Abuse

I spent the entire weekend totally abusing my body. I took girl dog for a walk. I wanted to see where the trails in the woods ended. Turns out they are all dead ends so far. I hiked in the woods for two hours straight. Finally wandered through a deer path in the woods over an hour from home and ended up in a cotton field. I had no idea where I was, no houses, no roads, no power lines…nothing. I wanted to stay there. If I hadn’t had the girl dog I probably would have sat and stayed a while. If I had my phone I could have least narrowed down where I was, or at least what direction I had spent the last hour walking. Passing by skeletons of dead animals and gigantic animal turds. I didn’t care what was out there with me. I wore my Vibrams and walked through puddles and mud. I cried and pondered everything in my life. I walked until my mind stopped thinking. I walked and climbed until my feet and calves hurt. I walked until I knew I was thirsty and hungry and tired. I walked until the urge to walk left me, and then I had an hour to walk back.

Then I drank. I blasted music and drank an entire bottle of wine. I cussed and cried about how unfair shit was. I bitched about having to reapply for my job. I bitched about the price of insurance. I bitched about all the sorry bitches on the face of the earth who have kids.  I bought a pack of ciggarettes and smoked until I was short of breath. Then I fucked my husband and called it a night.

I’m tired of obsessing over every single thing I do and how it might fuck up my chances of having a kid. Tired of not smoking, not drinking, not taking any medication. Tired of not using advil. Tired of thinking a heating pad on my back fucked up my chances this month. Tired of feeling guilty for every pound I’ve gained because it’s fucking up my chances. Tired of taking those fucking prenatal vitamins. I’ve been taking prenatal vitamins for almost a year. The longer I take them, the more they feel like a slap in the face. Tired of worrying if I’m taking the wrong prenatal vitamin. Worried that pineapple juice is fucking up my chances instead of helping. Tired of worrying that maybe there is more to the problem and I"m not pushing my doctor to find out more. Tired of worrying if I should be doing IVF instead of IUI’s. Tired of not buying a house because I might need that money for a kid. Tired of not being able to enjoy anything in my life. Tired of not knowing if this will ever work. Tired of knowing that no amount of want in the world amounts to shit in reality. Tired of wondering if I should believe in God, maybe if I did he would give me a break. Tired of thinking maybe if I prayed it would work. Tired that in my heart I know that won’t mean shit. Tired of not being able to be positive because everytime I am it bites me in the ass. Tired of not being able to be hopeful. Tired of seeing pictures of babies and trying not to imagine myself holding them. Tired of longing for this. Tired of wanting this. Tired of not knowing how to let go. Tired of not wanting to let go. Tired of thinking about it, talking about it, obsessing over it and hating everyone else who has it. Tired of noone understanding. Tired of not having anyone to talk to. Tired of the person I have become over this last year. Tired of not being able to get high…off of something. Tired of providing care for child offenders. Tired of everyone in the world being pregnant. Tired of that bothering me so much. Tired of crying when I really really don’t want to. Tired of not having self control. Tired of having so many triggers.

I’m tired. My body is tired. My mind is tired. I feel like my very essence is tired and forever changed.

I’m so fucking tired of writing about this. So tired. Nothing else goes through my mind though. Never do these thoughts leave me. Never is a decision made without consulting my rotten ovaries. Everything else in life has ceased to exist. This is all consuming and dreadful.

When I first read that people who go through fertility treatments can suffer PTSD like symptoms I thought it was ridiculous. Now I think if I ever survive this I will never be the same. I already will never be the same. How is one supposed to feel when their body fails them in the one thing their body was made for.

I wonder what the other side will look like.

Until Next time

later