AUTHOR: Marty, a.k.a. canape TITLE: Well, shit DATE: 1/24/2007 09:25:00 PM ----- BODY:
There I go dirtying up this beautiful blog template by Zoot. Sorry about that. It's just that I feel up to getting a little funny the past couple of days and then there is today. Today sucks. I would like to have no more todays please.

Guy thinks I need a therapist. There is only one problem with that. I suck at talking. Put me in front of a live person and I will invariably tell them what I think they need to hear in order to think that I am alright. I am strong. I don't need you to listen to me, write on your little notepad, and say "um-hum" a lot. No thanks.

I can handle it.

Right on then. Today, when Guy mentioned that we shouldn't try to get pregnant now because we don't know about health insurance in the job change and his severance insurance only runs through October, I freaking lost it. Freaking. lost. it.

I have been charting temps and even sent in the moola for the v.i.p. membership on Fertility Friend. Who named that site anyway? That is so gay. Anyway, I've got down the days in February that we need to get busy with our bad selves. They are marked and ready. Then, you know what is the coolest? I could pee on a stick on my birthday. My 34th birthday. It was perfect.

One of the first goals Guy told me he had was to get me pregnant before my 34th birthday. At the time, I thought it was an incredibly strange thing to say. I hadn't known the drive of a man to impregnate me before. Then, I thought it was incredibly cool, and I wanted nothing more than for it to happen. Bring it on, sperm shooter (that one is for the Google searcher out there).

Granted, he did it. I was pregnant. But now I'm not. And dammit, I want to be again. I am
so goddamn lonely. I have good friends. I have family. I have students. But I don't have a baby, and I am lonely.

And okay. I'm depressed. I am possibly on a quest to be the most stubborn person alive, so I forge ahead and make sure that I seem okay. Guy has asked me to be okay. The stress level at his job right now is unbelievable. They still haven't handed him a package yet. We want that package. Fifteen years and a whole lot of work - they owe him a package. And if they were humane, they would extend the health insurance for his hopefully pregnant wife. Who was in fact pregnant when they laid him off. Bastards.

I am trying to be okay. For everyone. And because doesn't it feel better to be okay? Can't I just decide to be okay and it happen?

Well, shit.

When Guy told me that we might need to wait to get pregnant again, I felt like I was losing a baby all over again. A baby that didn't even exist yet. He tried to explain to me that getting pregnant wouldn't make me not be sad about Cleatus. I know that.

But won't it help with the lonely? I would like for it to help with that.

First I think I'm going to try yoga. It sounds like a good suggestion, and it doesn't involve talking. I emailed a couple of places tonight to find out about private instruction because most of the classes are offered in packages and have already started. So. don't. want. to. talk.

Guy wants to fix it. He wants to make me not hurt. Take away the pain. I love him for that. But he thinks that if he can't fix it, then I might not love him. I might want to not be with him. We are both insecure. But we are both so in love with each other that we think we ourselves are the lucky one. I am the lucky one, by the way.

He can't fix this. He didn't break it. I have to just hurt, and he has to let it be okay.

God that sucks. If there is a different solution than that, I am so completely open to hearing it.

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----- COMMENT: AUTHOR:Anonymous Mamma DATE:Thursday, January 25, 2007 at 12:24:00 AM EST I was the exact same way about not letting everyone around me know I wasn't okay during a particulary hard time. The funny thing was that I wasn't fooling anyone. A friend finally called me out on it. And the therapy helped. Even if you tell them you're fine--they'll know. And if you get a good therapist they won't just say Hmmm, I see. But you have to be ready.

Meanwhile, my hubs calls himself "The Sniper." He even told his Mom that no one should mess with his "Super Sperm."

Do you think that super hero wears a cape? ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR:Anonymous gail DATE:Thursday, January 25, 2007 at 12:53:00 AM EST Yoga momma baby, we're gonna get you a tape a mat and a water bottle and pretend like we are doing it together. Play that sad piano... it will let you cry without trying to fix it.....

I thought I should mention in all my snarkiness, it takes a gazillion spermies and only one wonderful egg... that's all you baby! I didn't get my nap. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR:Anonymous Amy DATE:Thursday, January 25, 2007 at 8:47:00 AM EST I went through that stage of pretending I was okay for everyone else. It gets tiring. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR:Anonymous Oh, The Joys DATE:Thursday, January 25, 2007 at 8:51:00 AM EST Therapy can work if you interview a bunch first and find one that you click with and that you think you could open up to... at least it did for me. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR:Anonymous Marty, a.k.a. canape DATE:Thursday, January 25, 2007 at 12:05:00 PM EST Hmmm. Maybe the superhero is really the egg then . . .

Thanks, ladies. The therapy is obviously a fear thing. I think I don't want to find out all the crap that's wrong with me. You know, deep deep down.

That is so incredibly lame. ----- COMMENT: AUTHOR:Anonymous Liz DATE:Thursday, January 25, 2007 at 7:06:00 PM EST Oh the first few weeks of therapy suck.
But if you're with the right person, they'll see right through your BS, no matter how clever or convincing you think you're being.
The key to a good therapist is one who makes you feel slightly uncomfortable and challenges you to the point where you want to run away.
Then you know it's working.
My philosophy has always been: the more you resist something? The more you need it.
Good luck and we're here for you.
What's the worst that can happen? Nothing? The best case scenario: you can work on that lonely. ----- --------