I think I've discovered something of a pattern. It seems to me that every six month into this damned process, I hit this insurmountable depression.
(Note: It makes me more depressed to think that there have been enough six-month marks to notice a pattern.)
The end of this past cycle was just really hard. Stay in bed, want to cry all day hard.
The end of this past cycle was also the two-year mark.
Same thing happened six months ago - at 18 months, just as I was getting set to start testing.
And a year ago.
And at the six month mark. I remember nearly having a breakdown in the mall after going to the restroom and discovering that, once again, I was not pregnant. (Oh, how I wish I could have smacked my naive self for that one. Six months? Really? In my defense, in addition to it being the six-month mark, The Hubby had just gotten out of the hospital with a life-threatening condition and one of my best friends was less than a month away from giving birth - and there were four other impending births coming up in those next six weeks. But, still. I'd tell that girl now to get a grip.)
I guess milestones are supposed to hit harder, but I really hate feeling this way. I hate the hopelessness. I hate that nothing makes me happy. It's not fair to everybody and everything else in my life that I feel this way. But, I can't help the way I feel.
I pray that six months from now this will not be happening again, but at the same time, I have no reason to hope it won't.
(Note: It makes me more depressed to think that there have been enough six-month marks to notice a pattern.)
The end of this past cycle was just really hard. Stay in bed, want to cry all day hard.
The end of this past cycle was also the two-year mark.
Same thing happened six months ago - at 18 months, just as I was getting set to start testing.
And a year ago.
And at the six month mark. I remember nearly having a breakdown in the mall after going to the restroom and discovering that, once again, I was not pregnant. (Oh, how I wish I could have smacked my naive self for that one. Six months? Really? In my defense, in addition to it being the six-month mark, The Hubby had just gotten out of the hospital with a life-threatening condition and one of my best friends was less than a month away from giving birth - and there were four other impending births coming up in those next six weeks. But, still. I'd tell that girl now to get a grip.)
I guess milestones are supposed to hit harder, but I really hate feeling this way. I hate the hopelessness. I hate that nothing makes me happy. It's not fair to everybody and everything else in my life that I feel this way. But, I can't help the way I feel.
I pray that six months from now this will not be happening again, but at the same time, I have no reason to hope it won't.
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