Where do I put it?

I've been lurking on some infertile/subfertile sisters' blogs lately (by lately, I mean the past 6 months)-- totally reticent about beginning to writing down my own, private trials. Reading their journeys is painful enough. Experiencing life as it is, is painful enough. At least to me, it is. I'd rather have shitty experiences -- the period, the hurtful comment, the pregnant women who are mysteriously drawn to my environment -- and leave the memories in the dirt to die. The problem is that they don't die. They keep me up in the middle of the night. And I know that I have not withstood even an iota of the suffering that other women have. And they survive. They sustain me. They let me know that infertility won't kill me. They teach me. Unbeknownst to them. They get that secret something no one else can understand. The longing. The feeling of failure. Of jealousy. The searing pain. The neurosis of the 2 week wait. The anger that comes with others' well-intended advice. The asking "why?" You are my sisters.

Yesterday at mass, I was feeling so transcendent and full of calm breath. Thinking, "I'm just submitting to Your will, God. I'll wait. I'll do what you want. Nothing is bothering me right now." UNTIL I got home. Checked my email and BOOM, another one is pregnant. And. I. am. not. How many friends of mine have become pregnant since I've been trying to conceive? J.H. D.C. S.K. And now M.D. How many more will become pregnant before I ever do? When is my fucking turn? Jesus Christ. I can't take it. I can't take the waiting. The feeling of unworthiness. The feelings of failure that I've done something in my past to account for this present situation. I hate it. Hate hate hate that I'm turning into a bitter, cynical, jealous bitch. There was a baby shower yesterday that I could not attend. I told the host that I would be out of town. This is true, in a literal sense. I am 2 hours away from where the shower was. But the truth is that I can not set my eyes on this woman. I just can't. Last weekend she sent "belly pictures" to us. I saw them and nearly cried. I never imagined that the pain of this would ever surface. That looking at pictures and hearing the announcements would hurt so viscerally. They do. And the pain has surfaced. And I need somewhere to put it so that it doesn't eat me alive.

Am I losing hope? I don't know. I just can't imagine my body becoming pregnant. I try. I try to visualize being filled with life and carrying my husband's baby. It just seems so far away and so impossible.

I just know that I want to record this. For posterity. And in case of the implausible event that I do become pregnant and bear a child -- I want them and the world to know how I suffered for them. For their existence. And how much they mean to me. And even if they pierce their nose, dye their hair pink and run off with a dirty punk bass player, I wanted them. And I still love them.