Things haven't been going well. I don't know what it is lately, but I'm starting to slip back into depression mode. I haven't wanted to see anyone or do anything. Today I spent like 8 hours watching Netflix in my pajamas. I want to sleep all. the. time. When my mind isn't being distracted or occupied, infertile dark thoughts are racing through my head. I've started crying spontaneously again. The dumbest thing will set me off. A song, a commercial, a weird look from Champ... I'm a mess.
He heard me crying in the shower the other day and tried to talk to me about it. I just blew him off, even though as soon as I insisted I didn't want to talk about it, I realized that I actually really really wanted to talk about it. But what else is there to say? What can I say that I haven't said a thousand times in the past year? It still sucks that we can't have kids. I'm still pissed about it. I still feel guilty. On top of that, I don't want to burden him any more than I have to. I'm the biggest f*cking let down of a wife. Not only are my f*cking ovaries broken, but I can't possibly be pleasant to be around lately. And if I can't give him children, I'm trying to at least be worth that sacrifice for him. So I find myself pretending again. Hiding tears, putting on a happy face, being up for anything.
I know. It doesn't sound very healthy. It's not.
And as we are approaching my one year anniversary of being diagnosed, I keep thinking of where I was a year ago: so stupidly naive, still with a couple weeks of ignorance left. A year ago last week was my sister's wedding. A year ago this weekend was the last party I went to without infertility weighing me down.
November 6, 2011.
What a day. What a fucking day.
Don't worry about me too much. I'll be okay. And I go back to my therapist tomorrow, so at least there's that.