I wasn’t sure if I was going to post about this. I try as hard as I can not to throw a pity party for myself and mainly focus on finding humor in this situation, with a little side order of being pissed. That’s typically the recipe I need for survival. But last night I just broke and could not for the life of me get it together.
I don’t know if it’s the BCP finally kicking in or what. I mentioned before that the last time I took them they made me insane in the membrane. But I was more just not myself, not an emotional wreck. So who knows, maybe I really did hit some sort of breaking point. I’m feeling a little better today, and I knew I would. Things are always colored differently by the light of day. That’s why I didn’t write this last night. But I was like a moment away from feathering all my hair and swooping it across my forehead, putting on massive amounts of eyeliner, turning on some hair touching band with a whiny dude singer, and writing my lament a’la Lydia Deets.
While I’m glad I didn’t do that, I was reminded last night about how reading other women’s stories made me feel less crazy and less alone. I guess, according to every person that has ever tried to console me while I was crying, you’re supposed to remember how other people have it worse than you do. That never worked for me, it only makes me sadder. The only time anything like that ever works for me is when I am feeling sorry for myself when my husband is on tour, and I make myself remember families out there whose loved ones are in the military, putting themselves in harms way, and then I usually feel so stupid I just laugh at myself. The most danger my husband is ever in is getting accidentally clipped by the tiny, sweaty elbow of some overzealous teenage stage diver.
But, no, thinking about how other people are sadder/worse off than I am does not tend to make me feel appreciation for what I have. I feel even further down the hole, like sadness is insurmountable. I can’t save those people, I can’t even save myself. The world is a terrible place.
What set me off yesterday was the nurse at my appointment for my MMR vaccine. No, she wasn’t a bitch. I fucking WISH. She was totally warm and sweet, and that is my kryptonite. When I’m sad or upset, I can be pretty tough. And when people are terrible to me, I can hold it together and defend myself and be strong, I have no problem with that. But the second someone shows me real kindness, I turn into one of those tiny push button toys of a horse or giraffe that collapse when you press the bottom. I crumble.
Of course one of the first things out of her mouth before giving me the shot was, “Any chance you are pregnant?” I pressed my lips together, and even though I smiled politely as I said “no” it was like she was somehow able to see through it. She didn’t say anything but smiled back warmly. “Do you plan on being pregnant any time soon?” Now I can feel the sensation of water pressure building up behind my face, but I was still holding it together, at least I thought so. “No.” Then she said the most terrible thing she could have said to me in that moment. “Are you ok?”
She said it so sweetly, in the warmest voice, and there was nothing I could do about it at that point. I cried. Like ugly face cried. Then she really went above an beyond, asking me questions and not taking “I’m ok” for an answer. It took a little bit to get anything out of me because I didn’t want to burden her with it, or make her feel like she needed to continue to be sweet to me. Like she would feel trapped and be sorry she asked if she really knew what was up. But she was really wonderful, and talked to me for a good amount of time and offered to let me sit in the room with her until I felt better.
I never really recuperated from that yesterday. As I was going about my day, I would look down at the band aid on my arm and it would all come back to me. I even did my very best to focus on whatever I could that was shallow. I turned on my go-to antidote for all things feelings, Bravo TV. But none of my familiar beloved sociopathic housewives were available to hang out. It didn’t matter, there was some show on about money grubbing realtors in Miami and I thought “perfect.” Halfway through the episode, the sort of deadpan Jewish American Princess with the personality of a dial tone took her dog in for a teeth cleaning and it fucking DIED. I lost it. Why Bravo, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME!?
I turned off the TV, pulled it together, and tried to focus on something else. I have been asked to speak at a meeting of the Buddhist organization I belong to this Sunday. I wanted to work on what I was going to say. I was really hoping I would have something inspirational to share at this point, and I just don’t. At that point balloons and confetti dropped from the ceiling and Lionel Richie played over the speakers, this pity party was in full swing.
I guess I try to fight it too much. I don’t WANT to be sad about this. And I know I shouldn’t be, things could be much, much worse. But am I going to be am mom?? I seriously need to know. Cool I have my health, and a great husband, and lots to be happy about. But is it ok for me to actually admit I might trade every bit of that for a baby? I mean, that’s kind of messed up, right? There’s something to feeling sad when you know you shouldn’t be. It would be one thing if something horrendous had happened to me. Then I could cry and grieve and let it all out. I almost feel like I’m not allowed to be sad right now, but I am, so it’s really messing with me. I don’t want to burden my husband, family or friends with it. Everyone has their own stuff going on. And honestly there’s really nothing they can say or do about it anyway. So I cried. Hard. Like violently vomiting up sobs. And my body oscillated through numbness and then stabbing pain, and then numbness again, over and over. But I think I just needed that. I feel better today, I do. I think I may have exorcised the demons, at least for right now.