Darwin Would Call Me Unfit

This may be a strange topic for this blog, which is normally a silly, essentially meaningless forum for my snarkiness. It's good for me, I have the opportunity to be goofy and normal. But (the heaviness descends here...) today I just need to talk about some of the heavier things that are happening in my life. So I apologize for throwing the big, heavy, wet blanket down, but it's a very real part of my existence these days.



This morning, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "Who are you? How did you get here? Is this even real life or is it some weird dream? And since when do you get so angry that you want to hit and call names???" This weird girl (who must be related to Ursula) has possessed me for months...and the weird thing is, I didn't even know it. It's like an incidious disease has invaded me and eaten up all of the kindness, the enjoyment, the unshakable happiness that used to be my default mode.



But this morning, I realized that it was there. In many ways, it is kind of a relief to finally figure out what in the blue hell has taken me over recently. My anatomy has betrayed me, and I'm furious about it. I finally figured this out as I stood in the aisle at Barnes and Noble with a book in my hand called "The Infertility Survival Handbook", and felt like the biggest failure in the Universe. From somewhere inside of me came terms like "evolutionary failure", "barren", or "empty womb".



This sounds really stupid. I know it even as I type this. And I know, I know, I know. My trademark dramaticism may be showing through here. But this is the kind of poison that has been eating me alive for months. It's not really reasonable, but it's there and it's devouring me. I think you have to be a woman to understand this, and probably a woman who has been through all of this to completely understand this whole infertility thing. In the broadest terms, my evolutionary purpose is to bear children. Biologically and emotionally, I am meant to be a mother. And the desperate reality that this may not be possible is a realization that can't really be explained. It's a little like someone poured boiling water down the very core of my being (there's a nice visual, eh?) and the very middle of myself is melting and collapsing.



I'm having a little bit of a melt-down here, it's like a perfect storm has descended on me. (Pity party to commence here...) I'm rapidly circling the age of 29, which is an age where I intended to have a couple of little bald, rolly-polly kids. Pregnancy surrounds me, and it's really killing me to try to convince everyone that it isn't skewering my insides. I'm getting ready to see an Infertility Specialist, which is the most surreal experience ever. The testing, the poking, the pricking and the bankruptcy of this prospect is so very real and so debilitating. I am experiencing the absolute lack of any hope at all, which I know is completely detrimental to the whole process.

I am fully aware that I am blowing this out of proportion in some measure. But it's my blog and I get to say whatever I want.