Going through infertility makes me feel like I have a split personality. But its not that I have two personalities, there's no Jekyll and Hyde going on here, it's more that I feel like two different people trapped in the same miserable body. And most of the time we're completely out of sync with each other.
There's me, the real me, the one that lives in my mind. My soul, the real essence of who I am as a person. The one who feels all the feels, from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. The me who remembers the pain of the past, but still has hopes, dreams and desires for the future, despite the hardships I've faced.
Then there's the other me, the physical me. The broken me. The me who has all the same parts as other women, but doesn't do what she's supposed to be able to do. The me that makes me hate being me.
Each month there is a constant battle between both of us. At the beginning we start out as friends, allies even, on the same team travelling towards the same goal. Following the same dream and working in unison to make it happen. We think the same, we act the same, and with the help of medication we do everything at the right time and in the right order. Its exciting, and the anticipation is palpable.
However, throughout the month that shifts.
There's soon a clear difference between my dreams and my body's reality.
My body starts to betray me. To sabotage me at every turn. I swear its laughing behind my back at the anguish I'm experiencing inside.
Then some months, like this one, its goes even further and plays cruel twisted jokes on me. It gives me a glimmer of hope, letting me think that finally we may have reached our goal. That perhaps we are on the same team after all. Mocking me that everything I want can actually become a reality.
And then just when I've succumb to the vulnerability of convincing myself its finally worked, it rips it all away. My world falls out from underneath me yet again, although this time it's much worse. It's worse because I truly believed I might've been at the end of this rollercoaster once and for all. I felt slightly "normal" for the first time in over a year. I allowed myself to be excited about a baby that didn't even exist. And now I have no choice but to remain attached to this body that continues to betray me. I'll even get a week full of physical and emotional pain for my troubles. And then we'll start the journey over again from square one, like we do every single month.
Sometimes I really wonder how the hell I'm ever going to achieve anything when it feels like my mind and my body aren't even on the same team...
But I have to pick myself up and carry on, because as much as I hate it, I have no other choice.