Friday, September 24, 2010


Heart racing, chest tightening, holy shit I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t fucking breathe I think I’m going to die panic.

My mornings have not been starting well.

I’m just so afraid that things will never get better, despite the meds and the therapy and the reassurances of my kick-ass therapist.
I’m afraid that when my husband says “I don’t want to live like this anymore” what he really means is “I don’t want you anymore, you miserable, barren bitter shell of the woman I married.”

Yesterday morning, I left the bathroom door open when I showered so the mirror wouldn’t get too foggy. As soon as the water hit my face, the sobs came. I wailed at the unfairness of it all, and because I’m not ready to rewrite the narrative of my life, but I can’t get better unless I do. I opened the door to find Hubby standing there, looking shocked and broken. “Were you crying in there?” he asked. “Yes Sherlock.” I said. I wonder if he’s figured it out now – that I go into the shower to let it all out, like somehow the hot water washing away the tears will wash away all the rest of it too. (Well shit I sure hope he has figured it out because it’s pretty damned obvious that laying on the couch does not make one filthy enough to warrant 4 showers a day.)

He’s made it clear in therapy that he wants the old me back. I’m afraid, though, that she is dead. Back then, I was so sure of myself, of my place in the world. I knew – I just knew – that I could accomplish anything. I could decide in a snap to move to the other side of the country, to a city where I knew no one and had no apartment or car and only a couple of hundred bucks, and the promise of an Americorps stipend, and make my life work. And it did work, even though I spent my first weeks living with an old crazy lady who pulled a gun on a man she thought tracked dirt onto her carpets (umm, it was me, and I found my own apartment two days later.)

I was happy when we met. I could make major life decisions with the assurance that I should trust my gut, that somehow my instincts would guide me. I could say “Yes, I’ll marry you!” to a man I had barely known for two weeks and not have a single doubt. I could plan my Elvis wedding without caring that my disregard for certain traditions would piss people off. I could trust that we were right for each other because we both wanted the same things – a bunch of babies, a chaotic family life filled with love and family dinners and tight budgets and each other.

But the truth is that I cannot accomplish anything. I cannot force this body of mine to work – just once, for crissakes, just once – like its supposed to. I cannot accept that, nor can I change it. It’s all tied in together now. I cannot make decisions because I’m just not sure about anything. Adoption? IVF? Say goodbye to this whole thing and go child-free? I love my husband to the depths of my soul and I want to stay with him for the rest of my life, but I’m not sure if that’s the right thing for him. I’m afraid to stay with him, afraid of how he’ll change because of my misery. But I’m afraid to go, to live without him, afraid that I am no longer capable of making my life work on my own.
And all of it together causes this panic to consume me. My doctors have adjusted my meds. I’ve started acupuncture again. I have therapy again next week (all of which makes me sound crazy. But if you’ve read this far, it’s pretty clear that I am).

I hope it works, but as I well know, hope is a dirty word. It’s what’s gotten me into this whole mess.


  1. I've been thinking about you. I wish that you can find your old happy self somewhere. I'll have some hope for you that the therapy will help you come up with a plan that works for you both.

  2. your making the mistake of deciding for your husband. i do that all the time.

    let him decide. you just love him. love him like you want to, to the moon and back. he knows you. he sees you.

    your not crazy. speak words of life into yourself. your a beautiful. smart. full of promise. you are one of a kind. you are you - and no one else.

    thinking of you friend.

  3. Oh my. I just want to wrap you up and take you home. You are in a pickle and i have no real way in which to help but to say that when people change the old person never goes away, just hides under piles of emotions, disappointments, moments, grief, blah blah..get my jist. I hope you find her. You sound pretty cool to me even in your 'crazy' state! And i agree it's not for you to decide what your husband needs. You found each other for a reason.

    I do have kids. Don't bother to look at my blog. It's mainly interiors with some kid stuff. My loss is of my parents as a young person, not my kids. But i have been surrounded by many people with similar troubles to you. I'm glad that you are taking up acupuncture again. My friend took 7 years to have a baby with countless IVF and miscarriages. In the end she surrounded herself in chinese medicine, acupuncture, herbs and follwed the infertility diet and ended up conceiving a baby girl naturally. You have probably heard this kind of story many times over but i wondered if you had gone down this route? Tell me to fuck off, it;s not my business - But i wondered how you had gotten on with it as one of my besties is trying this route at the moment following 3 consec. miscarriages.

    Jeez this a freaking essay! Shut up me. I hope you don't lose that hope ever.

    Everything will be ok in the end. If its not ok, its not the end.


  4. Reading this made me tear up. This and your "run away" post. I miss the old me too, and I have this completely irrational pipe dream that if I just run away and disappear into a new city where no one knows me, and start over, I'll have the old me back. I know I won't. Doesn't stop me from fantasizing about it, oh, every day.

  5. Hey wifey,
    I am so sorry you're hurting so deeply, but on the other hand at least glad to see you writing again so I can know what you're up to. I agree with Cheryl and hope that the therapy will help you make those choices which seem so hard right now. Don't feel bad for crying in the shower we have all done it and sometimes I think it's better for the husbands when they don't know how often we cry. Thinking of you

  6. thank you all so much for the sweet words! They really lifted me up yesterday.

  7. The shower is always the place that sets me off. It was especially bad that first year after the loss. C could always hear me sobbing and would be ready with support afterward, but I still get anxiety sometimes going in. And I still cry in the shower.

    Therapy is good. I know what you mean about not being the same person, but, as others have said, your husband will decide what's right for him.

    Thinking of you.

    p.s my word verification was: whables ??