I’m only sleeping

A few days ago, on Monday morning, I crashed. The night before I was crying myself to sleep after some unwelcome news and in the morning everything felt dark and dull. I poured myself a cup of  tea and sat down on the couch. Had a sip and looked out the window. And everything just stopped.

Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Just sat there.

My husband got worried of course. I wanted to tell him it was alright, but I couldn’t get the words out. It was difficult enough just to move my eyes to look at him. Stuck, I felt stuck in my own head.

He drove me to the hospital, to this emergency psychiatric place. Thoughts kept spinning in my mind, it may have looked like I was half asleep but it was quite the opposite. I was aware, fully aware, painfully aware of every little detail. My uncombed hair. My husband’s concern. The chatter of others in the waiting room.

There was a woman there, waiting for her turn, who started talking of babies. On and on she went, describing her previous pregnancies and how giving birth was the best thing ever, the best, the best. Husband told me not to listen but I couldn’t stop it. I listened, and felt close to blacking out. My head was about to explode it seemed, I couldn’t breathe and everything hurt. I hurt, the world hurt, the woman’s words hurt.

I couldn’t sit there listening. In a full panic I fled into the nearest bathroom and sat down on the floor, in a corner, crying.

We were at the hospital for half a day. I talked to doctors – or rather they talked to me while I merely managed to whisper a few stray words in return – and got pills.

Once home I slept.

The day after I slept.

And the day after that.

Despite sleeping all day I’ve also been able to sleep all night, so my waking hours have dwindled to barely more than a handful per day. I’m exhausted, absolutely exhausted. All I want to do is sleep.

I wish I could just make it stop. I wish I could be normal. I wish I wouldn’t hurt my husband like this. I wish the pain would stop.

 

They call me from the hospital every day now, to check on me. They keep asking if I want to kill myself. Every day they ask. I keep saying no. They don’t seem to believe me. But I keep saying no. I won’t. Even though I feel worthless, even though I’m sure my husband would be better off without me, I won’t. I want to live. I want to grow old. And I want to see this hell through and come out victorious on the other side.

Hurting

I  am not doing great. It is Friday and I should be happy for the upcoming weekend, for the summer warmth and for the chance to simply hang out with my husband. To enjoy the garden, cuddle the cats, keep writing, keep working on that embroidery too that I’m so proud of.

 

Instead I just hurt. I cry. I do my job but without pleasure, with every minute stretching out to last an hour.

 

By necessity I am trying to face and accept the possibility that we won’t ever have a child. Wondering when to say stop, when to give up, when to decide that it won’t happen. But that acceptance does not come easy. The questions hover over me like a dark cloud, blocking out the sun.

 

I’m not doing great. It hurts, badly.

Still here, still waiting

I woke up in the darkness of night with a funny feeling. A funny wet feeling. SHIT, I thought, I’ve started bleeding.

So I hopped up to the bathroom to check. No blood. The wetness, I don’t know what that was, something clear/white. Perhaps remnants of the pills I shove up there three times a day, hormone stuff to make things uh, better? I really don’t know what it does. The clinic never really said. They just gave pills and said here, use these. And I’m a good girl who does as she is told, at least in this context.

My lower abdomen aches as it so often does right before I start menstruating.

I don’t think I’m pregnant this time either.

 

 

On a brighter note, remember the blade I mentioned buying? I held a little ceremony last night to symbolically tie it to myself, make it mine and only mine. Even beforehand I felt energy rising, and once it was time I was just in the right mindset.

It wasn’t dramatic. But it was beautiful. Even though I was a little clumsy in certain aspects of the procedure, it went well and left me with a feeling of calm certainty and strength.

It also made it clear to me how much I have to learn. Not through books and articles, but through doing. I learn the most there, at the shrine or during meditation and ritual. Not merely trial and error in a practical sense, but in a spiritual one too. Each experience allowing for a step forward. I  am curious to see where it will lead.

Acquiring a knife

I have known for several years that I have wanted to get a knife. A ritual knife, to be exact. Oh, and if you just stumbled onto this blog without knowing anything about me, let me just calm any potential concerns with a clarification. The knife is absolutely not for harming or threatening people or animals. I have wanted one for ritual use, that is mostly symbolic, and potentially practical use in the sense of perhaps cutting herbs. Nothing sinister, don’t you worry.

With that said, back on track! I’ve wanted a knife. I know a lot of pagans use ritual blades that are purely symbolic, that don’t actually have a sharp edge, but this never felt right for me; I wanted one that was real. And I wanted one that felt just right, picked out by me and used only by me. Not a regular family tool but my own blade.

A couple of weeks ago I finally found what I had been looking for all these years. It was instant love.  I mean, look at it! (I ordered it from BlackBeardShop on etsy, if you are curious you should definitely go check them out. )

 

 

I ordered another type of knife for my darling husband, but since that’s his alone I’ll not be showing off those pictures here. But if you are curious, check the one called Kingsman in the BlackBeardShop.

 

So, now I have my knife. Finally! I could not be happier with it. I just wanted to share that with you all, there’s really nothing more to say at the moment. So for now, toodles!

Six Three One

Six eggs they took out of me on monday.

Three managed to get fertilized.

One got put back inside me.

 

It is time for the devastating waiting game again. June 11th is when I am to take a pregnancy test. Time again to try and not get my hopes up, while not succumbing to hopelessness. It’s not easy, it really is not easy. I cried like a baby today, so certain that it would not work. Somehow my mood lifted a little when seeing the little blob through a microscope, seeing it still alive. I’ll try not to cry any more now, it does no one any good. One might be enough.