Black Tears

I recently had to take a pregnancy test. I don’t have to take them nearly as often as while I was in treatment but with PCOS, I rarely have periods on my own and I have to take medicine to induce them. Before taking it, I have to make sure I’m not pregnant. Each time I test, there is always a small glimmer of hope but once again it was negative.

I don’t need to justify why I write but I tend to write when I’m sad or upset. I promise I’m often happy but it often doesn’t reflect when I write.

I’ve been really down for the last week. I’ve really been struggling with deep depression again. It still feels hopeless and never-ending. I have to remind myself that it will pass but when I’m there, it feels like it will never leave and this time it’s hung around for far too long. I’m learning too that my grief manifests itself through anger. I direct that anger toward anyone or anything that has hurt me. My anxiety allows me to dig into the most miniscule things and find a reason to be hurt by something.

It sometimes feels as though I’m the only sad person I know. Everyone else seems happy and carefree. Or am I the only one sharing the really deep, personal shit? It was hard to share this hard stuff at first. I worried about what people would think of me. I know many of you read my blogs and don’t give a shit about me. You read them to be nosey and see that you have it better than me. It seems that while I was in treatment, there was more support. I think it was because people were rooting for us and hoping for a happy ending because a happy ending is easy. Many infertiles don’t share their struggles until they have a happy ending. They keep the pain locked away until there is something exciting to celebrate. Celebrating is easy but supporting people in sadness is well, sad. Almost everyone loves to celebrate others who have struggled through something and found success. But instead, some support fades and I’m surrounded by swollen bellies and parents.

I’m constantly reminded that everyone else gets to walk away from my sadness but I never get to leave it. I get a vacation from it now and then but it never goes away. I don’t know what this process is supposed to look like and if I’m doing good or not. I try not to judge myself but it’s really difficult to not feel like I’m doing a terrible job at coping. I know there is no right or wrong way to grieve. I have to take it one day at a time.

Someone recently posted about relationships being so important and if you’re isolating yourself, you’re losing out. That’s a great thought but isolation isn’t always a choice and what if people are the ones who make you feel isolated? I have no idea when I’m going to “feel better”. I know have days where I feel good and days where I don’t. Sadness can be overwhelming. Suicidal thoughts creep back in. Each time feels worse than the last and I can’t imagine continuing to go on until I do.


I’m often drowning and people know. How can they not!? I write it all down for everyone to read but they don’t seem to care. It’s easier to do nothing. It’s easier for people to think of themselves. It’s easier to pretend I don’t exist. It’s easier to ignore the whiny infertile girl. If I were to disappear today, would those that love me know why?

That’s why people give up. They feel like people have given up on them. But after someone kills themselves, then all of sudden everyone wishes they’d done something after it’s too late.

People seem to be the thing that bring me the greatest joy and the most intense pain. I don’t know how to find a balance anymore and that makes me not want to invest in people anymore because the pain is so great. I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m looking for support. I sometimes wish I didn’t feel things so deeply. Maybe then this would be easier for me.

Anything can send me back into the pit. A photo. A text. A conversation. Then before I know it, I’m in a public restroom silently sobbing while black tears hit the floor.

You do not know sadness until you try to silently sob in a public restroom.

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