When I was in high school, our Spanish teacher made us watch Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. Luckily no one really understood Spanish because she realized about 20 minutes in this was NOT a movie for 15 year-olds.
For the past two weeks, I’ve felt like the title of that film. People ask me how it’s going, expecting me to smile and mention something about the weather we’re having, but instead, I’ve had to bite my lip and keep myself from crying. It’s too much. I don’t know where it’s coming from, I’m done with the fertility medications. But I too often feel like I’m one hangnail away from a meltdown. Everyone wants to help and I appreciate it so much. And I know I’m not the only one going through this. But in all honesty, I’d love to just disappear after my surgery, hire a nurse to come take care of me and otherwise be absolutely alone. I could emerge in a week, recovered and smiling and ready to discuss the weather we’re having.
I feel like I’ve given up. And I don’t even have a fatal form of this. I drove through Wendy’s the other day for french fries and a Frosty. What the hell? It was like 2 pm. I am eating crap, I feel like crap, and I feel myself spiraling down. My doctor had given me a prescription for Zoloft, telling me to have a very low threshold for myself, to not feel bad to medicate for anxiety. I’ve been holding out but I think it may be time. This disease has way too many emotional components for me. And I haven’t even gotten started.