I'm finding it increasingly difficult to release my emotions about our infertility.
I still wonder the same things. I still have the same questions. I sense anger and sadness, but it's not the same. My feelings seem to be swimming around inside of me in circles, not growing or getting smaller. Just being.
Have I become numb?
Part of me thinks that I have in all aspects of my life. As more things seem to pile on--Joey's uncle dying, the situation with our neighbor, more shit breaking in the house, uncertainty at work, Joey's sister having cancer, my insurance company no longer considering my RE to be "in network" because he's affiliated with a certain hospital, etc.--the more upset I should get, right? Emotions should have overflowed by now. I'm usually great at expressing them: crying, blogging, screaming. But lately? Nothing. There's nothing there, especially when it relates to infertility.
Maybe I'm finally learning how to truly give up control. Maybe this is my mind and my body coming together and realizing that no, there is nothing I can do about anything anymore. I can't control life. I can't control my body. I can't control the slutty girls from high school who pop out children like they are going out of style. I can't control the asinine journalists who write "articles" about infertility which further perpetuate stereotypes and set back YEARS of advocacy and awareness. I can't control the people who, when I tell them I am going to do IVF, ask me if I am going to end up like Octo Mom (refer to previous point). I can't control being 70 years old, shitting my pants, with no daughter or son to take care of me. I can't control people not understanding or not caring or not being there for me.
Perhaps this is it. Perhaps I'm having the epiphany to end all epiphanies.
Or maybe I've just finally gone off of the proverbial deep end. Maybe I'm realizing that I'm no closer to being a mom now than I was over two years ago.
Maybe part of me is giving up.