I.O.U.

I.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe

There was nothing under my skin but light.

If you cut me I would shine.

But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,

I skin my knees. I bleed.

“On Turning Ten” – Billy Collins

II.

When I wrote my last blog post, I thought I was fine, that I had emerged from a bleak, mind-numbing couple of months completely intact. Mostly intact.

I thought my career as an emotional black hole was over.

I thought I was done crying and binge-eating pie.

I thought I’d be able to write about my “journey toward parenthood” (for lack of a better phrase) as I was living through it.

Ahh – the folly of the eternal optimist.

Looking back, I can see now that writing about it all as it happened was a stupid idea, but I was naive and optimistic. I really believed my story would end successfully – I was going to get pregnant, and soon. Any day now.

I was so, so wrong.

I told myself I’d successfully survived the worst good news of my life. I told myself that things could only get better from there.

But then I kept getting more bad news.

It wasn't all related to my ovaries, but it was all bad.

My aunt died unexpectedly.

We had to make the difficult decision to re-home our other dog, Gemma.

I was diagnosed with another endocrine disease. (I'm trying to collect them all.)

I was diagnosed with a blood abnormality.

I was put on medication for several months, and when that didn't work, I began taking fertility drugs. This doesn't sound like bad news, but it was to us: fertility drugs make you feel psychotic. And yet month after month, nothing seemed to be working.

Did I mention that my sister-in-law was pregnant and I still wasn't?  I know that’s actually GREAT news, but at the time, it felt like salt in the wound. (Let’s be real–everything felt like salt in the wound.)

I know I could’ve received way worse news. I know that. But at the time, it felt like the universe was conspiring against me to help me build character. (Yes, the universe - nebulae, black holes and galaxies - all of it. I was that overwhelmed.) I was desperate to stop feeling so many emotions all the time. I couldn't take it anymore. Every cell of my body was saturated with anger and frustration and despair and deep, deep longing. I self-medicated using my favorite vices.

You might think I was looking at all of the bad news from a positive light - that in between the tears, I said to myself, this could be great writing material!

That would be an incorrect assumption.

I wasn't thinking about anything. I didn't care about anything.

Case in point – I volunteered to cook the turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. On Thanksgiving day, I brought a raw, thawed turkey to my mom’s house and barely glanced at the recipe I’d brought with me. I didn't even bother to read the cooking instructions correctly. I was distracted and apathetic. As a result, I cooked the turkey low and slow for way too long. I basically made turkey jerky. It was awful - the absolute worst thing I've ever tried to make. And yet I didn't care one bit.

I felt numb.

I was lost. I felt like a failure: my body could not do what it was designed to do, something 14-year-old girls could do. Like a bad habit, I replayed that thought over and over again. I was surrounded by friends and family, but I’d never felt so alone. Unless I saw you in real life, you probably didn't know the extent of my anguish. I tried to hide it, tried to be okay, but I didn't have the energy. I was completely shattered inside. I was running on fumes.

I think that’s why God sent you to save me. At that point, I wasn't really talking to Him much. At best, I was grunting in His general direction, but I was mostly not-talking. Like deliberately not-talking.

After reading my last blog post, you reached out to tell me you were sorry.

You reached out to tell me I wasn't alone.

You shared painful, intimate details of loss and longing and sorrow.

You said you were praying for me and thinking of me and hoping for the best.

You listened and didn't try to fix or force me to be optimistic. You just let me be sad.

You texted/emailed/messaged/commented the kindest words.

It took another six months - maybe longer - to feel not-shattered, to slowly pick up the pieces and glue myself back together again. Slowly, methodically - one piece at a time. Your thoughts and prayers and kind words and company got me through each day. 

Thank you for your kindness and generosity. You showed up when I needed you most.

III.

There you have it – my long-winded excuse for why I disappeared so abruptly. It’s kind of lame, but it’s all I've got. Next time I fall off the face of the earth, I’ll make sure it’s because I've done something dramatic – like I've quit my job and have been eating my way through Europe with Mike and Crosby.

There’s a part of me that wants to leave Last Year in the past, to just fill you in on what’s going on now.

But I can’t.

Last Year was awful and horrible and hard. It was a mess. I was a mess. I lost sight of myself and the absolute best part of my life – this guy:

  

But I learned a lot about myself, and because of you, about how to be a good friend to someone who’s stumbling through the darkest nights of his or her life. And maybe – just maybe – what I learned will help one person feel not-so-alone. And so, I will write.

More to come.

Thanks again.

Bean