I just need to moan tonight. I've hit that wall. I've had it. I need to rant and cry and be selfish, childish, petulant and spoilt. I don't need sympathy, I need to let it out. It won't be eloquent. it may not even make sense. I doubt it will even be read to the end. I don't care. I need to say it.
I'm fed up. I've had it. I'm sick of pumping my body full of hormones, I'm sick of my body not co-operating. I'm sick of set backs, I'm tired of waiting. I hate that I can't plan and the plans I do make end up planned wrong. I hate that i'm putting on weight and I hate looking at that bruise on my tummy every flippin time I go to the loo. Taunting me so I can't forget what we're going through.
I hate that two girls at work are pregnant. Not becuase they are pregnant, but because one is pregnant with number three, the other with her second- both since Bertie died. I hate how unfair that is. I hate that others can just plan their families and have it all just fall into place. I hate it that people keep telling me it is my turn and yet again, it isn't. I hate myself for being jealous of them. I hate the way everyone at work smiles at them in the corridors. I hate hearing conversations about names and maternity leave that I can't join in with. Or I could, but I'd cry.
I hate that we have to do this. Everything we've been through, and still it's 50:50. It may not work. I hate that I have to stay positive and yet realistic. I hate that I can't think about anything else. I hate that my baby died. I hate that I have a nursery-in-waiting and it may never ever be filled. I hate that I need new work clothes but keep putting off buying them in the hope I'll need maternity clothes. I hate that all the extra weight is on my tummy so before long I feel like I'll need them anyway.
I hate myself for comfort eating then googling will that affect my chances? I hate that I can't. stay. off. google. I hate feeling this alone. I hate that if it works, everyone will know. I hate that if it doesn't work, everyone will know. I hate that I have a sharps box in my bedroom in place of my wedding photo. I hate that the clinic staff know me so well now. I hate that lie-back-legs-up- here comes the ultrasound scanner is now a routine part of life.
I hate that the only way off this rollercoaster is to give up.
I hate myself for being so ridiculous.