I can't believe that it has been 3 months since my miscarriage. In some respects it seems like it has been a lot longer, and yet it still burns fresh in my mind.
After 5 years, you'd think that I'd be completely used to disappointment but instead, this whole ordeal has taken me back to a place that I thought I had locked in the outer spaces of my mind, never to show it's ugly face again. I am back to that person I despise, resentful, jealous, full of malicious thoughts and unkind feelings. I can only hope I am hiding it well. It's so wierd for me. All these unfortunate emotions aren't directed at anyone in particular. I don't get upset when I see a pregnant woman (although jealousy never escapes me), and I don't necessarily wish evil things on the newest member of the bulging belly club. I am left with no outlet, and hence the creation of this blog.
I think the hardest part of all of this has been the loss of spirituality. I have never been one of great faith, but I'd say that I had enough to suffice. Now however, I cannot bring myself to pray, and the very mention of a God full of mercy and grace infuriates me. I thought that I was getting better, as these episodes of internal rage were decreasing, so I thought that maybe I could go back to church. WRONG WRONG WRONG!
Due to a morning out of my control (chalk it up to a certain 6 year old and a temper tantrum to beat all) I missed relief society and was too late for sunday school to comfortably enter the class. Instead, I sat in the chapel with a couple of my ward buddies who are the hooligans of the ward and never go to class. We sat and talked about everyday life. I was doing great. I was happy enough, although a bit uncomfortable being in that kind of building. And then Sacrament Meeting began. It didn't start immediately but slowly and surely the anxiety started to set in. It was tolerable until the sacrament prayers. Those words that I have heard so many times made my stomach turn and my eyes swell with tears. My heart felt heavy as I heard "that they may always have his spirit to be with them..." I wanted to scream to heaven, "WHERE WHERE YOU THEN?!" I could not bring myself to partake of the sacrament. I have NEVER intentionally, nor have I been instructed to pass on the sacrament. But last Sunday, I just couldn't do it. For the remainder of the meeting, I listened as young girls bared their testimonies and I thought of how "snowed" they are. I honestly felt sorry for them. Then, later that day when the meeting was over and I'd been home for some time, the guilt set in. I felt horrible for feeling the way I had, and even worse for thinking what I had thought. The whole experience made me realize how NOT ready I am to go back. Yet.
I am fairly certain that I believe there is a God, and I am almost as certain that he is aware of me. What I continue to doubt is his love for me, and his desire for my happiness. I honestly feel as though I can feel his pity for me; which to me is such a slap in the face. Pity from the one who has the power to end my suffering, and take all this hurt away. That's rich!
In the last few days as I think of what this whole infertility journey has been like, I keep having the same vision. Me climbing up a steep, dark, rocky hole. A hole so deep that I can't even see the light at the top. I keep climbing, getting scrapes and bruises along the way, but all the while, KNOWING that there is a light at the end. After climbing for what seems like forever, when I am close to giving up, and I can't take any more pain, I find the rope sent to rescue me... my climb is finally over! I grab the rope and cling to it with a renewed strength. Just as I start to feel like I am finally safe, and will see the light of day... the rope snaps, and I am sent plunging back down into the dark depths below.
Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.