My head is fucked. Not the outside of it, but the inside. The brain parts. My mind is like a bad neighbourhood - I really shouldn't go in there by myself. Presently battling depression and paranoia, with equal parts shittiness and fear. Throw in a bit of hope, but not much. Do you know what I have been thinking lately? To stop the BCP, cancel next weeks Big Kahuna appointment, and run. Run for my life. Run far, far away, away from all of this freaky IVF fiasco. To stop it all - give up. And do you know why? I realised it today, clear as a bell .... because then it would be MY CHOICE. At dinner parties I could say nonchalantly "Oh, yes, we were going to try IVF, but decided not to. Flying to Hawaii tomorrow for an impromptu holiday in fact. Here, you simply MUST try the salmon, it's delicious ..."
Other factors to be considered - I have no motivation to go to the gym, am eating a lot of food, feel shizenhausen.
So, to avoid a repeat of the disaster that was yesterday, I did what any self-respecting, 35-year old would do - I put on my skull and crossbone tights, with my big matching plastic black and white skull ring. Do not fuck with me, today, head. I am TOUGH!! So far it's working, the morning is nearly over. I'm off to get my eyebrows waxed and lashes tinted; answering "Oh, nothing much..." when the beautician asks what I've been up to ...
My hormones are out of whack - Mr TC is being so lovely and understanding. But he takes one look at the wild in his wife's eyes, and backs the fuck away. Yesterday, I felt ok for oh, 5 minutes. He was right there, I grabbed him and jumped up and down and said "I'm ok right now in this moment!! Help!! I'm trapped in this body!! It's a window, a window, a window ...." He started singing it too - this new Window Song. He scooted me around the kitchen, laughing, doing twirly fancy dance moves. I heart him.