I keep asking why me? What did I do? What didn’t I do?
And people keep telling me I didn’t do or not do anything. That I’m not being punished or paying a price, that there is no such thing. And how do you know that?, I always want to ask. Can you actually prove that?
I keep being told I’m just having bad luck. Bad luck, you say?
I’m not so sure. I don’t know if I believe in good or bad luck or not. I mean the very idea that luck exists at all is as up for debate as karma and divine intervention.
So……if it’s bad luck I’m having, then surely I’ve done something to warrant it…..right? I mean there are a million superstitions about it. You can’t just have good or bad luck without earning it, it just doesn’t make any sense. That there is good or bad luck and that either can befall anyone at any time implies there is something or someone that decides who gets what, and when.
Consider the following:
See a black cat cross your path? Well my God…..there’s probably a billion black cats in South Gippsland alone, and I reckon I’ve seen most of them cross the road ahead of me on average once a week. Not to mention that when we were in Zlin, we went out for a drive and twice, in different locations miles apart, black cats sauntered across the road ahead of us in that way that cats do…….casually and oblivious to the mayhem that will ensue in their wake. Meaning I’m so screwed beyond screwed from black cat-ism that I may as well go ahead and have my entire reproductive system removed.
What about putting the good luck in my favour?
Walk under a ladder? Never. Not once in my life have I done that. Who would? Go around. Simples. *Meerkat-like noise*
Broken a mirror? Run over a china man? Not that I can recall…..and definitely never, respectively.
To this day I have never again rocked an empty rocking chair since seeing in a movie that it’s “the worst kind of bad luck there is”. (As per Mose, played by Danny Glover, Places in the Heart). Who am I to test such things? Seems just as possible as any other good/bad luck action. I’m not taking any chances.
At 43 years old I habitually go back out the same door I came in through, and in STILL say “bread n butter” when I pass/go around a pole or column. I can’t help myself. It comes out without thinking. Second nature. And again, why take the chance?
Conversely, there are items that are meant to be things to bring you good luck: horse shoes, angel charms, semi-precious stones, four leaf clovers. Rabbits feet, numbers, colours, a jade plant outside your front door. Rubbing Buddha’s ears or belly, touching the smiling, waving cat, touching statues on bridges in Prague. I do, and did, all those things.
Its not brought me any good luck. My common sense tells me doing that stuff didn’t actually DO anything, good or bad. My superstition and desperation tells me I clearly did them all wrong, or in the wrong order, and so I got bad luck. And I know that’s bullshit too…..but I’m looking for a way to blame myself, since I can’t blame luck. Or fate. Or destiny. Or whatever.
So that says to me, that my bad luck is either so strong, so stacked against me…….or luck, good or bad, doesn’t really exist. I don’t know. I think at this stage I’m talking in redundant circles. But then that just reflects the reality of infertility, so who knows.
Either way it leaves me……well…..screwed, really. What’s left? Prayer? Seems a bit out of line and hypocritical, don’t you think? To pray when you’re not sure you even believe anymore? And if you do believe, that you kind of believe that rather than a loving God, that He’s actually just a big, fat, prick? More akin to an ant bully with a magnifying glass, than some kind, loving being. Or entity. Or force. Or whatever.
But I have been out of line…..and hypocritical. I have prayed. For success. For a baby. For the science to work. For answers and solutions. I’ve also prayed for peace, of heart and mind. The ability to find something else in life that could fulfil me. For the longing to just go away. For death, if that’s what it takes. If He/She\it can’t or won’t give me a baby, to give me peace, or just fucking end my life. People look at me like I’m crazy (and to be fair, the jury has been out on that one for a while now) when I tell them I pray for these things, in this order. Baby, peace, death. If I can’t have either of the first two……then I simply do not want to live. I do not want to go on this way. I don’t. Period. I’m sorry to tell people, but time actually doesn’t heal all. In some instances, like mine, it makes it worse.
I wish….oh how I wish……I could find something. Some hope, or……belief. Faith.
But I’ve been wishing a long time too……and I’m pretty sure that like good and bad luck, wishing is just a thing humans made up.