All About Suicide

Three friends of my friends have killed themselves in the last week (that I know of). I didn't know any of these individuals personally, but my Facebook feed has been blowing up with statuses about them, and I can't help but wonder if nobody ever told them that they could make a different choice? I mean, I get it. I understand depression. We all get it. We all have struggles. Every person in this life goes through issues and has to resolve tough conflicts. And I would be lying if I said I had never thought that maybe it would just be better for it to end. But I stuck it out, and it gets better, I promise. If you're feeling low (or want to know what to say to someone who is), then read on.

1. You are not alone. I promise. Whatever struggle you're going through, someone has gone through that same struggle. No one will ever have your exact same circumstances, but people have been in your shoes. Your pain may be great, but remember that people do get through it. If you don't believe me, find a support group. You'll find people just like you who have gone through similar situations. Even if nobody else has? You know who always has? You guessed it: Jesus. (See my Easter post if you want to read about my great Jesus epiphany.) You can always find comfort in prayer, even if your situation doesn't immediately change. If you still feel alone sometimes, that's okay. Just remember that you really aren't.

2. This is temporary. This is the hardest one for me to remember when I'm going through hard times. One of the biggest struggles with infertility is the fact that trying to get pregnant can go on for the rest of my reproductive life. I have an aunt who tried to conceive for ten years before adopting her son. But it's daunting to think of it that way. Don't do that to yourself. If you feel that your current struggles are never going to end, it's not true. High school ends at graduation. Seasons transition. Jobs change. Injured hearts heal. The emotional turmoil of being a victim fades with time. Even PTSD lessens as time goes on. This current, temporary stage where you are right now won't last forever. It might seem like it right now, but eventually this part will end. Don't make a permanent decision based on these factors. Because, one day, you're going to feel happy again. You're going to be really glad you're still around. Time will allow that, no matter what. If you stick it out, that is. Because your issues will never be resolved if you don't stick around to see them through.

3. The world would not be better off without  you. I didn't mention death in the last list. When close family members or friends die, you might feel like you will never feel happiness again. That part of the pain is temporary, but you will always feel some grief, just not the way you do right now. Everyone deals with death differently, and I haven't personally lost anyone that close to me yet, but I have felt the pain of grief. You have felt it too. Remember that feeling. That awful realization that you will never see that person again? If you die, that's the same feeling that you will single-handedly cause everyone who knows you. Probably even people who don't really know you but can empathize with your loved ones. Nobody likes that feeling. Don't be a jerk and hurt everyone. Don't deprive this world of your laughter and love and joy that will come again. You don't know what lies in your future if you don't stay until the end. You have great things ahead of you, and you will affect far more people during your time on earth than you will ever know. Don't cut short your potential by ending your life before its time is up.

I used to have a friend in junior high who always talked about killing himself. It was negative attention-seeking behavior, and he may not ever have actually meant it, but I always took the time to talk to him about it anyway. It was exhausting to tell him every single week why his life was worth living, but I did it anyway because I was his friend and I cared about him. I knew he was struggling, so I always made an extra effort to say hi in the hallways and be friendly when he seemed lonely. Most of his depression stemmed back to girl troubles, so I made a point of being friendly with his girlfriend too. They didn't last, but he also didn't kill himself. A few years ago, I met up with this friend, and he thanked me. He told me that he would never forget how I had reached out to him when he was depressed. I know things could have ended differently and that they still wouldn't have been my fault, because this was my friend's decision to make, but I am so glad that I took the time to be his friend anyway. We don't really keep in touch anymore, but I know that he knows he could talk to me about anything and that I would just listen. Be that friend. Everyone needs someone to talk to.

If your friends or loved ones are struggling and they choose to tell you about it, listen. Don't argue or give them advice (unless they ask!), but be there. You can't fix all of your friends' problems, but you can let them know that they are loved and that you'll be there for them when they need you. In reality, people care less about having their problems solved than they do about having someone there for them.

If you're feeling suicidal, get help. Call your parents or a close friend. If you don't feel like you can talk to anyone you know, call a suicide hotline and talk to someone you don't know. Call 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433) or 1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255). Get help! Don't forget that you are loved. You are appreciated. You matter. This feeling is temporary, and it will pass!

#sorryimnotsorry & Meet Clomid

Hi friends. Part of me wants to apologize for my last post, but the other part of me genuinely feels like it's important for the world to see what happens behind closed doors. I hope that doesn't make me selfish. I think that the best part of success is the back story--the struggle--because that's why the success is even worth anything. My children that I have one day are going to know that they are precious, wanted, and beloved. And I honestly feel that the years I have spent waiting for them will be totally worth it one day. So, I hope I didn't offend anyone or hurt any feelings. Because I love you guys all a whole lot, and I'd never want you to feel like you aren't worthy of your happiness, because you are.

I'm over my pity party for now and 3/5 of the way through my Clomid for this month. From all of the potential side effects that Clomid has listed, the only one I'm really experiencing is random hot flashes.  I'm glad that's it, because I was already having a hard enough time this last week. Part of me is even grateful for the hot flashes because I know the Clomid is doing something. I still have to wait another week to even find anything out about it, but I'm stoked to see if it works.

If you're unfamiliar with Clomid, here's how it works: from day 3 through day 7 of your cycle, you take your prescribed dosage. Because this is my first month on it, I am taking the lowest dosage (50 mg). Prescriptions of Clomid start low and go up depending on your body's reaction to it. The hope is that it will stimulate your ovaries into producing more of their regular hormones, potentially causing your body to release more eggs during ovulation. This is where Clomid twins come from. As far as I know, there's about a 20% chance of having twins while on Clomid. The idea of twins freaks me out a little, but I would much rather end up with twins than no baby at all. On day 12 of your cycle, you're supposed to go back in to have an ultrasound with your doctor. I visit a Reproductive Endocrinologist who is a specialist in infertility, but I've heard of regular OBGYNs prescribing Clomid on a pretty regular basis. (If you're going this route, make sure you schedule an ultrasound so you don't end up with a baker's dozen in that oven.) I'll be going in to have my ultrasound for this cycle on August 5th, and at that appointment we will make a game plan for the following month, since we will be able to see what the Clomid has done so far. If my body has released too many eggs (which is indicative of too high of a dosage), I'll have to wait to conceive until next month so that I don't end up with a high-risk pregnancy and all of the other disadvantages of multiples. If my body hasn't released enough eggs (0-1), then I can still try to conceive this month, but it will be less likely to happen. Right now, our ideal number is 1-2 eggs. As usual, I'm guarded but optimistic. So, that's Clomid, in a nutshell.

I just wanted to give the world a little update and let you know I haven't totally gone off the deep end yet. I didn't leave my house for a few days, and I'm binge reading Mindy Kaling and Tina Fey's books, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) and Bossypants, respectively. These ladies are career-driven, hilarious, normal people who do a great job of distracting me of what's been going on here. My dog, Mollie, has also been a fabulous cuddle-buddy for the past few days, as usual. I totally love having a dog instead of a puppy. She's not hyper anymore, she's trained, and she understands the expectations we have of her in our home. Plus, she sleeps even more than I do. She's kind of perfect. Josh has also been great. I don't think I mentioned it, but he went on a midnight ice cream run for me last week and brought me home cupcakes for breakfast. (Those are my go-to comfort foods.) He's also been really sweet and doesn't mind if I just want to hang out and drive around with him while he's working. He's even humoring me and considering going on a vacation with me in January for our fifth anniversary. (Do it, do it!) Anyway, he's great. Also, I have a fabulous support group made up largely of friends and family members who have been wonderful in letting me know I'm not alone. This struggle feels super lonely at times, but I'm hanging in here (and learning lots about the world of comedy while I'm at it). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say and for keeping our little family in your prayers. I'll never know everyone who has prayed for us, but I do feel comforted, and we are continuing to move forward. Wish us luck for this month!

Understanding Infertility: the Shock of Pregnancy

Aunt Flo has been an unwelcome guest in my home once again. I'm horribly frustrated right now, especially because almost every good friend I have is currently expecting. Even friends who said it was my turn next. I guess they're starting to realize that I really can't control the fact that I am not getting pregnant. On the day that my "time of the month" began, I had two very good friends announce pregnancies to me within twenty four hours, and I won't lie--I didn't handle it well. I know I try to be positive on this page, and generally in life, but I'm going to be real today and discuss the raw emotions that come with infertility and how to deal with them. Because I honestly feel like the only thing worse than struggling with infertility is not understanding the struggle behind it.

When you announce to your infertile friends that you are expecting, there is a whirlwind of emotion that you bring. The first thing that pops into my head is complete shock. I know that pregnancy is typically more shocking for the people experiencing it, but I am always caught off guard about the whole pregnancy thing, especially when it's people who say they haven't been trying. Maybe I'll get used to it, but maybe not. It's always completely surprising when I hear the news, and I always have a few milliseconds of panicked shock.

Being caught off guard is really difficult because then I have to deal with all of my emotions that follow very quickly in order to stay friends. I go through the stages of grief because this child (and month) is not mine, and I only have about three seconds to do it: denialangerbargainingdepressionacceptanceCONGRATULATIONS! That's it. That's the time I have. If I am not congratulating and hugging and happy immediately, it's awkward. Because that's the expected response, and even though I am an anomaly, I still need to outwardly maintain my normal. And I really am happy for you. Kind of. But when I disappear for a few days (or weeks or months) don't take it personally. I just need time to deal with your happy news later, on my own terms.

Let's be real now. What happens when I am alone later? I usually cry. I hate talking about this, but your news makes me sad. I will never tell you how much I struggle with your news. How many hours I spend contemplating my own life and my own plans. How much self-assessment I perform in hopes of coming up with a solution to this awful, empty feeling inside my chest. I feel like there must be something I'm doing wrong. There must be something I haven't tried. My body cannot do what yours does so (seemingly) effortlessly. I feel forgotten because God is not allowing me to fulfill this righteous desire. Motherhood happens in all species, all over the world. It is the most natural thing there is. And I can't make it happen for me. I feel like a failure for being unable to achieve this most natural state. And that anger goes in all directions. Even towards me for making you feel guilty about your happiness. I know that you don't want to tell me. I know that you dread it. And even though it's difficult for me to hear, I'm always so glad when you do tell me.

This is kind of how the other night went for us. I'd just heard the second pregnancy announcement, and we'd quickly made our exit. We got in the car and drove for about a half hour in silence. Josh is in an awkward position because he wants to comfort me, but he's also dealing with his own grief, which I will never completely understand either. We are in the same boat, but we are both completely alone. We tried making small talk in the beginning of the drive, but I was in too much shock still. I felt numb and empty. I wanted to be home by myself. I didn't want to talk or see anyone or even think. I just wanted to be alone.

Josh turned on the radio to a station we don't listen to often, and song after song I knew. So I started singing. Imagine Dragons. The White Stripes. Anything and everything to get out this empty, aching sadness that was starting to consume me. My life feels like a giant cycle of grief. Month after month. Pregnancy after pregnancy. The always negative test, announcing "not pregnant" as loud and painful as a blow horn. But I am still so full of hope for next time. Maybe next time will work. Maybe at the next appointment they'll figure out what's really wrong with me. My existence is made up of a string of maybes. And, suddenly, we are at my sister's house, pulling behind her SUV in  her driveway. Her own badge of the children she shuttles back and forth from school to the store and home again. And, just as suddenly, I can't go inside. Through her front window, I see her husband watching TV, and I don't want to talk to anyone. Josh asks if I just want to come home with him, but I can't. I know that there's nothing better for me there than endless hours of meaningless TV and solitude. He asks me how I'm feeling, and I tell him I need to quit. I can't do this anymore. Month after month of heartache is too hard. I tell him I feel lost. I am so lost. I am forgotten and insignificant and lost. God doesn't see me. He doesn't hear me. My happy ending is not coming. I want to disappear. I want to go for a walk and never come back. I want to get lost and leave my phone and all of the worries and cares of the world and just disappear. I understand why people fake their deaths. I want to fly to Hawaii and live on the beach with the meth heads. I think that at some point I even said that I would go and be a meth head. I just have to get out of here. I have to get away from all of these people who want me to be happy and hopeful when I just can't. I just want to sing at the top of my lungs and run faster than I can and make my body hurt as much as my heart does right now at this moment. I used to cut myself when I was in high school and wanted to make my body hurt. I used to have a gym membership in college for when I needed to make my body hurt. And right then, at that moment, I didn't have an outlet for all of the hurt. I needed to hurt so I wouldn't cry. But I did anyway. And Josh cried with me. And we re-re-re-reassessed our options for the millionth time. Of course I didn't want to quit. I want to be a mother more than anything in the world. He told me I could go to Hawaii if I needed to. He said he could figure everything out for us. I think he's scared he's losing me. I think I'm scared of losing me. Eventually that anger turned into "we need to be more aggressive with this," which turned into talk about money. So many couples get pregnant for free. Why should it be so freaking expensive for the rest of us? We've already spent hundreds of dollars, and we still don't have any answers. I still don't feel any closer to figuring all of this out. I guess I need to make money in order to make this happen. I felt resolved with the new determination to be more aggressive with our fertility options, and I went inside.

More or less, this same conversation happens every few months. There are often hours of body-wracking sobs and feeling like a total boob for needing my husband to hold and comfort me while I cry. We often get into arguments that last hours or even days. I'm sad and hurt and feel so much guilt over the years I spent trying not to get pregnant. I feel guilty for the depression that ensues, because I know that nobody is trying to hurt me. I know that if they knew the deep-rooted sadness that consumes me, they would feel guilty and bad about their pregnancy (and probably towards me), and I really believe that every baby is a happy miracle that should be celebrated.

Friends, family, I love you. I love your children. I love that your lives are progressing and that you're having babies and families. And if it can't happen to me right now, I'm so glad it can happen for you. If you give me a few days, I'll be in a better mood and won't have to force my enthusiasm for you because I'll be genuinely excited for you. Because, under these ugly feelings I have right now, I really am so so happy for you.

Every cycle, I have a couple of days when I feel completely hopeless, and then I start right back up to being hopeful again. I'm starting my Clomid today, and maybe that will fix my body this month. Who knows? I'm reserving some skeptical hope for this month and next month and the next. If Clomid doesn't work, we'll move to IUI or IVF. We will keep trying. I always wanted a summer baby, and maybe I'll still get my wish. Because here I am, a couple of days later, feeling kind of better again. I feel hope, and I feel almost worthwhile. I don't feel forgotten the way I did. I know God is still there. I hope he helps me out this month, but I know better than to feel entitled to blessings right now. I'm even excited and happy for my friends. Infertility sucks, but I hope you understand it a little bit better now. I know I don't.

Crickets: The World Keeps on Spinning

It's been quiet around here lately. A little bit too quiet. Sorry about that. Among all of the traveling I've been doing this summer, it's rare when I'm even home, and forget about having time to think of witty things to write. I think I'm going to have a couple weeks of down time though, so maybe I'll write more. I guess it will depend on if I have anything exciting to say.

Honestly, I don't have much news right now. I'm just waiting, waiting. My life is watching the second hand tick on the clock, literally watching time pass before my eyes. What else can I do? I'm still in limbo. I'm still in a standoff with my body--refusing to believe the fact that it may never carry children. I'm stubborn in my beliefs, and my body is stubborn in hers. Our guns are each pointed at each other, and I keep hoping she'll lower hers and surrender. I hope we can come to some sort of compromise, but it will just depend on what she wants, I guess. I'm always at her mercy. I'm sure I've said it all before. I've been dreaming about having babies of my own since I was probably eight years old, and yet I'm nearing twenty-five and have nothing of that sort to show for myself. In Jack White's famous words, "Oh well, oh well, oh well."

On the bright side, I'll find out in a few short days if I'll be needing Clomid this next month. Which also means that I'll find out soon if this last month stuck. We'll see. I analyze my symptoms each month in hopes that some telltale sign will manifest itself, praying that this will be my month. Each month, I start calculating due dates and other exciting dates and times, and I really feel like this month would be completely perfect. April would be a great time to have a baby! Josh will be finishing school, and who knows what exciting adventures will be in store for us then? Parenthood would be pretty cool. And, until then, I'm not taking any extra tests. I'm not hyping myself up and convincing myself that this is my month. Because, while it really could be, it's entirely possible that it is not. (Honestly, I'll probably finish this post and go take a test, because I have NO self-control. Let's be real here!)

As I'm sure everyone in the English-speaking world already knows, the Duchess of Cambridge, Kate, from William and Kate, gave birth to a baby boy today. On some Facebook groups that I follow, administrators were asking what infertile women were doing to keep their minds off of the news, and it got me really thinking. Why shouldn't be we happy to celebrate the exciting news of others? There is no rule that says that because one person had a baby that I won't or that others struggling never will. There's no shortage of little souls waiting to be sent to families. I know that such a public excitement over a baby could be upsetting to some, but why? Why don't we all focus on the positives in the world instead of worrying about our own little corners of negativity? I'm so happy for the royal family! What a wonderful thing! Babies are always blessings, and they always deserve celebration.

I'm holding my breath right now. My two week wait is coming to an end, and I'm hopeful in a way I've been hopeful 25 other times, but different and unique because this month I'm sure I did it right, the same way I've been certain so many other times. I'm not sure what to say or do at this point, because I'm too busy crossing my fingers and accepting the fact that I've done all I can this month. And the world is watching England right now, eagerly anticipating more baby news, and I'm still holding my breath while the crickets chirp and I wait for news of my own. I'm breaking my silence, but I don't have anything to say, yet. I don't know why they call it a "waiting game." It's really not fun for anyone.

What Next?

Hello, world. I have spent the past three weeks traveling (nearly) nonstop, vacationing with my favorite people, daydreaming about tomorrow, and soaking in every moment of my present. I know in my heart that children would complete my family in a way nothing else ever will, but I still savor my moments of silence and peace here in the present. I mean, if I learn nothing else from this infertility, I have certainly learned that my current state of quiet childlessness is temporary, and it will one day soon (I hope) be transformed into something more fulfilling but also louder, busier, and shriller. As you may know, I am a quiet person, and I require occasional evenings of silent solitude in order to re-charge. One day those moments will be rushed and stolen and I'll probably wonder what on earth I was ever thinking in voluntarily inviting the chaos of children into my home. Some brief moments, I'll probably be ungrateful, but then I'll remember these years of perpetual emptiness and heartache and I'll know it's worth it. At least, that's how I imagine it will be.

So, this is the month. Next cycle is the cycle. We have filled our prescription for Clomid, and Josh and I are eagerly counting down the days until we can begin. I visited my doctor for my most recent appointment on Cycle Day 4, and I can't start my prescription until my next Cycle's Day 3, so this is going to be a looooong month. My mind is pacing. My imagination is going crazy with all of the possibilities of what could happen. Twins aren't as scary as they once were. And the concept that this is finally (maybe) going to happen is making me feel hopeful and happier than I want to admit. Yeah, I'm guarded. I've been on this train for two and a half years. I'm not exactly going to allow myself to get excited just yet. Staying skeptical is what keeps me from having my heart crushed month after month, so skeptical I will remain. But secretly, deep down, I'm so excited.

That's what's been happening here. I won't have any answers until August, but I'll keep taking my thyroid medicine, taking my temperature, peeing on ovulation sticks, and trying to have intimate time with my husband more often so that my doctors won't yell at me next time I visit. Maybe one of these months, all of the trying will work. A girl can always hope, right? Wish me luck! This girl is back to vacationing!