Life With a Side of Celexa … Please?

This is going to be a pretty depressing post, so here’s a fair warning. I’m in my deep, dark hole—as my husband would call it.

I don’t know if Lupron is doing this to me or what, but I. am. sad. I can deal with the daily headaches—okay, those suck pretty bad. But I’m, like, depressed.

I imagine you all can—unfortunately—relate. There are all kinds and combinations of emotions and hormones associated with this hell: anger, stress, anxiety, brokenness, hope, hopelessness … The list goes on. But I don’t think I’ve reached the full potential of the meaning of the word “sad” until now.

It seems like such a simple word: sad. People throw it out there casually, like so many other words.

I’m so sad—deeply, deeply sad.

Obviously I asked God why this is happening to me—about two years ago. I don’t wonder anymore why I have to suffer from infertility. Whatever.

I do—however—wonder why God chose me to suffer this deeply knowing that I struggle with mental illness. Doesn’t He realize that I’m emotionally unstable? Doesn’t He know that melancholy is my middle name? I mean, seriously, couldn’t He have chosen a sunshine-and-rainbows girl? Does He want me to survive? How much will He “bend” me? Doesn’t He know I could break?

I know everyone struggles, though. I know suffering is a part of life. People probably think I’m throwing the most epic pity party there ever was.

But you know what? I’m tired of suffering. I’m sick of sadness. And I’m not just sick of it for myself. I’m pissed that we live in a world with so much sadness and suffering.

Gee, I hope my opening sentence was enough of a warning …

I read your stories; I look at your shared photos of your weddings, special occasions, celebratory events, etc. that you share on your blogs. I look at images of my husband and me on our wedding day. Such joy and happiness. And—it makes me sad.

We just didn’t know what was coming…

I mean, was the value of my wedding day the start of a heartbreaking era for me?

We put on our wedding gowns, our jewels, our veils, our treasures from generations past—and walk down that aisle toward the love of our life, our future, our dreams … the father of our babies.

… only to wake up to this nightmare.

I am NOT saying that marriage or my choice to marry who I married had/has an effect on my infertility. It doesn’t. I’m the infertile one. If anything, I drug/am dragging my husband down this path. He surely didn’t know what he was in for.

My point is that I had these two basic—but very fulfilling—dreams for my life: to marry a great man and have his babies.

It hurts me that you have to go through it too … because I know how you’re feeling. There aren’t many people to lean on, many people who understand … many people who know how it feels. Pieces of my heart are with you all because—although we live far from each other, haven’t met, may never meet—this bonds us together. So, for what it’s worth, I’m so, deeply sorry you’re hurting.

I’m constantly stuck in between that place of devastation (finding out you’re infertile, another BFN, etc.) and acceptance. It’s impossible to complete the grieving cycle, and sometimes I just want it to be over! You know how something heartbreaking happens and you experience deep sorrow for a period of time? Then you wake up and realize you can survive the day … though it hurts and you’re carrying this heavy burden. But you wake up the next day and do it again and again. The pain is still there; there’s a hole in your heart—but you can live. Then … weeks, months, years pass by and—eventually—that phase is over, and you’ve come to terms with it. You are okay with it; it doesn’t really hurt anymore. Well, I’ve been stuck in the survive-the-day-while-carrying-the-burden phase for a loooong time, and there’s really no end in sight that I can identify. Not to mention, there are phases in between that filled with hope (a new stim cycle) followed by devastation—again. And the mini, incomplete grieving rollercoaster starts all over again.

I do know “it could be worse.” Because—it really could, and I’m thankful it’s not. I’ve read online that the stress and heartbreak of infertility can be compared to that of cancer. I don’t know about that. I’m not going to lie: If cancer patients only feel what I feel (granted, it is pretty shitty), I’d say they’re the strongest people ever. It’s one thing to want a baby; it’s another thing to know your life is at risk. I would absolutely crumble. I know it could get worse. What are your thoughts on that, though?

But—for what it’s worth—sometimes it feels pretty damn bad to walk in the shoes I walk in.

Okay, sorry for the slit-my-wrist post. I guess this is what I’m feeling these days.

When are the professionals going to come up with antidepressants for TTC, pregnant, and/or lactating women?

Honest question.

Advertisements

15 thoughts on “Life With a Side of Celexa … Please?

  1. I’m sorry you are feeling so drained and sad and at the end of your rope… I know that feeling, and it just blows 😦 And for what it’s worth, I definitely went on antidepressants after my miscarriage last year when we were trying to conceive… not sure I would have survived without them. I hope if that’s something that would be helpful to you, that your doctor can help you come up with a plan! Praying for you often…

    • Allison, I think I am going to talk to my RE about going on meds. I guess I shied away from it, thinking they wouldn’t recommend it. I know they’re not the safest thing for pregnancy, but just to get me through until I’m pregnant – maybe they’re worth it. I don’t know. Thank you for your prayers. 🙂

  2. I’ve been on Celexa girl, and zoloft, and paxil, and, and, and. I’ve been on one med or another on and off through out my life. My 1st RE prescribed one medication (not currently on it) and at one of my recent consults, another RE recommended I go on something, or see a therapist, or do something to control the stress/sadness/mess I become. It’s no fun struggling with mental illness girl, I know that. And infertility certainly doesn’t make it any easier. I’m so sorry that you’re here, in this place struggling to know why, to find an answer for your losses and your pain. Take care of yourself! Thinking of you sweet friend!

  3. I so get it girl! It’s taken A LOT of strength to fight off depression during this difficult time. I can definitely identify with the rollercoaster of hope and despair. This wasn’t exactly the marriage I’d envisioned either. It used to be so fun before all this began. I’ve got to believe we will get back to that place, in a bigger and better way than we were as “just two”…and you guys will too!

    As for the cancer patients vs. infertility patients…many cancer patients become infertility patients in the blink of an eye, and many of them as children. There are so many people who will never get to bear a child because of their cancer treatments. I volunteer at a cancer organization and have also lost quite a few loved ones to cancer and I am constantly thinking how many parallels there are in various medical struggles…many things in common. I try to stay thankful I’m not dealing with BOTH infertility and cancer, because it is definitely a reality for a lot of people. I have actually heard cancer patients who also undergo infertility battles say that infertility is much harder, and I actually can see why they feel that way.

    Just know we’re all sending the biggest ((HUGS)) in the entire world. We have all had those horrible days, weeks, months, and years even. Hang in there!

    • Gosh, If I think my situation is unfair, I can’t imagine beating cancer just to be rewarded with infertility. Ugh, life is so unfair. I’m so sorry you’ve lost loved ones to cancer, Emily. 😦 Dang, I wish this crap didn’t have to happen … That is really neat (and brave) that you volunteer at a cancer organization. My nurse always tells me – in the midst of my latest devastation – to try and keep doing nice things for people.

      • Helping others is SO therapeutic! Thursday, I went in to LIVESTRONG, my brain all wrapped up in myself and my upcoming surgeries. Then, I spent a couple hours organizing grant proposals for non-profit partners of ours that help cancer patients…at least 50% of them focused on fertility preservation and research surrounding infertility caused by cancer, many dealing with childhood cancers. It really does put things into perspective to see what others are dealing with. I left saying, “If they can deal with all they are dealing with, then certainly I can handle what I’ve been dealt!” It feels so good to know I’m playing a small role in getting resources to someone else going through an even harder time than myself. Makes me feel like a big fat wuss! ha!

  4. I have invited myself to your party. I will bring the drinks. We can blankly stare at the wall for however long you want. You don’t have speak a word or you can talk until you’re blue in the face. You can cry until snot streams from your nose.

    My husband I are infertility after cancer. I can personally tell you the infertility part is way shittier than the cancer part and it will last a lot longer. Don’t apologize for your feelings.

    • See, that’s the thing. I can’t decide if drinking is a great idea or a really, rrreeeaally bad idea lol! I’m leaning toward bad for me, haha. Snot stream crying sessions are the best of crying sessions.

      Wow, I am so sorry to hear that 1. you and your husband dealt with cancer and 2. your “medal” for beating cancer is infertility. Honestly, that is something I CANNOT imagine. I’m so happy you two are healthy; I’m sorry you had to go through that. 😦

  5. I am so sad that you are in this place. I’ve been there. We’ve all been there and it ain’t pretty. There is nothing wrong with some medicine to help with the sadness. I hope you find smiles through the tears. Hold each other a little tighter, indulge in what makes you happy, cry. Praying for your peace.

  6. Man, it’s so hard to be THIS place. It sucks… it’s exhausting to be us, and I’m sorry that you’re in the deepest of trenches 😦 You always type the words I don’t, you always bring up the thoughts I’m constantly thinking, and you might think I’m crazy for saying this, but you are SO very strong. There is absolutely NOTHING about this shitty journey that isn’t painful [well, except for the fact that I have finally found people that I can lean on, and that accept me for me, even when I completely suck at life and don’t have faith in much of anything anymore, and for that, I’m truly thankful] and it’s nice that you always speak the truth. I feel like we don’t get enough credit for the pain (both emotional and physical) we endure… I know it REALLY could be way worse, but in this moment, at this time, this is THE worst possible pain.

    I’m apologizing in advance for this but there’s a point…. One of my mom’s best friends passed away from ovarian cancer today, after a very long, hard battle. She was the most graceful and determined woman I’ve ever met. That’s what I forget about- that we ARE determined… and although the bad days often outshine the good, the determination of a future mother HAS to beat everything else.

    Like I said before, you are entitled to this low point- it comes with the territory. I wish I could give you a huge hug right now. My email address is on my blog, shoot me an email so I can write you. xo

  7. Oh my friend…. I know just the sadness that you’re talking about. I had to take down all of the pictures around my house from our wedding, honeymoon, etc. because it just killed me to see such happiness while I’m feeling such sadness. Thinking of you! XOXO

  8. Pingback: What I’m Currently Thankful For … Even Though It’s Not November | Belle Haven Drive

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s