life and everyone in it.

Somewhere there has to be a middle ground.

I’m working on finding it… at least until fertility finds me.

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