because I am a masochist

So, give or take a few weeks, it's been about eight months since Sid and I first started trying for a sprog. EIGHT MONTHS. I realized the other day that a woman I know has gotten pregnant TWICE in the time that Sid and I have been at this. TWICE, I SAY (one blighted ovum that ended in a D&C, and the other she just found out about). And yet for me it's just month after month of failure.

And I know, without doubt, every month when I'm waiting for Miss P, that she's going to show. Because, to use the vernacular, "that's how she do." And yet, every month I get my hopes up and think "maybe this time, THAT'S HOW SHE DON'T!" Yeah, positive thinking changes lives, people. Surely it does. Just not mine. Because I can almost make myself believe it, and then the inevitable happens. And you know what? IT SUCKS.

Sid apologized the other day, and it was funny and heartbreaking all at once. He said, "I'm sorry you have to go through that every month." And I was like "what, the cramps? BITCH, THAT'S NOTHING." Because while I do get the cramps from Hell (I can't even urinate without pain sometimes when it's truly bad), it's nothing compared to the emotional wreckage I'm left with.

And doesn't that sound emo as hell?

Seriously though, emotionally, it's just harder to deal with. I can take a couple Motrin to blunt the physical pain of the cramps. And I can take a long hot bath while I wait for the pills to work. I can't really do that to stop the anger, the sadness, the frustration. There's nothing I have on hand to stop that elastic band that tightens up under my ribs and makes it hard to breathe when I think maybe it's just never going to happen.

I got Miss P this weekend (oh, joy!), and I seriously could not tell you what I did with myself besides piss off Sid. We argued to the point where I just wanted to bust his chops. I wanted to ask him when would enough be enough, when would he finally decide that it's not going to happen to us like it does for other couples? When will he finally throw in the fucking towel and concede defeat? When will it be time to seek outside help? But it's not a discussion I want to have while we're angry. I'm a bitch, but I'm not stupid: Once I'm done fucking around with my menstrual cup, and we've both cooled off (give it a few days on both counts) I'll be ready to initiate that conversation, and I assure you I won't word it like I did here.

I've asked him before, and he said, "yeah, I need to make an appointment for that" and then he never did it. I DON'T WANT TO BE A NAG. I don't want to be the woman who alienates her husband by demanding "GIVE ME A BABY, NOW!" because that shit never turns out well. But for fuck's sake, enough is enough. I want a resolution to this one way or the other.

a bitter pill to swallow

This article left me in tears. I don't understand how people can be so cruel to the children they are supposed to love and protect and care for. I don't want to know what kind of sick fuck you've got to be to be so cruel to a child. And it's shit like this that makes me wish I believed in hell. There is no justice in the world, none at all.

Maybe it's just because I'm crazy hormonal, and suffering a huge disappointment, but seriously. I can't take the bullshit. Miss P is officially late, and shows no sign of wanting to show up. And Sid doesn't know it, but I took a pregnancy test yesterday. It was negative.

I will say no more about it.

This means that I am probably hypo again. Which I also don't want to say anymore about, but I need to get this out. If I tell Sid what I'm feeling right now, he won't understand. And I can't handle that right now.

I hate being sick. I hate that it makes me different. I don't mind it, usually. Normally, I'm just happy to be feeling okay again, and I'm eternally grateful that I have an illness that is manageable. But I hate that every month, I have to walk to the pharmacy to pick up my levothyroxine, and that everyone can see me walking home with my pill bag. I hate that I have to plan my meals around that pill, that I can't eat when I'm hungry if I'm in that three hour window, that I can't just up and go somewhere without dragging my medicine with me in case I can't get home in time to take it. And when I think these things, I feel so ungrateful. I should be glad that I am so lucky: I have insurance that pays for my bloodwork, I live in a country where I have access to the medicine that will make me feel well again.

So right now I'm feeling a little bit a lot like shit. Compounding that, Sid doesn't know I took a pregnancy test already, and he's trying to be helpful by telling me that starky, you never know, it might not be your thyroid, maybe you're pregnant. I don't have it in me to tell him I do know, I am not pregnant, it has to be my thyroid. As much as it hurt to tell myself that, I don't have the heart to do it to him.

disgusted with myself

Miss P showed yesterday. And would you believe it, I cried?

Cried. All. Day. Long. Because apparently I am in massive denial. I tell myself that I'm not ready for a baby, this isn't the right time, this is not something I really want, and that way, when the disappointment hits, it's not so crushing.

I am totally, utterly disgusted with myself for blubbering like a wuss. It's not as if someone died. It's not as though I've actually lost anything or anyone. So why am I so fucking sad?

Maybe it's because I know this is something I can't have, now or maybe ever, and yet I can't let it go. I just can't. If the man who raped me is able to have a child with his (lovely, I'm sure) wife, to my mind, there's no reason under heaven that I shouldn't also have that privilege, and that happiness. If he can have it, why can't I?

Well, that's just base jealousy, and I'm not proud of it, but I'm going to call a spade a spade, here. I'm jealous. That man took so much from me, and I remember how I cried when I found out he'd gotten married. Not because I still loved him or anything so sick and twisted. No, it's just that that was what I wanted, that was my secret wish, to marry and have a family, and here I was, engaged to Sid, and it was like a slap in the face that that miserable excuse for a human being should have what I wanted, before I'd even had a crack at it. And I sound like some spoiled little brat.

You're probably thinking, starky, this isn't a race, and you'd be right. But I'm going to be totally honest with you, it absolutely feels like that asshole has stolen something vital from me, and I must do something to get it back, reclaim it. He took the things I wanted more than anything else and he made them his. Do you see what I mean? It feels as though everything is right in his life, and everything is wrong in mine.

And that's downright ungrateful and petty of me, because Sid tries his best to make me happy, and it's not his fault that I feel like something's missing. It shouldn't be his responsibility to fill the gaps left by someone else's stupidity and jealousy.

So buck up, starky, you silly cow. Nothing's going to change, because nothing can change, and you're being an ungrateful little bitch.

uh-oh...

I keep telling myself this is nothing to worry about. I'm late.

LAAAAAATE.

Stress will do it to ya, so I'm keeping my asshole crossed (don't even ask, it's an awful expression Sid and I use between each other). But when I count back the days, I just feel like screeching. It was supposed to have started on what day? The beginning of the month?!

And I am just totally in denial about it, because I feel all PMS-y, and I'm so sure every day when I wake up that today is totally going to be the day. And it isn't. And I didn't even really think about it that closely until this week.

This is bad. Baaad. Only with lots more a's. Now, you know that's just awful.

And I know, without a doubt, that the day I break down and pee on the stick and get that negative result will be the same day Miss P finally arrives. Because that's always how it works. She makes me waste my money and time and wee, and then shows up all "O HAY, I BET U WUZ W0NDERIN WHER I B!!!1!1!11!eleventyone". The bitch.

Just watch it be the real thing this time, though. Oh, that would be just my luck. Hey starky, you wanted a kid so badly, HERE YA GO! And Sid? Well, he'll be overseas. He gets the easy job. All you have to do, starky, is cook the kid and show up at the pier with it 10 months from now. Oh Siddy, what a homecomng, eh buddy?

Barf.

I sort of casually mentioned to Sid the other day that I was still waiting on the bitch, and he gave me that squirrelly look and then laughed and said "oh, the little abortion that got away." We are such sick fucks.