28 February 2007

Thankful I started blogging when I did

Ha, I thought this was going to be a blog about infertility. I thought it was going to be a place where I work out my conflicts about our choice to stop trying for now. I thought it was going to be a lot more than it has suddenly turned into. Well, what it will turn into very shortly, the beginnings of the change being thrust on me last night.

I never wanted this to be a place for me to bitch about R, I never wanted this to be where I go when I'm mad at him or the place where everybody takes my side. I never wanted to let this part of my personal life dictate my blog. But then last night happened. And I do refuse to talk to people IRL. I won't talk to my mom and have her upset at R over it, I don't talk to my dad period so this is no different, I won't talk to my friends about it because me going downstate this weekend has been planned for a month and I refuse to let it be negatively affected by last night. So, I'm going against my original plan, and blogging about my brush with divorce. (the following is nowhere near chronological order, so don't expect to be able to follow it)

Black holes suck! And when your husband doesn't understand them and just expects you to come out as soon as he wants you to, they suck more. And when he doesn't trust you to not drown his son in the tub because of one, he becomes the one that sucks. OK, so he didn't get into any details about why he's "nervous" to have Little H up here, just that "what if" I get in a black hole. "What if he needs me" "what if something happens and R isn't around" "what if I can't handle things." I was in that hole for over a week before R realized it, because I maintained life around here as we knew it, no matter how I felt inside. And now he doesn't trust that I could do that.

And the whole God thing. DH is newly saved, all fired up about God. I don't know what I am, but the Pentecostal church does not hold it for me. Nearly every "Christian" I have met around here is hipocritical and self-serving. They all (and I mean ALL) speak in tongues (at the same time, competing in volume) and then babble on about how it means they are truly devout and God spoke through them. Now, I've never been to a pentecostal church before, but my grandpa was raised in one and my grandma started going when they got married. So, I asked Grandma. Turns out, every pentecostal church she has ever been in has only had 1 person speaking in tongues at a time, and always with an interpreter (unless it was a very rare, very profound moment and no interpreter was around). 25 people did not yell to have their tongues heard over everybody else, and it never happened during the sermon (I think it might have been a decent sermon, if I had been able to hear any of it). Just walking in the doors of the church made me nauseous, as if I could feel the judgement and competition inside, the overwhelming need to prove who was the most Christ-like. And I hated it, I still do. I refuse to go back, and I want to throw up every time I see somebody I met at that church.

Why does that matter? Because R is bestest friends with a family from there. They now attend a different church, but they still act a whole lot like the people from there. He wants me to be BFF with the wife. She's in her late 40's, her kids are driving themselves around, I have nothing in common with her (oh, and the constant "I have to serve the Lord and witness to you" is getting kind of old, badgering me every 10 minutes with the same "Jesus died so you could be absolved of your sins" story isn't going to get me to "come to God" with you. If/when I feel the need to change the relationship I have with God, it will be on my terms and in my heart. Nobody can force it on me, and the constant attack on my faith just puts me on the defensive and makes me resent any God that would instruct his followers to do it *point of fact- I know God didn't instruct her to attack my faith, but she thinks he did, and it really puts me off*). So, if I can't be BFF with the wife, why not the daughters? Ummm, because they are 14/16 years old and still in high school. I'm 24 and it's been 3 1/2 years since I graduated COLLEGE. I don't care about black nail polish, trying to con my parents (who never say no) into doing whatever I want, or getting boys to like me because of my Christian Rock band. They can have the lives they choose, the ones their parents don't make much effort to control (the 14 year old is trying to make plans with some guy she met in a chat room, and the parents believe that she will "make the right decision" before that time comes, no punishment, no supervision while online, just absolute trust and no effort made to help direct her to the right decision), but that's not who I chose to be friends with.

He doesn't think I should drink anymore, he resents me for doing it. The family from church doesn't drink, when R started hanging out with them he decided not to drink either. I drink once a month, if that often, when I am downstate with friends. Usually it's half a rum & coke when I go out with his uncle, sometimes it's 3 beers when I play beer pong with my brothers & cousin. And I did get pretty drunk last time I was downstate, I played beer pong and then went out to a bar with friends of my cousin (and they bought me a drink there, but I only drank half, then sobered up for the next 3 hours so I could drive them home- they had no plans for a DD) and then we drank back at the house afterwards while we sat around and talked. I didn't do anything stupid, I didn't dance with the wrong guys at the bar or get so drunk I couldn't stand (when I say drunk, I really only mean buzzed most of the time, I hate to be without complete control of myself and I refuse to lose any control unless I 100% trust who I am with), I didn't smile the wrong way at the guys who stared at me, I didn't accidentally flirt with even the bouncer. But, R hates that I did it. Alcohol is now evil to him.

More of what I do that upsets him: on Friday I am posing for nude photographs. Not porn, not for dirty money, nothing like that. The photographer is an artist, the nudes he's done that I've seen are more than just something to look at. I felt the photos I saw (not in any creepy, pet-the-picture kind of way, but something inside me caught when I looked at the photos and I was drawn to them), beautiful photos of the curve of a hip against a scarlet background, or hazy edges on the black velvet backdrop of a smooth behind, or a breast barely visible and very underlit developed in sienna shades. They are fantastic, and I am awed that he could see such art in my body (not that I don't think my body is freaking awesome, but for somebody who can make something already perfect somehow better, I didn't expect my body to get a second look from him). R was very for the idea when I proposed it to him, but now it's such a sin that he can't allow me to do it (he knows he can't stop me, but he doesn't abide by it) and he needs to witness to me about the Lord so that I can see the evil of my ways. Hey, look at that, it's back to my relationship with God and how R doesn't think I have one.

Before R was saved, he thought nothing of spending $100 at the bar in one night (on drinks for himself only, I have always been the DD and embraced my sobriety in our marriage). He'd jump at the opportunity to show me off (not like I'm a prize, but he enjoyed when I dressed for the bar and he got to be the one with his arm around me). He accepted it when I chose to strip at amateur night, and encouraged me to do it as often as I wanted. And now all of his beliefs are the exact opposite. He doesn't want me to choose to indulge in and experience life in this world, because he wants to ensure that I am "with him in the next." Yeah, I've done things that are regrettable, that others wouldn't approve of, but I don't regret them because they have made me who I am. If I hadn't stripped I wouldn't feel empowered just by being myself, if I hadn't been married to my X I wouldn't know that I have the strength to walk away from abuse, if I hadn't gotten drunk a month ago I wouldn't know I haven't become a shell of who I was and that I can still let go and just dance to the beat. I truly know myself, and I don't want absolution for how that came to be. I don't want God to forgive me and make it as though I never did anything bad, because if He takes that memory from Himself and absolves me of whatever I've done, I feel like I'd lose part of myself. I don't regret it and I don't feel guilty.

All that about why he doesn't know if he should stay married to me. And my side of it: he told me he never wants children. Oh, that might change in 10 years, but right now he never wants children and really never did. He was doing things and saying things to appease me, but he hated every conversation we ever had about children. And he thinks I'm petty because "I don't want J to have a baby." Completely lost the point there. I want J to have a baby, I want her to be happy and have the belly. But I want to know that I'm going to be there someday and for a long time I've doubted that R was willing to do what it will take. He's one of those fanaticals that repeats over and over that "it's in God's hands" no matter how much I tell him that hurts, no matter how I run away from him and cry when he shows so little respect for me that he'd repeat it again after I told him I don't want to hear it. He's beyond Christian, he's fucking brainwashed and he wants to drag me with him. God gave us doctors, He gave them the knowledge to identify and treat the problem, maybe that's the fucking answered prayer, not "give up, God wants you barren."

I think it actually still is over, even if we both want to stay together. I don't think counseling will help. He refuses to see a "secular" counselor because they're "full of crap and don't instruct couples according to God's word." And just having another person tell me that my relationship with God has to be stronger isn't going to fix our marriage. I've asked a thousand times for R to not equate fertility with God's plan, and his immediate response is to break out a dozen quotes from scripture (all of which were spoon fed to him by somebody). I can't be happy being directly defied and attacked like that. I quit talking to him about infertility, I hadn't said the word "baby" in this house in 2 months, but since I was sad about J he has gone back on his tirade about God not wanting me to have children. At least I'll have time to pack more carefully this way.

27 February 2007

How about actually writing about infertility?

The reason I came here was so I could talk about IF as much as I wanted without R trying to console me (he says ALL of the wrong things, repeatedly, no matter how much I try to get him to understand that him even thinking the word "God" makes me want to stab through the roof of his mouth and pull out his brains with the sketti-getter *side note: is there an actual name for that prongy ladle/scoop thing intended for dishing out spaghetti? inquiring minds want to know, and R would then stop mocking me for calling it a sketti-getter*). This is my place, the safe zone in life's game of tag. I was thinking that maybe I should get around to using it as such.

July 2004: elope, begin TTC immediately
Sept 2004: actual wedding ceremony as planned, dammit 2 months and still not pg
March 2005: beg Elvis to start testing, suspected endometriosis all along, no go since it hadn't been 12 months
July 2005: BFP on anniversary of TTC
July 2005: 10 days later +urine test in Elvis' office, - beta, no baby
July 2005: Elvis obviously in pain over my loss (he loves me, I love him, too, he is the standard by which all dr's are now measured), refers me to gyn (Dr. T)
Dec 2005: after a couple visits, time for lap/hyst/hsg
results: level 4 endo, one ovary yanked out of position and down/behind uterus, minor bladder inclusion, nothing on tubes or ute, hsg inconclusive, ute totally normal, ovulating at time of surgery (Dr. T showed R pics of my ready-to-burst follicle, he was very proud of my ovary)
Jan 2006: repeat HSG- all clear after possibly pushing a tiny bit of blockage out of right tube
May-Sept 2006: new gyn (we aren't naming him, I hate him, he's fired) tests all hormone levels, everything normal, says he can't do anything else at all for me, refers to RE (now to be named: Dr-my-insurance-company-won't-let-me-see *DMICWLMS*), the MICWLMS info is discovered
Dec 2006: OPK as HPT + later HPT barely visible +, faded fast, beta 2 days later -
Dec 2006: we quit, no more, endo is back and trying to kill me, I can't handle it right now, lots of crying, decided to go on birth control for a year and reassess situation then

So, that's where I am now. Lots of fights, lots of crying, lots of me hating just about everything. I hate the situation, I hate every little thing about it, but I've learned to accept it. I tolerated the endo all along, I knew it might make things difficult, I was willing to try for a year, but 2 1/2 years and not even one pregnancy lasting long enough for the dr to confirm. I've never seen a truly positive HPT, just faint ones. I've never heard my dr say "congrats, you're pregnant, let's schedule an u/s." R doesn't mind, he's never felt an desire or need to have children (he supports my desire, and would love to have more than just Little H, but he feels like his life is complete either way). I feel useless and empty.

I need a house full of noise, constant chaos to supervise. I need little eyes to stare at me as they slowly close for sleep. I need the smell of baby powder, and little toy boats in my bathtub. I need to pinch a little butt as it runs past, excited to learn how to take off his/her own diaper. I need to sew up favorite stuffed animals that rip. And I need to kiss booboos. I need to hold a tiny bundle of screams until he/she is comforted. I need to do laundry in the middle of the night after a diaper blowout. I need the bad and the good, not just dreams about them. I need to kiss a little head with my pride at learning how to write his/her name. I need to rush to school in the middle of the day to pick up a sick child. I need to have a 5 year old always in my way while I do dishes because he/she wants to help. I need to pick up sharp little toys from the floor, and read the same book 3 times every day. I need to have a movie collection dominated by Disney, and a thousand magnets on my refrigerator to play with. I need to clean up a spilled cereal bowl, and refuse to let him/her leave the dinner table until all the vegetables are eaten. I need to replant the same flower bulb 4 times because he/she keeps digging them back up. I need to grab a hand and pull it away before he/she eats the ladybug that landed on it. I need to teach my children that respect and love are not the same thing, but that they need both in their lives. I need to help with math homework, even if it means reading the whole book first to remember how to do the problem. I need to comb hair for the first day of school, and get kicked out of his/her bedroom while they do it themself for prom. I need to have the uncomfortable talk at age 4 "where do babies come from" and the even more uncomfortable talk at age 15 "I know you're thinking about it and I can't stop you, but please wait and always be responsible about it." How can any life feel complete without all that?

10 more months before we even talk about it being a possibility again. 10 more months. I'm in hell. But if R isn't ready, if he isn't going to be behind me 100%, then it wouldn't happen anyway. So I wait.

26 February 2007

A short break from the list

The list is not quite complete, there are a few other things to point out, but the biggest things are there (Goofball, my dysfunctional-yet-thriving-and-loving family, R's family that we are constantly trying to be good enough for). And yet, the list has nothing to do with the black hole I eluded to in my first post. Yeah, I totally forgot I had promised to blog about that and instead made a list of what effects my life most. A little bit of forgetfulness, a little bit of fear to admit my issues.

Two generations of my family have had medical intervention when it comes to emotional issues. My mom and her little breakdown, CML and depression, cousin SJ was on antidepressants, as was her sister Cousin JM, and I think their mom was too, and Goofball smoked pot his entire life (not something any of us condoned, but there was no reasoning with him on that one, he gave up so much to stay healthy as a diabetic, he guilted us with not being able to eat birthday cake that didn't taste like cardboard). Youngest brother BR could probably use some sort of mood medication, I have suspicions about my other uncle being on/needing antidepressants, too, and I'm fairly certain that at least one of his two children has been on them. Two generations and not one person is safe from issues (all listed are on my mom's side, bio dad unknown so I can't link to any family history that might be there). So it is only inevitable that I suffer the same fate. But I've been putting it off. Mild depression isn't so bad to admit (none ever had suicidal thoughts, one did burn himself, but he is learning how to better cope), a mental breakdown is fully understandable when the reasoning behind it is a flood of repressed memories of sexual abuse by your grandfather when you were 4-6, the escape of marijuanna may not be legal but I can see how it was helpful to him. I don't think that's what I have. I think I'm slightly bipolar.

We'll ignore the manic part, because I don't do anything crazy, I'm just happy in a way that nothing can make me unhappy (ok, so I did sprint through my front yard at 8am in a foot of snow with my slippers on back in November, but it was the first snowfall in my new house and it was beautiful, I had to take a picture). But the other end of it, the depression, it kicks my butt. Again, no "bad" thoughts, I don't feel any sort of urge to hurt myself or others, I make a concious effort to continue everyday life and succeed for the most part. On the outside I just seem tired (at least that's what I'm told), but inside I feel totally empty. Not IF empty, more than that. I feel like my stomach is gone, so I don't really eat, I feel like my heart is gone, so I avoid things/people I love, I feel like my brain is gone, so I don't do anything that requires thought, I feel like my uterus is gone, so no nakie time for R. I don't get dressed, I rarely shower, I cook for R but find some excuse to not eat much myself, the house doesn't get cleaned other than what HAS to be done. R can see it, but he doesn't understand it, so he stands back waiting for me to tell him what to do. I don't know what he should to do fix it, so I just don't tell him anything, which is kind of what I want anyway.

Last week was nothing new to me, I've been through enough black holes to know that I will come out on my own in a week or two (still not completely out, but I'm slowly on my way). I don't know what causes it, and I don't know how to fix it or prevent it. It happens randomly, some years 3 times, some only once. I missed a week of college my senior year, I called my advisor (who is also the head of the program and lead instructor) and told him that if I came to class I would probably have a breakdown or in some other way give them a reason to kick me out of the program. He gave me permission to stay in my room for a week. And I did- no sorority meetings, no class, no labs, none of my clinical shifts. I went to the dining hall once a day, at the very beginning of lunch so there were as few people as possible. I ate french fries or nachos, then went back to my room. The girls in my hall thought I left for the week, they never saw me, I only went out when I knew there were as few people as possible around. And then it passed. I got the notes I had missed, I made up my clinical shifts, I spent time with my sorority, and I finished #2 in my program. No harm, no foul. But I did have to admit how I felt to my advisor (still a close friend, I trust him with my life), which I had never done before, to anyone.

Now I'm admitting it here. Scariest thing I have ever done. I am baring myself like never before. And I know a thing or two about baring myself, I did amateur night at the strip club. This is much scarier. Admitting that some unknown force drags me down and ruins me for a week, that I can't get away from it until it suddenly releases me. Admitting that this time I went without a fight and without a care, that I wanted a week of isolation and letting this black hole take me gave me an excuse. Typing it here was the first time I had admitted that part, even to myself.

Sometimes it feels like the black hole is more indifference to life than depression, I don't care if dinner gets burnt, I don't care if the power goes out because of the storm, I don't care if I haven't brushed my hair in 4 days. And then I got that message from J, and the black hole became a swirling attack of things I can't have, it beat me with unfulfilled desires. Suddenly the black hole was a bad thing, but I hadn't known that when I went into it willingly. I hadn't created the black hole, I just felt the beginning ot its pull and didn't fight against it, I let it take me because this time I wanted to take advantage of it. And my illusion of a comforting black hole was banished by the truth that came out- it's a monster.

I don't know how long it's been there, how long ago I first went into it. It took a while to recognize what it was, so I'm sure there were many times it took me before I saw the truth in it. But now I know, I just don't know how to banish it. Even after seeing the monster for what it truly is, I secretly long to go back into it. Coming out and returning to reality is not the wonderful, cleansing rebirth it should be. I kind of want to go back until it can be, but I know it may never be that way and the longer I stay in the less I am. So out I come, admitting it to the blogosphere. People I meet at the laundry center (at midnight when they are drunk even) know that I'm infertile, people that know the guy that lives across the hall from my brother's friends know that I'm infertile, anybody that sees my pomegranate-colored string and ask know that I'm infertile. Only the blogosphere and R know about my black hole. It's so much harder to own up to.

25 February 2007

The List, cont.

This list could take a while, but I feel like background is important. In a normal situation, you would be learning the details slowly, as part of individual thoughts. But, I tend to ramble and forget the background information sometimes, so the list can be some sort of reference, if nothing else.

4. R was raised by his grandparents. His mother was only 15 when he was born, his father 16. It took a while for them to get custody. R's father is an abusive drunk, he was back then, too. And while they play the heroes for saving R from that life, they constantly turn that against him. R is his father's son in their eyes, and he will never accomplish enough/do enough good/prove himself enough to get out from under that cruel shadow. And they think very little of me for being with him. They told me once that he would never actually love me, that he was incapable of knowing the true emotion, that he would always be indifferent and lie to me. What a welcome to the family. And it has all gone downhill from there.

5. My mom married a Marine (we'll use his nickname from back then: Rat) when she was 8 months pregnant with me. He is not my biological father, but I have never met the one that is. Rat raised me as his own, his name is on my birth certificate. He's an ass. I love him as my father, but cannot respect him as a person. Rat left my mom several times, each to be with another woman. Mom is strong, but would do anything to make her children happy, even allow Rat to come home. Rat was an alcoholic while he was in the corps, something Mom forced him to give up if he really wanted to come back to our family. Now that all us children are grown (me-24, CML-21, BR-19), he has gone back to his old ways. He drinks and drives, he smokes pot with dirty/creepy people he met when he was drunk. Mom is financially dependent on him, she had a mental breakdown several years ago and he drove them to the verge of bankruptcy before could get healthy again, she has spent every penny since trying to get things back on course. If she left him, she would lose the house, car, everything, it would all get taken by the bank. My life has been lived with finances always looming overhead and sacrifices being made to save the budget.

6. At age 24, my budget is no longer always breaking. R has a good job, a secure job, one that affords what we need. Every once in a while we even get to spoil ourselves a little. We own our house, R had a newer truck, our bills all get paid. At one point, this would have felt like heaven to me, not having to decide which bills to pay or not pay this month. But actually having the money we need is also a reminder that we don't have much left over for wants. And when you can't have a baby, wants start feeling a lot like needs (RE, IUI, IVF, ICSI).

7. Our infertility is partly caused by my endometriosis. It was bad, my lapa.roscopy took 3 times longer than they had planned. One ovary was out of position, but still functioning, and there was no affect on my ute or tubes. So, a very bad case of endo, but no real reason behind my IF because it wasn't affecting vital reproductive tissue. The rest is unexplained. Not diagnosed as unexplained, they just haven't given me any information to explain why the lap didn't help or why I still can't get pregnant. All I know is that endo is way too painful for me to live with. Almost exactly 1 year after my lap, I returned to the comforting arms of birth control pills. I don't have to give up one week a month to lie writhing in pain on the couch, taking the maximum dose of every medication I can find, painkiller or not. It also guarantees I won't be getting pregnant (HA, like that was ever a possibility anyway).

8. I was pregnant, once, for about 10 days. I actually started spotting 2 days after I found out, the spotting lasted about a week, then I had my first prenatal visit with my primary doctor (we'll call this one Elvis). I had a positive urine test at the beginning of my appointment, although it was faint. A few hours later I got the call about my beta number: 4, not pregnant. Still no explanation why the positive urine test, my slightly educated guess is that my beta had been dropping for days, the hcg was properly filtered out of my blood, but had yet to be completely passed in my urine. No matter how I ended up with conflicting results, there was no baby coming in 8 months.

9. We had already named that baby. Not fully, but we knew for sure the middle name would be Dean, no matter the gender. With a father in the military, I was moved around a lot as a kid. To base for a while to live with him, back to my grandparents for a while when he got sent overseas, to another base, and back to my grandparents. My uncle (here we use his favorite nickname to use on all children: Goofball) lived 1/4 mile down the road from my grandparents. He was diabetic, unable to work his entire life, unwilling to marry or have children because he refused to be the cause of somebody else suffering because of his diabetes (whether that be passing it on to children, or his wife mourning because he knew he would pass away long before her). He was a second father to me, his middle name was Dean. He passed away 2 days before father's day last year. The funeral was on father's day, which happened to also be his father's birthday. He didn't know that R and I plan to name our child after him, whenever it is we have one. He didn't know that his memory will forever live in a baby that I bring into this world. He didn't know he had so much effect on my life that I refused to marry R if he didn't agree whole-heartedly to having our child be my uncle's namesake. I had begged him to stay alive long enough to hold my babies, instead of begging I should have told him my plan, at least he would have known.

Part 3 of the list to come, first I have to recover from writing part 2. The wounds from losing my uncle are still very deep, they effect my life more than even I realize. The worst knowledge I have is that even if I do have children they will never know him. Infertility has stolen him from my children, it caused them to not be born soon enough to know his love. We will touch much more on Goofball in the future, he is part of my heart.

How about a real(ish) introduction?

Yesterday I needed to vent, I needed to babble on and on, I needed to get the words out no matter who read them. This morning is a fresh start, however, and as such I think it should be used to properly make my start here.

There are so many things affecting my life/brain/emotions, that I don't know where to begin. I'm just going to start listing. Maybe in the coming weeks/months I will return to the list and get into the details of individual points. Right now, though, let it be the highlights of what makes me tick.


1. 24 years old, married 2 1/2 years, together an indeterminable amount of time. We'd known each other since 5th grade (never liked each other in that way, but it was a small school so you knew everybody), started "dating" a year after graduation when he came back from A.rmy Bas.ic Training (he was buff, compared to the rather scrawny guy he was in hs, I had finally started looking like a grown teen instead of an 11 year old). It was mostly physical for quite a while, very off and on for 3 years. He proposed out of the blue, we weren't even "on again" when he proposed. I accepted, a few months later he deployed to S.inai Egy.pt, he came home, we eloped, big wedding 2 months later. We both had amazingly crappy jobs, not a penny to spare for anything other than car insurance and gas to get to work (shared his care, lived with my parents because we couldn't afford rent even). He lucked upon a job 2 hours away, an opportunity that only lasted a split second, and he took it. 8 months later I finally moved with him. A year later we bought our house. We've lived in this house almost 6 months now.

2. I actually hate the town we live in. I gave up all my friends to come here, and this town isn't one that replaces friends well. 18 months here and people still won't look at me in the grocery store. Nobody says hello when they pass you walking in the parking lot. They cling to their own and it takes a decade for an "outsider" to even start breaking in. There is no nightlife, no place for a girl in her 20's to get out and experience life. We went from a college town to an empty one. People look at me out of the corner of their eye, and their looks tell me that I'm not one of them. I can try, I can be the polite one that initiates conversations, I can pursue relationships with them, but it won't work. The closest thing I have to a friend up here is the 70 year old couple across the road, and I don't even know their names.

3. I have a stepson (meet Little H). He won't be talked about much on here, that situation is so much more than a blog can handle, and it's not the reason for my blogging. But, if I do mention him in passing, now you know.

TO BE CONTINUED... (when R isn't here and able to read over my shoulder)

24 February 2007

What a way to start!

After reading blog after blog for months (ok, more closely a year), I've decided I need my own. I need a place to vent and to celebrate, a place all my own. Somewhere I can decorate myself (which I won't end up doing, I'm entirely technology illiterate), somewhere I can turn to when the rest of the world seems too hard to be in, somewhere I can claim as my own and not introduce my real life to. Not that I won't be real, in fact I may be more real here than anywhere else. My husband (introducing the wonderful R) won't know this place, neither will my family and friends. I vent to them individually, with the words and information that I know is best with them. Here I will tell it how it is, without worry of it changing my relationships outside of here. Here I can truly feel safe.

And, now the heartache that caused this to be created: for about 6 months I've been in contact with a girl from high school (meet J). Now, we weren't particularly close- I was the quiet bookworm type, J was popular (she doesn't think so, but she was close with some of the popular kids, which was beyond my realm back then), but she read on my mysp.ace that I'm infertile. It started out just taking longer than she wanted for her to get pregnant, then it turned into 6 months of talking and her still not being pregnant. For 6 months, I was her person. When her husband (another J, but he's not important to the story) didn't want to listen, I did. When her period came, I comforted her. I was her rock at the end of a cycle, and I showered her with hope for the next. Not an easy position to take, considering R and I had been trying for 2 years by that point, but one I assumed on my own.

And it felt good to be the voice of experience (I was a year and a half younger than anybody in my graduating class, by virtue of a fluke jump in grades back in elementary school- I was a flipping genius at age 7, ok not genius, but I was doing algebra for fun), it felt good to be the one that J turned to. People don't look up to me often, they don't see me as anything, it was something I latched onto. I prided myself at knowing J's cycles so I could be prepared with information/hugs/hope/tears/whatever she would need that day. She turned to me.

And then R and I had to stop trying. My endometriosis was wreaking havoc on my body, and the alternating hope/pain was wreaking havoc on my emotions. There was no option to pursue treatment, no savings to use, no insurance coverage for treatment or even consultation with an RE. We had an appointment with an RE all set up, but then we decided to check with the insurance just to make sure and they dropped the bomb- NO.

J offered to find another person, to let me off the hook since I couldn't stay on the path with her. Oh how brave was I, I decided to stay and assured her that I could still be her person. That was 2 1/2 months ago. Things were still great. We messaged back and forth, I helped her get through her sister's baby shower, more ends of cycles for her. Things were perfect: I wasn't pregnant, but neither was she and I made her feel better about it.

And then today happened. Got another message from J. No, she's not pregnant, that I would be excited about because it's what's supposed to happen. She's supposed to not need me anymore because she got pregnant. That I could be happy about.* Nope, she had an appointment with an RE. Not just any RE, but the very same RE that R and I couldn't go see. And she got an appointment within days of her very first call. We scheduled back in December, and the appointment we would have had still isn't here. How's that for a kick in the crotch.

All I could think about was that our RE is going to be getting her pregnant instead of me. Not that I would mind if he did both, but since he can't me then I don't want her (a twist on the old if-I-can't-have-him-nobody-can psychosis). And that's the least of my issues. I won't be her person anymore. She doesn't need me, because she now has somebody infinitely better, somebody with a degree in woman-parts and everything. I want J back, I want her to depend on me. I can't have a fricken kid, is it so much to ask that a grown woman need me? I feel like something was stolen from me. I consoled her, I cheered her on, and now the RE that I have heard nothing but rave reviews of has taken her away. And he hasn't yet, she's still messaging me, but I know he will and I'm pulling away from J out of fear of her hurting me more by leading me on.** My heart aches and it feels like my insides have died. I nurtured her, and she's getting what I can't have. It's not even the baby she will inevitably get, it's the chance to take any step forward. I am stalled, waiting for an act of congress to change my insurance coverage, waiting for money to suddenly appear for us to use to pay for it ourselves, waiting to want children less so that every day doesn't hurt so much. She doesn't have to wait anymore.

So, I feel like the biggest bitch on earth. And I feel like I have every right to be selfish and want this one thing for myself (whether it's wanting to seek further treatment for myself, wanting a baby, wanting the infertility attention for myself instead of her, or just wanting her to still need me... taking bets on which it actually is, my subconcious isn't letting that information out at the moment). So much emotion it's overload. I'm on a birth control pill that actually mellows my moods, scary though, eh?

* never try to understand my logic, it's twisted and will only make your brain hurt*
**more of my crap logic, but that's how I feel so I get to say it**

Here ends my very first blog. Next time I'll be even more confusing as I attempt to describe the hole-I-don't-care-to-crawl-out-of feeling I've been dealing with all week, which led to my near-meltdown over J. It's a doosy.