I'm incredibly self-loathing, but I don't particularly like bumming everyone out over it. Here's a cat cuddling with a capybara.

Ugh

So I keep grappling with the very real possibility that I'll never be able to have children. Not only am I suspicious that I'll never be able to conceive, despite four (very unsuccessful) rounds of Clomid, but I'm not sure if we'll ever be able to afford the other options.

It's incredibly...frustrating. I haven't been able to write about anything for a long time. I'm just so tired all the time, and the amount of hormones coursing through me is making it incredibly difficult to manage my chronic depression. I don't know; it's hard to give up on your life-long dream, but on the other hand, when is it time to accept that enough is enough?
Obviously, all of this is completely out of my control. I have to continue my endometriosis treatment, which could potentially result in pregnancy. And, I suppose we'll never stop trying. My hope isn't entirely gone, I'm just trying to base myself in reality. I always need a game plan; that's how I roll.

So, to clarify, I'm not having a pity party. I'm just being realistic. And I'm seething with hormones (which just autocorrected to "holiness"). It makes for a less-than-appealing blog update.

I ain't yo' "holla-back" girl.

 This is not a bummer post; it's a really positive one. Almost manic. But you guys don't care, right?



Have I ever mentioned that I love my primary care physician? She's technically not a doctor; she's just a nurse practitioner, but she's incredible all the same.

She mentioned to her nursing student that I was thin today. HA! VICTORY!

Another victory (at least for me, anyway), is the fact that I'll be starting a round of fertility drugs, specifically Clomid, in a couple of weeks. I'm really excited about this, as it means we might actually get somewhere.
Basically, Clomid is a drug that will stimulate my ovaries to produce eggs (which could potentially have the side effect of making more than one baby, but usually not more than two). I'll be on this for a few weeks until the point when they [cough] inseminate me with a [cough] sample from Jacob. It's a bit awkward, but since doing that special kind of dancing hasn't been working for us, I'm pretty much up for anything.
Essentially, we could get pregnant in time for me to get the best birthday present ever. I'm not saying that's likely, but it is a possibility.

If this doesn't work after about 4 cycles, then I get to go to Mayo for some straight-up IVF. Not really interested in that, but if we're going down this road already, we may as well sink money into it before we sink money into the adoption process. It's just the Minnesota Hunerdosse journey, I guess.

For so long, I've been fixating on this, repressing all my feelings about infertility until they weigh upon my heart so heavily until I break down, or channel it into some bizarre project. Or, at least, that's been the cycle to which I've had no relief. But now...ah, but now...there's actual hope.

Hope. So wonderful.

Anyway, I've been doing a lot of work to become less depressed and more functional. Self-esteem boosting, perhaps. I finally got my substitute teaching license and started working again! I'm really looking forward to actually doing a job that influences people (specifically, children). I hope I can instill a sense of value in them...and for the love of God, fix their grammar...

Also, Jacob recently found an article that said because I have severe endometriosis, I'm more likely to be smokin' hot. And, well, I am smokin' hot (that is, when I'm not wearing the clothes of a jam band roadie.) I may have been privy to a surreal recreation of My Fair Lady this weekend, which reaffirmed the fact that my rear end is spectacular and I can still "drop it like it's hot." Not that anyone around me was even remotely interested in my feminine appeal, but no matter: I might be becoming an attractive adult, and this pleases me.

I've also been doing a lot of running. I ran an 8k a while back and this past weekend I ran the Big Gay Race 5k up in Minneapolis. It was awesome; not only did I run reasonably well considering all the people, but it was just incredibly affirming to see thousands of people come out in support of love. Oh, it warmed my heart so!

We got DirectTV, so now I can watch Doctor Who every single damn day (although I've DVRd the most recent episode, so, no spoilers, Sweetie). We can also watch Game of Thrones and Homeland, both of which have earned my seal of approval.  Even better, I can watch old movies from my past, like The Haunting. Holy crap, 13-year-old Katie loves this movie.

This album has helped me turn the corner on depression. As you can see, this isn't the actual cd, just a copy I made for David. I labeled it accordingly.

Bartleby and Clinical Depression

So.

I use this blog as therapy. While I'd like to say it's for all of you, it's for me.
 

I suffer from clinical depression, as most of you know. I'm in a pretty terrible place right now, which is hard for me to admit, but it's just the honest truth. I feel like a lot of bad things happened around me all at once and I have developed absolutely no coping mechanisms. I recognize how stupid it is; I have so many things in this world, and I'm incredibly grateful. But depression, as I've mentioned before, is a nasty, vicious bitch.

When I go through a bad bout of depression, I liken myself to the title character in "Bartleby the Scrivener" (Herman Melville, 1853). For those of you unfamiliar with this particular short story, it details the account of a Wall Street lawyer's interactions with his copyist Bartleby, who slowly detaches from all responsibility (even to his own well-being), dismissing it with the phrase, "I would prefer not to." He goes so far as to become a vagrant, is put in prison, and eventually dies of starvation after "preferring" not to eat. I remember reading it in high school. I've never particularly cared for Melville, as I've always found him ridiculously long-winded, but this story struck me as relevant to my life. I, too, become detached and listless in these situations, and I'd just as well "prefer not to" exist.

This is my lowest point in a long time. I barely moved today. I slept more than I thought I was capable of sleeping. I watched a silent movie. I cried a lot.

 I tend to cry a lot. I'm a crier. It's a pretty typical thing that I do.

 I feel nothing but remorse and regret for the way I've been acting lately, because I've been nothing but clingy and needy to pretty much everyone in my life. It makes me sick to my stomach. The wonderful people in my life deserve so much more than that.

My only usual place for human interaction is temporarily gone. Jacob has insisted that I take a Facebook hiatus. So, now I'm just alone.

Jacob and I had the discussion last night that maybe we should just work on me for a little bit, and take the focus off of having babies. If we want to raise those babies right, I have to be okay. Which, once again, I find it incredibly frustrating that it's only me that's standing in the way of the only thing I truly want: children.

I have to give Jacob a lot of credit. He's wonderful at recognizing when I need help. Unfortunately, he's about as nurturing as a lump of coal. I can sense his good intentions, but I lack the emotional comfort, and that's very difficult to come by. Jacob is the only one who has that responsibility toward me, plus, I can't deny that his love for me is tremendous. It is truly dynamic.

Despite all his faults, very few men would stick with a woman as batshit crazy as me and still maintain the same love for her that he's always had. Dammit, he's wonderful.


If I wasn't so horribly crushed by my own brain, I'd love to blog about all the fun I had at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival this year and how I'm almost ready to start substitute teaching in the Austin Public School District.  But, unfortunately, that'll just have to wait for a time when I'm in better spirits.

Maybe tomorrow?

Cruel, Cruel Summer

I had high hopes this week. I mean, really high hopes. I went out and bought a pee test yesterday. Negative. Which shouldn't have surprised me. Oh, then, as per usual, I go my period eleven days late this morning (which is gross and unnecessary information for most blogs, but not mine, so deal with it). I guess what surprised me is how hard I took it.
In fact, I'm still taking it hard.

Oh God, I'm taking it really hard. I didn't even want to mention anything, but hell, it's just all spilling out...

I thought I had an intuition this time. It's so hard when you can't even trust your own body. 

I struggle with depression. Really struggle. It's part of the reason most of my blogs are so somber. I actually have a happy blog in the works, but when I'm happy enough to post it, I'm unusually manic and unable to stay in one place for too long.

I can project the most happy, optimistic attitude for the sake of others, but I can't seem to wrangle it for myself. No, I'm not trying to portray myself as a selfless martyr, giving all of my happiness to others, I'm just trying to illustrate how maladjusted I am. Oh dear God, I am so maladjusted. Behold:
My long-standing pattern of behavior is to devote myself to a friend/boyfriend/whatever in need because I care deeply for those in my life and that's just what you do, right? But then realize through all of it that I'm also one who needs help, but not be able to communicate this to anyone. Then, after suffering some sort of nasty pitfall, I crumble into a miserable, mewling mess, thus becoming obsolete to those who need me, and becoming a burden to those who love me. I lose interest in everything, and just become useless. Fortunately for me, something has always come along to save me last minute, but I can't ever seem to remain in that state of remission. It just cycles, over and over. It's not an unusual pattern for people with depression.

Depression is SUCH A BITCH. I mean, it really, really is. A nasty, conniving, cold-hearted bitch. 

 I would like to stay, you know, sane. For once. It's an awful lot of work to save somebody from themselves; not many people have the time or capacity to do that. Plus, as much as I would want that, I would never want that. I hate feeling pitied. I hate feeling like a burden. I know I might seem attention-seeking sometimes, but I think that's just a result of bad writing; I really hate feeling pitied.

It's terrible, because sometimes, all I think I need is a hug. Or a hug marathon. Yes, a marathon of hugging. I don't know if this is a reversion back to a state of child-like dependence, but sometimes, I think so many of my depression symptoms can be emotionally rectified by a good solid hug. My parents hugged me a lot when I was little, so maybe that has something to do with it. Or maybe I'm just weird and needy. Take your pick.

And yes, now I'm going to talk about hugging. It'll keep me from crying, and I need a break. My eyes are so puffy that I don't even recognize myself in the mirror. I look a little like Quasimodo, which, as you can imagine, is terrifying.
I'm pretty guarded about my relationships, and, generally, I'm pretty guarded about who I hug. I tend to really over-think the act of physical contact between human beings; it's a weird thing that I've always done, and feel free to diagnose me with all kinds of crazy. I won't initiate a hug with someone with whom I'm not comfortable. Conversely, if I meet a good hugger, I'm more likely to hang on to that person. I can't typically trust my body for anything, but I feel like when we embrace each other with genuine affection, I can feel it in the base of my spine (I feel strong emotions in the base of my spine---I might be an alien), and I like noticing how every different person applies pressure differently to display affection. It...kind of...helps me cope. I don't know; I'm sure most people love hugging, and all of this sounds like babbling, but I just want to talk about something that makes me happy.

Unfortunately, I think I may have married one of the worst huggers in the Midwest. Jacob is too tall, too uncoordinated, and too reserved to hug me while standing. Unless I'm standing one stair up and he's one down, but those hugs are only given upon request. Jacob is notorious for not being physically affectionate, so I'm not sure how I managed that. He does this weird thing where he tries to pop my back, but it mostly just hurts because he doesn't know what he's doing. OR, he'll hug for about 2 seconds, then give me three "buddy" pats on the back. Ineffectual, to say the least. But, he is trying. I've started communicating that more frequently, because, you know, in a marriage, communication is important. So are hugs, you know? To his credit, he's a decent cuddler (when he's not, um, gassy). At least he's funny :)

Maybe that's another reason why I like being within the theater community. Everyone is so physically affectionate, and no one attaches any unnecessary stigma to it. I don't think there's any other environment quite like it. It's just another reason I find it so therapeutic; it keeps me stable.

All this hugging talk is reminding me of how lonely I am during the day. Unemployment is so terribly lonely. I love having time to myself, but enough is enough. During the day (particularly the morning, because David is usually awake and keeping me company during the afternoon---and no, I'm not complaining about that at all; friends are awesome), I get so, so lonely. I used to have coworkers. Coworkers who talked to me and laughed with me. Even my coworkers that would hug me if I needed it. I even used to have little kids to hug...oh shit, I need to stop this train of thought...


Maybe I'll go watch more Dr. Who and secretly pretend I'm the Doctor's companion. I know this girl could use an adventure right now. I think I may have discovered the one show that might heal the scars from Lost and rekindle my desire to watch real television again; I am forever grateful. Jacob and I might finally be able to resume our favorite pastime...of watching real television. Or maybe I'll just become a massive nerd again. It wouldn't be the first time.



Maybe I should go put ice on my face. Reduce the swelling. Start looking human again.

Did I ever mention how much I love Linus. He's been a good buddy to me lately, and I'd feel bad if I didn't mention him.

Shark week

Sometimes, I'm an unholy terror.

I was looking for a picture of a monster, and found this. I've never seen it before and had no idea it existed. Its light hearted nature is in no way indicative of the somber tone of this post.

In general, I'm lovely. However, once my hormones rush through me, I become a damned monster. I can't figure out why this happens. I mean, I know PMS is this thing that happens to most women, but I just become an outrageous, yet heart-broken bitch.

I didn't used to be this way. I think after surgery, my insides started over-functioning to make up for lost time. Unfortunately, my hormones have gone berserk. Imagine this: once a month, my brain suddenly bombards me with every failure that I have ever experienced, and I become a wretched victim of heartbreak. For pretty much no reason (other than the fact that I am kind of a failure, a fact which I like to slip under the rug whenever I can). I feel terrible for those close to me; it's really not something they deserve, but I can't seem to help it. I'm so thankful that Jacob knew what was going on the moment he woke up this morning; he's brilliant sometimes. I do love him so.

I had another attack...thing today. It wasn't a scary one, or at least not initially. It hurt, but it could have been much worse. However, the aftermath was atrocious. It's actually getting worse as I type. This rarely happens. I have suffered many different manifestations, and this is really the second best I can hope for. Unfortunately, I watched three small girls today. Needy girls. Oh, and it's the first hottest day of the year. I can't imagine anything more miserable than being head-butted simultaneously in the uterus by a one-year-old and a three-year-old. I thought I was going to die at that moment; I actually saw stars. Oh, it was bad...I think Doctor Who saved my life today. Doctor Who and graham crackers. I suppose Jacob and David helped too.

Regardless, I'm just miserable that any of this happened. Again. AGAIN. I just want to get a handle on this, because it might be the thing that is actually breaking my f*ing heart. That, and I'm surrounded by pregnant women and newborn babies. I can't stop it from getting to me. I really can't, and I wish I could. It might help my motivation to achieve something in this world.

I wish I had a cuddle from somebody right now. I say somebody simply for the fact that Jacob is undeniably covered in a thick layer of sweat and grease. And he's full of beer. Two things that are not advisable in a cuddle. But a clean, sober cuddle would be very welcomed right now.


I just feel so lonely sometimes.

Hell hath no fury...

I have just been given a taste of what it would feel like if my children were threatened in any way. I can definitively say that I will be one nasty, yet eloquent, mama bear. Consider yourselves warned.

This is a ranting blog about random high school drama that somehow permeated into my typically drama-free life. 

I typically like most people. I mean, I give most people the benefit of the doubt after I meet them. Also, it takes a pretty severe offense for me to publicly denounce a person. However, once that offense is perpetrated, you are dead to me. Particularly if the offense had something to do with my reproductive state.
 I should probably admit that this blog may have had a bit to do with one of these encounters. There exists this girl: let's call her Sandy. Sandy was in shows with me, and clearly has some form of attachment disorder, along with not being the brightest of bulbs. Sandy was completely unable to pick up on social cues, however, was extremely self-assured in terms of how great her relationships were with others in the theater. You know the type. Anyway, Sandy liked to assume that since I was married, I should absolutely be pregnant. It's a topic that I had avoided with most fringe acquaintances, but Candy seemed to think it was perfectly acceptable to demand that I fertilize my husband's seed (a euphemism for what she actually said) in front of crowds of people and that she would babysit my children, in no uncertain terms. She also had a habit of physically fondling me in public without my express permission every time we encountered each other. Her boundaries became so excessively bad that I ended up blocking her on Facebook, which she didn't seem to notice. I wrote that blog about things not to say to someone with fertility issues for people like her, thinking that her excessive stalking might lead her to my blog, but alas, no dice.

For the record, Jacob thinks she's batshit crazy. He also has wanted me to cut every tie with her for a long time, which I have resisted, because I had enough compassion for her as person that I didn't want to crush her and send her into a deep depression. Knowing what I know about her now, I don't think she has the same capacity that I do to react to failed relationships. So. Much. Energy. Wasted.

As it were, I am not the first person to suffer her indecent boundaries. Which is what leads me to the "mama bear" incident. I am very protective of my friends; I defend them, even in the worst of situations. David lives with me, so amplify that protective instinct tenfold and you have the monster that I am. Sandy's boundaries with David are obscene, and when she crossed a line, I unleashed my fury (a fury that has been building for years, to which she has been utterly oblivious). What irritated me about the encounter was the deluge of asinine, ignorant and poorly spelled rubbish she spewed back at me. Frankly, if I'm going to take my time and write a letter of denunciation, the least you could do would be to run spell check through the putrid mess that you call a response.

I had absolutely no qualms about burning that bridge, I suppose, but I am sad that there are people like that out there, making the idea of forging relationships frightening, not to mention who I can trust with information regarding the state of my family.

I really do try to like everyone, but I can't do it this time.

Well, I'm sure that was miserable for you to read, but I had to get that off my chest. It's my therapy blog, remember?

If you read that, then be rewarded with this cheerful picture:

Poppies with make them sleep....Sleep!!!!!