I can feel it climbing up my throat and I know its not from the McDonald's sausage. It's the desolate, longing for a BFP, for a functioning body, for a happy feeling, in the wake of a barrage of other's BFP's.
I am truly ecstatic for them. I know a few have had a rough go of it, and I just want to cry tears of joys for their happiness and success. BUT I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I would be crying for myself too. For not knowing when of IF I will ever experience any of this stuff that I'm forced to live through other's eyes. There are people with longer wait times then me who have or have not recieved their miracles but to me, I'm at 2 years 3 months of TTC and the emotional toll is catastrophic. Somedays, I know I've lost most hope and I don't know where to go.
It's like I'm constantly standing at a crossroads, not knowing which path to choose but knowing ONE is childless and ONE has a slim possibility but still not knowing which to go down. I feel myself slipping into one of those funks. DH still maintains that he wants me to try atleast one more round of Clomid despite the horrible way it made me feel. I'm scared to go through all of that AGAIN for no reason. I'm scared to keep doing these things at DH's insistence because I feel I owe him the duty of trying long after I've given up. I don't want to hate him for the pain. I don't want him to hate me for not being able to give him a child.
I don't want to sit here at my desk on my lunch break crying over these stupid possibilities that may never come to pass. I want to be HAPPY for everyone and move on in a steady direction, but there's that nasty sludge creeping up my throat, knotting there, ready to spew disillusion and hatred at the world. Please come quickly 5pm.