That’s how I feel at the moment, staring at yet another negative pregnancy test. Don’t bother telling me that I’m not a failure. I know that I’m not. I know that this is beyond my control and that it doesn’t make me any less of a woman. But, for right now, I feel like the biggest failure the world has ever seen. I can’t even think about spending time around people today, people who have so easily succeeded at this. Literally everyone that I would encounter today has reproduced. That reminds me, I need to cancel my appointment with the super-fertile chiropractor who has had 2 kids since I started trying. I’m considering skipping out on Friday night Bunco, because I can’t stand the idea of being surrounded by a dozen women talking about their kids and grandkids. Even if there is no kid talk, my failure is amplified by the mere fact that each one of them has the luxury of taking their fertility (and that of their offspring) for granted.
And then there’s fucking Mothers Day, a month from now, when yet another failed cycle will be coming to an end. Oh, and the week before that, the anniversary of my loss. Perfect fucking timing.
It’s no way to live, avoiding the world. But I just can’t do it today.
No. Today is my day to cry so hard I can’t breathe. To scream about how fucking unfair this all is. To be angry at anyone and everyone. To let my pain consume me.