I’ve tried to write about sex. I’ve tried to write about how I feel. I’ve tried to write about things I’ve read and what I thought about them. And I haven’t been able to finish any of those posts. So, now I’m not trying to write about anything. I’m just rambling to ease my mind.
I haven’t asked Wonderboy’s permission this week and he doesn’t know it. He probably knows it of course in the back of his mind. But I haven’t said anything. I got so angry, when I caught him masturbating one morning. I didn’t see anything, I just knew the way you know these things. He should’ve left for work already, but there he just was, naked with the laptop in the other room. How hard is that to figure out?
I’m happy he’s had some outlet, because he hasn’t managed to come with me but two, okay maybe three times this week. But see, I get a little emotional about it, when I’m desperate for it myself.
But the main thing I got upset was that I was supposed to start the hormones that day. I hadn’t been able to sleep and my period had gone so wonky that they mystically disappeared for two whole days aftet they’d started. Sigh. I felt fragile and like I was carrying all the weight and suffering all the consequences.
I’m going to the ultrasound next Friday for them to tell me, if I know my own cycle or body and if I can even have decent follicles.
I’m taking these hormones that make me cry and angry about everything.
I’m the one who doesn’t have a fulfilling sex life, because he is too tired at night, when I’d want sex.
And I know most of this is because of the hormones. I felt okay about everything until thursday night. It’s been a long time since I lost my shit over not having sex as much as I’d like to.
I usually am so happy during the weekeneds. We’re both home, we have amazing sex and we test new recipes (for food you pervs!) all the time. Now I can’t sleep, because my heart starts racing when I try to go to sleep and my body fills with adrenaline. I start getting angry about everything and then… I cry. My nights have been devastating with these hormones. I’m not kidding. How would you like to stay awake until 3 am trying to keep your very tired and cranky self occupied so you couldn’t obsess about that his belly hurt and he had to move you to the side for a minute when you cuddled him! That F****N B****SRD!!!!!!
It’s amazing the things my brain find offensive, when they’re supported by supplement hormones. (No, really, I’m just using these to get good skin!)
I felt alright when I started writing this and now I’m on the bottom again. So, people really don’t go through this for fun, huh? Gosh. I wouldn’t want him to have to take hormones either. It just – seems so unfair. Why is he free to stay in work, excercise and keep his normal self, when I have to tamper with my soul? Why am I always the one who has to suffer? Nothing has ever hurt as much as the bloody ovary and womb test, and it wasn’t even supposed to be painful. The doctor was shocked, when I went pale and said I might throw up and kept crying out loud, because it hurt so much.
And I’m sick and tired of hearing that I only have a really low pain thereshold. SO WHAT? I can’t change that. Try whacking your cervix with a hammer and come back to me with your report. The pain is real even if you don’t feel (as much) pain in the same situation. I’m not making it up and I can’t just decide it away.
Just like I can’t wish away these feelings and thoughts that keep trampling me underfoot. It makes me second guess myself, my whole identity. Because what am I, if I’m not what I think and feel?
Yesterday night, when I lay in bed crying next to sleeping Wonderboy because he had lifted me off his belly for a minute the same morning, and the thought really filled me with anxiety and sadness like he didn’t even love me and it could be never mended, I started to laugh silently at the same time. Because I know I didn’t really mind what happened. I know that he loves me. I know he hadn’t done anything wrong. But it felt like the end of the world. Because of the hormones. My guess is anything would. And I can do nothing about it. The feelings just flush over me and I have to take them even if I know that they are ridiculous.
Oh for the love of… something. I don’t want to be hurt all the time on way or the other.
The funniest part is, human brain is so whacky, that everything I do, we do, is just part of our routine now. I take the pill and battle the emotions, hurt Wonderboy in the process, try to cheer him up and apologize and battle with the same emotions again. He eats fruit and berries, doesn’t use plastic mugs at work anymore, doesn’t smoke or drink more than one glass of wine. It’s something we do and most of the time that’s just what it is. I have no end point in mind. I don’t believe this will give us the baby we hope for. I don’t know, if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I’m just coping day by day, and not really expecting much from the future in this. It’s not a negative feeling to not believe this will work. It resembles taking vitamins. You can’t be sure, if they work and maybe you don’t really even believe that they’ll keep that cold off, but you take them anyway. Just to be sure.
So, I take the small pink pills. I send my hopes somewhere up there. And I don’t really think so much about what I’m hoping for.