Thursday, October 14, 2004

Sleepless in Sanford

I'm on night 3 of being up all night. Or night 4. I honestly can't remember. When you are up half the night, the days seem to run together. I've resorted to trying to listen to soft jazz to lull me to sleep, but there is something about a saxophone that grates at me after a few hours.

I'm not really sure what is causing my insomnia. I keep wanting to blame it on the medicine I've been taking, but it could be stress too. And while on that topic of stress, I sometimes wonder if I just like being stressed. When I think back over different times in my life, I have always been stressed about something. And if there wasn't anything good to fret over, I created it. Not that I'm creating my infertility, but C'mon, it's not that bad, is it?

One time a counselor told me that depression is anger turned inward. I don't think truer words were ever spoken. After our first failed attempt at IUI, I was just sad. I grieved for about 4 days, and then I felt better and moved on. (I know, can you believe it? Me, actually letting something go? Unheard of.) Then after the second time of peeing on that god-blessed stick and only receiving one line, I was just angry. I even threw it in the trash can and threw the box in after it and yelled a few explicatives, which I seem to do when I get angry. If you don't believe me, read the post called, "I can't think of a good title for this one." In any case, I didn't have anywhere to put my new found anger. I mean, blogging is therapeutic, sure, but it didn't do it for me this time. I stayed with my usual routine of harboring the crap.

My mind really amazes me sometimes. I can, as I'm sure everyone can, recall things that are so insignificant from my past and actually let them bother me now. I don't know what that has to do with anything, but I wanted to put it down for the record.

I am the type of person that likes to have a clean answer for everything. I research and investigate until I have the answer all bundled up in a neat little package and tied with a bow. Unfortunately, I can't research on the internet as to why I'm mad about not being pregnant. Google didn't pop up anything useful when I searched on, Shannon + not pregnant + pissed off. So, I looked to my next best resource - the grudges and harbored crap in the marina of my memory. I came up with all sorts of things on that search. I guess the most prominent result was that I'm just not good enough. I seem to think, or have stored in the dusty files of my brain, that it's my fault that we're going through this infertility stuff. And like the internet, that connects to several other cerebral entries regarding my lack of worth. And so it starts. The infamous snowball of thoughts and questions. "Why the hell aren't these treatments working? I just can't do anything right. I feel terrible that I'm putting Rob through this. I wonder if I'll ever get pregnant. Will I have to have surgery? Do I have that embryotoxic fluid that is killing my newly fertilized eggs? Will this third attempt work? Should I even entertain the thought that it will? How come I can't stop thinking about this? I feel like crap. Boo hoo, I feel so sorry for myself." And ultimately, "Do we have anything to eat?"

I am suffering from never ending cycles of self torture. It starts here: I'm taking this medicine that screws up my hormones. That in itself is reason to go bonkers. Secondly, I seem to suffer from every freaking side effect there is for this particular drug. Oh wait, all of them except weight loss. Oh, I could only be so lucky. Next, I pound myself with thoughts that I'm not enough, or too fat or just plain worthless. I hate the fact that I've gained weight, but I'm too tired to do anything about it. Damnit man! Something has to give. I think if I could just drag my ass to the gym enough to make my thighs a little thinner, then all would be well in my world. Ok, maybe that is a bit exaggerated. All would be better.

I often find myself comparing this, shall I say, stint of unemployment to my last period of no work. The difference is that I'm not collecting unemployment and I'm not living alone. Oh yeah, and this time I'm actually trying to get pregnant. When I think back to 2002 (yes, I was unemployed for the entire year of 2002) I think of it fondly. I used to read until sunrise, and then snuggle in bed and sleep until noon. I would come and go and do whatever I pleased, within reason of course, seeing as how I had scarce monetary means. I guess my point is that I didn't have anyone to answer to, so sitting around all day doing nothing except obsessing over whatever I chose to let stress me at the time was perfectly acceptable. This time, however, I have a husband. An incredibly wonderful husband, I might add. We also happen to live together and he is paying my way, so to speak. This is where the guilt comes in. I feel much less guilty taking money from Uncle Sam than I do from my other half. I also feel terrible if I haven't been productive all day and have 800 things to report (over a piping hot, homemade meal) when Ward comes home from the office. I then somehow feel unworthy of his love and concern and the constant attention that I demand. Do I really have a right to cry every night about not being pregnant? Can I blame my lack of motivation on this infertility-induced depression? When this is over and I have a baby, will I just find something else to be depressed about? Am I one of those people that loves to be miserable?

Shit, there I go again. It's snowing in Florida and I'm the Queen of Snowballs.


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