Disclaimer The following post shares a bit about one of the darkest moments in my recent life. I will be sharing some journal entries from my stay in the hospital this past May 2020 due to deep depression and PTSD symptoms. This in no way reflects how I am currently feeling, but my hope is that what I went through may help someone else who is or has gone through the same/similar feelings. This post may have some triggers, so I wanted to prepare you for the content.
May 27, 2020 Entry 1: The thought of going home, today, is meeting me with a mix of negative and positive emotions. There is the fear, shame, and guilt; but also excitement. It feels weird. Foreign. Unusual.
Entry 2: Today I will conduct an experiment. Will I fall between the cracks? If I stay in my room, will people look for me? Will they call me for meals? Group? Vitals? Doctors? Meds? Let's see if I'm worth it. A.M. Vitals - Check Breakfast - check Doctors - Check I told my doctors of the experiment, effectively nullifying any results I may receive. Therefore, experiment ruined.
Entry 3: Guess what I just started. My fricken period. The bane of the female existence. The constant reminder that I am not pregnant. The dread of feeling like I will never be pregnant.
Entry 4: I've written this countless times before, but still I must ask WHY? Why is it so easy for other women to get pregnant? Why are children given to mothers who hate them and never wanted them when I am here with open, expectant arms begging for a child I can love and call my son or daughter or whatever they identify themselves as? Why, when I have tried so many strategies to conceive, with the help of doctors, am I still empty handed and my womb barren? I hate myself. I hate my body. I hate that I can never do anything right when it matters most. I'm useless. All I want to do is love, yet I am not content. I feel empty. Like a broken cog in the machine that no one even knows is there, broken. I'm an appendix that can be surgically removed and the body will still function just fine.
Darcey and I have struggled with infertility for as long as we have been married and it is difficult. We see friends and family welcoming babies into their families and we are happy for them, but also find it extremely difficult as our own home is empty. This has been one of the stressors that feeds my depression with each passing month.