Loss

I'm writing this because I'm desperate. I'm writing this because I've alienated myself from so many of you, because you've been able to do something that I've been trying to do for years and years...and I'm lost, and I'm lonely, and I'm terrified.

I had a miscarriage that lasted from May-July 2017. I had two more early losses, one in Sept. 2017 and one in November 2017.

Also in 2017:

• We started renovations on our house. Big-time renovations that will make our space beautiful and bright and more of our own.
• We got the most incredible dog who lives through everything with us. He's real cute, too.
• I got an insane promotion at work. Living my career dream, quite literally.
• We ate really well, drank really well, and continued to be married which I think deserves a fucking medal in and of itself because when you're trying to conceive and you're not able to...holy FUCK the toll it takes.

But none of that matters to me. Not really. Because I'm empty and I continue to be empty, and this isn't a something that comes up every so often, no no no, this has consumed me and inhabits me and takes the place of any growing life inside of me. It's bigger than I am and bigger than life is and I never expected this, never, ever, ever, ever, ever.

Women should build each other up. Women should support each other and give to each other and be there for each other because the world isn't there for us. I believe this so completely...but when the women in my life (all of the women in my world, it seems) started to get pregnant, right after my loss, I felt betrayed and abandoned and angry. I felt jealous, for the first time in my life, of my friends...and I continue to be jealous of my friends, and I continue to hurt and it is *excruciating*. Because I don't want to feel this. I want to be there with my women, in their joy and fear and overwhelmed and excitement...but instead, I'm anxious about my next cycle, wigging out on hormones to try and get me to a place where I'm even able to attempt to conceive a child, seemingly ignoring the needs of my husband, my family, my friends (those that I have left)...I'm there with myself, alone, and I've put myself there, and it's ugly and it's tragic. I've been through some shit...but this is Fucking. Tragic.

I wanted to wait until I was pregnant again to write something, but I'm not pregnant, and so many others are, and I keep on blocking people on social media and cutting people out of my life who have any association with anyone I know who is pregnant, and I avoid speaking with women who could potentially possibly even remotely be trying to get pregnant, and the word pregnant sends white-hot searing pain down my spine, but it keeps on going through my head. Over, over, over again. And I'm desperate.

And I'm sorry.