I can’t sleep. I know that it’s mostly because of the migraine medicine I took several hours ago (which has tons of caffeine in it) but it’s also because I have so many jumbled thoughts scrambling around in my mind.
I feel like people must be tired of listening to me by now. I’m even kind of tired of listening to me at this point. I feel like I talk about it less and less, because I’ve already said it all, again and again, and it’s so old and tiresome.
Even though we’ve been trying unsuccessfully for nearly 4 years to have a child, for a long time I didn’t consider myself “infertile.” All my tests checked out fine and the only issue appeared to be with some less-than-perfect sperm. I honestly thought it would be a mater of time and a few rounds of fairly minor and not very invasive fertility treatments. I couldn’t totally relate to people who called themselves Infertiles, even though I could totally relate to what they were going through for the most part.
But now I feel that I’m really in that category and I feel that I must have some “blame” in this, even though blame really isn’t the right word.
I feel broken and I feel defective and I feel like I’m somehow not as good as other women. I know, rationally, that this is ridiculous, but I still feel this way. I can write about this inner strength that I had never realized I had, but I feel that I don’t measure up to the people who can accomplish this basic, simple human function. I feel like they matter more than me.
I know this is stupid but these feelings creep in and poke my heart and tell me there is something majorly wrong with me.
Other people have no way of understanding this. They’ll tell me that I’m wrong, and I’ll tell them that that’s true, because I know that. But I can’t help feeling like this.
We used to see a baby at the end of this long, dark tunnel. We used to have dreams and make plans. We talked about nursery plans and diapers and what it would be like. We even bought stuff. Cute baby stuff. It used to give me hope and happy thoughts. Now it just sits in closets and mocks me. Now we see surgeries and needles and doctors and operating rooms. We can dream about a positive blood test, but anything beyond that seems unrealistic and completely out of reach. Actually having a baby some day just seems like a carrot on a long, seemingly never ending stick. It seems like that will always be for other people.
Some days I don’t know what keeps me going on this path. The future is cloudy. Sometimes I wonder if it’s just because we’ve been on it so long, we don’t want to give up and let all four years be for absolutely nothing. I don’t know what our ending is and I don’t even know when it is anymore.
For now I’m left with rambling thoughts and trying to avoid the things that make me have them.
Though obviously I’m not doing a good job with that tonight.