I realised what I did. I got too hopeful. Raised the bar too high so to speak. I thought everything would be better after my operation. Everything would finally happen as Steve and I planned. As you know I’m all about the planning. We’ve been wishing and hoping for almost 5 years. I feel like I’m going insane. Becoming hyper sensitive. It makes my head hurt and all I want to do is sleep. Imagine Carrie in Mexico and you get the idea.
I’m happy for other people and their blessings but at the same time I want to stand on the rooftop and sing “WHAT ABOUT ME? It isn’t fair, I’ve had enough and I want my share…” I feel like a failure. Sure, I’m yet to do everything I’m capable of in achieving our goal of a family but we need time and money. So I distracted myself with fanciful and frivolous fun. I guess I ran out of room for all the buried feelings. I woke up sobbing this morning.
I was dreaming. A vivid dream of my surgery. The thought of the pain make me want to vomit. I resent my scars. My useless and undeserving scars. I see them everyday and everyday I’m reminded. Sure there are worse things in the world. People have suffered greatly in this world and I should be thankful for what I do have.
But I’m selfish. I feel my pain and I own it. I’ve never been you and you’ve never been me. You weren’t me on the table. You didn’t feel what I felt. I relived it all in my dream. Even as I type tears well up just thinking about it. The moment they pulled the drain out will stay with me forever and the scars will be there to remind me.
I understand I have quite a few TTC readers and some of my wonderful friends have themselves been blessed and I’m ever so happy for them. I understand their battles and the love they have for their families and I know they will understand why I had to write this post. I want to be able to sleep without fear of waking up in tears.