Last week was very difficult. I think things are finally getting better now. The gaping emptiness in my chest has mostly collapsed in upon itself, forming a tight little knot that, while still uncomfortable, does not leave me feeling hopeless and numb. I no longer get the unavoidable urge to cry when someone asks me how I am, so that’s a bonus.
I’m not sure what that was. I hate to say it was hormones, because although I get blue for a day or two around the end of a cycle, it usually never spirals out of control for a whole week. I’m afraid it might have been chocolate, because I had a huge, delicious piece right before the first bout, then finished off the bar when I was just starting to feel better, only to dive right back into the sadness the next day. I thought chocolate was going to be okay because I’d been having the occasional chocolate chips and almond cookies with said chips. The only difference between said chips and the chocolate I’m blaming for this bout was the one was undoubtedly not 100% real chocolate and the other – the latter – was. So maybe large(ish) amounts of real chocolate is more of a problem than, say, Hershey’s.
Both counterintuitive and wtf. Well, I’ll be careful not to have any real chocolate around the end of this cycle and we’ll see for certain whether it’s life or hormones or what.
Whether or not the depression was mental or chemical, I need to work on a lot of things. I need to accept that this cycle may not work and my (very stupid and silly and first world-y) fears may come to fruition. Basically, I have a lot of weirdness going on when it comes to my family and for a lot of reasons I desperately wanted to be pregnant when I saw them at Christmas. I’ve been defensive about a lot of things around them and feel like I’ve said I’m going to do or am doing a lot of things without anything to show. Does that make sense?
Take writing as an example: I haven’t pursued more of a career type job since graduating because I want writing to be my career. However, it’s been six years since college and I have nothing concrete to show for it, just a handful of manuscripts and a couple dozen rejections. I’ve recently stepped up my efforts at both writing and querying, but I still won’t have anything to talk about come family time. It’ll be all “oh, what’re you doing? Still working at ——? Oh. That’s nice.” It’s just not okay in our culture to talk about things we’re working on that a) haven’t brought in money or b)haven’t been recognized publicly by others. So I’m left with empty hands.
I know, I know, such horrible problems I have.
But it’s that continual empty-handedness that informs my feelings about showing up with nothing to show, so to speak, in regards to pregnancy too. I made the mistake of telling my mother we were going to try for a kid relatively soon a year ago, and she – of course – told everyone in the family. I was okay with it at the time – since we’re both ladies, I wanted to at least prep people with the idea that a kid might (would) show up. But now that it’s been a year and there’s still nothing, I completely understand those people who just stay mum until they have something concrete.
Sometimes I wish I’d stayed mum, too.
But at the same time, when we finally are pregnant, the last thing I would want to deal with is that sort of shocked confusion I met with when we first got engaged. Let them get their questions and preconceived (hah) notions out of the way now, I say. I ain’t gonna deal with that shit then.
So I just need to breathe and acknowledge these fears and let them go. There’s nothing I can do about it now.