Dear overly emotion-self,
Hey, me again. You remember me? That crazed lunatic who has so many emotions she has no idea what to do with them. Well while I haven’t written to you in a while doesn’t mean I have forgotten about you. The truth is, I am getting my ass-royally kicked in nursing school. Between multiple units a week, what feels like hundreds of pages of reading, maintaining all my jobs and trying to put the smallest amount of effort into my relationships I go to bed every night just exhausted. My head barely hits the pillow before I am out, just in time to wake and do it all over again.
I wish I could say I am enjoying it, but right now at this moment, I am not. I just failed my first test in my entire life. Yes, the first test in twenty-nine years. The first test in over twenty years of going to school. This is my first fail. While the optimistic in me is saying, brush it off and focus on the next one, the “emotionalist” in me wants to go dig a hole, sit and cry in it. And to be honest, that is exactly what I need to do. But instead of a hole, it is my bed, in addition to crying, I also need to write; to release the negative feelings over my 78% failing grade. Which yes, in nursing school is indeed failing. So much for “C’s get degree’s” mantra.
Next — Because there is always a next with me. There is never just one thing; it is always a collection of shit-shows going on in my head before I eventually sit down to write. September 26, 2017, does that date mean anything to you? Do you dread waking up and checking your Time-Hop? Because I know I do. When I wake up tomorrow, I will see that one year ago I was shopping at Babies-R-Us searching for the perfect gift to take home and use to tell Shaine that we were pregnant! I remember pacing back in forth in that store, spending no joke two hours in there. After much debate, I came home with the cutest little pint-sized Carhartts and bib that read “Daddy’s first hunting buddy.” But those Carhartts and bib never got used. They are still sitting in my hall closet, in a bag, with tags, pushed to the very back, so I never have to see them.
What about the fact that I have officially been referred to an infertility clinic? Or the fact that my lab work is very inconclusive about what is going on? Or the fact I have to plan a date and time to have sex with my husband, just to have him finish in a cup? Because you know that, is the sexiest thing you want to do as a married couple. Oh and then I have to drive what will feel like 100mph across town to drop off a semen specimen in a specific amount of time. And what happens when it gets analyzed and comes back just fine, making it all more real that the reason we do not have a child is my fault? My bodies fault.
I could go on and on about fifteen other things, but honestly, do I even need to? Or have I painted a beautiful picture of all the crazy bull-shit that is going on in my head at one time. I remind myself on a constant basis that I am lucky. I am in a healthy marriage, have great friends, a wonderful family, a successful career, a beautiful home and so much more. But you know what, FUCK that. Tonight, right now, none of that matters. What matters is that the front of my shirt is soaked from tears. My legs are shaking from holding on to all the angry, disappointment, frustrations. My fingers are typing as fast as humanly possible. And now, after these few paragraphs, my brain is finally able to decompress.
Putting words on paper, sharing intimate details of my life is hard, it is not for everyone. But for me, it brings peace. I write for no one other than myself. Not for attention or sympathy, but because saying (or typing) things out is the only way I know how to organize and work through my thoughts. And now that I have, my tears have stopped. I am overcome with an utter calmness, that allows me to relax and trust that everything is going to be ok.
Trust that I will make it through this stage of nursing school.
Trust that my rainbow babies, are not with me, because of bigger better things meant for them.
Trust that whatever is meant to happen, will happen — infertility or not.
Trust that my body was meant for so many things I have not realized.
And trust that once I hit post on this, overly emotional – overly sharing post, I will then be able to sleep and wake up tomorrow, feeling much more like myself; like the positive, optimistic, happy person I am 98% of the time. <3
Thank you for allowing me to cry tonight so that I can smile tomorrow. To all others out there that can relate, I encourage you to give it a try. Write it out, cry it out, scream it out. Do what you have to do, to process life’s obstacles and then move on.
You are a strong woman! Lum