Infertility clench.

It seems unnatural to always be writing from such a dark place and state of mind.
It seems unlike me.
I feel oppressed and imprisoned by my own thoughts on this.
I feel robbed of my own happiness without the ability to free myself.
Caught in a web of craziness that is holding me tight.
It has such an unbending grip.

It feels unpleasant to attempt to explain this feeling.
I hate exploring this dark place.
It's not filled with brilliance and resilience my mind knows exists.
It's filled with chaos and self doubt
that is never fleeting.

It feels selfish to be writing from a place like this.

It.
Doesn't.
Fit.
Me.

- Heather

Defeated.

Stranded, wounded, desolate
guarded, tired, innocent.

heavy burden weighing down
inward shaken without sound.

Careful, careless, crying too
lack of hope and follow through.

Circling, dancing, spinning round,
dazed unable to be found.

slipping slowly into night
weapons down, I surrender this fight.

courage vanquished.
spirit vanished.
 Infertility wins, and I am finished

- Heather

When

Usually in the smallest moments it rings the loudest.

Inconceivably loud.
Unexpectedly aware.

It happens suddenly while I feel my bravest.

Rushing forcefully.
Pounding ceaselessly.

My own spirit cannot face it.

Doubting always.
Soul yearning.


Yes.
It usually happens in the smallest moment,
I fall to pieces, anxiety torments.

When Will I become What I made to be.

- Heather
 

There Between.....

There between the moments lie
Shadows casting darkened light
Melding into sunny days
Walking absent into haze.

 Restless, powerless, unannounced
lacking feeling void of sound
Carelessly hopeful consistently
focused solely; infertility

Stinging less yet sometimes more
Heart is broken, slowly torn
Flashes of light...End in sight...?

The constant unknown, holds no bounds. 

- Heather

Honesty.

Even while writing this I think to myself, who wants to read a depressing, self loathing blog. Who wants to read about pain that is endured, yet pain that is seemingly minimal. Who wants to read ranting from 29 year old woman.

It doesn't matter who wants to read it.
I am not writing this for you.

I'm writing this as a form of self expression; think of it like a piece of art, a painting perhaps.
Dark, dreary, intriguing, sad, but somehow functioning optimistically.

Art is often undefinable because it is ambiguous.

My writing feels the opposite.
My writing feels honest and exposed.

I don't want to be deceptive.
I don't want to undermine the infertility journey.
I don't want it to be brushed aside and overlooked.

Here's my voice.
Crying.
Screaming.
Shouting.
Whispering

Honesty.

- Heather

I....

I can't always create beauty with my words.
Some days they come out ugly, repetitive, annoying.

I can't always relay what I want to say.
Some days I go around in circles never really focusing on a point.

I can't make someone care.
Some days, I desperately want people to read this.

I can't get pregnant.
Every. single. day. this is very real to me.

I can't stop talking about  it.
I'm so annoying with this, it's inexpressible.

I can't stop saying 'I can't'
I wish it weren't this way, but it somehow has woven its way into my vocabulary.

- Heather

CAN'T

It's easier to believe in doubt than hope.

Imagining the worst case scenario seems realistic. 

It takes strength to have hope.
It takes optimism, resilience, character, and trust.

I feel broken down by the weight of this all.
Crushed into a smaller, less capable version of myself.
Spirit demolished.

Trying to get over something that remains constant is like
Staring at the sun without looking away. 
Running through rain while staying dry.
Closing your eyes and navigating your way through traffic.

Impossible.

It feels impossible.
I feel that there is no end. There is no cure. There is no answer.

I know what I should do. I know what advice I should take. I know the steps I should follow.

Should.
Should.
Should.

can't. -Heather