…….and when I’m feeling the worst of the worst……when the TTC struggle has got to me and more than I can bear…..I’m hateful. I’m bitter. I’m spiteful , and I say things that are just horrible, but that I don’t REALLY mean. I give in to the Dark Side of The Force. (Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.)
But I do it…..and I admit it and I acknowledge that it’s not the most mature or kind approach. I do and it’s not but…….I can’t really help it. It’s the only way I can get the poison out. The poison being the sadness, the fear, the depression, and the feeling like it’s a lost cause. I say it’s poison because most days, it feels like it’s killing me.
It’s a little but not really but maybe a tad like (from personal accounts I’ve read) having Tourette’s Syndrome of the heartbroken soul. The desperate NEED to say or do something and the inability to stop it. I read once a story about a little girl who, when feeling overwhelmed, felt she HAD to make what she called “bullfrog faces”: eyes and mouth wide open, over and over. She’d get overwhelmed, the feeling would build, she’d be in public so would hold it in, barely…….then when she could find a “safe” place to do it (ie in private), she’d just let loose……until the need was satisfied. Just bullfrog over and over…..until the need passed.
I’m like that, only with my nastiness. I generally do not let Mean and Nasty Kristi out to play, except around people I trust implicitly (sometimes she escapes though not too often and then it’s like trying to heard wet, angry cats). Because they know I don’t mean what I say, and they understand that, while it’s awful, I HAVE to say it. The longer I go without letting off the extra pressure, in a manner of speaking, the worse it is when it comes out. Like a pressure cooker with a poorly fitted lid and faulty pressure gauge. Trust me…..it’s a mess. Helping your grandmother scrape pressure cooked green beans off the ceiling makes an impression on you.
I have yet, in my 43 years, found a way to channel it in more constructive ways. Nothing is as satisfying as a vitriolic raging rant. With obscenities. Not just mildly profane but reeeeaaaaalllllly offensive ones.
On the blog, I get pissy……and I use language that is…..well, colourful to offensive. I actually can maintain a professional and dignified persona IRL, but my blog? An outlet. A sounding board. A whipping boy. A cone of silence, without the silence. ?? I don’t think I’m making sense (I’m hot, thirsty, and I need a bath. That’s enough to make me scatterbrained.)
So I apologise if my language is abrasive. If the use off the f word is offensive. Please forgive. But sometimes other words will not do. Long term infertility is a bloody hard road. Some whinging is just inevitable. 😉