Journal Post 7

My sister's opinions bother me. She talked about how sad it was to see people so into their money and art and don't they have anything better in their life?  Where are their kids? Fuck you! Seriously. Fuck you. Some people can only buy their happiness.  I mean, tho could be my future.  I didn't choose it. Talk to your god about it.  You look at my photo frames--empty--and tell me you will send me pictures of your kids to fill them.  Fuck you.  You say people only have 1 or 2 kids and just don't build their family.  Where is your damn mind? Your thoughts are assuming pieces of shit. Do you not know that you have been lucky to place your priorities where they are? Come on. Think. For Christ's sake I'm your sister...I am that person you are judging. This is what I fucking have to be proud of.

I have this darkness in me...its always been there. And some would say I need religion to cure it.  But I don't.  I just need this pen...this paper. And I store it here.  And it hushes for a while. At least I get more from this that I ever did from god.

Journal Post 6

Every time I get into a funk I can't wait for it to be over.  Its like everything is lackluster and worthless.  If I'm worthless then how anything matter to me?  Its like trying to do rocket science--I don't know how, I'm too ignorant.

Today I wanted to be non-existent.  Again, this never has to do with dying, I'm not interested in dying.  Its just the closest thing to what I want which is to have never existed in the first place. I offend myself by being here, always a self imposed let down.

I ate way too much today.  Still down 28 lbs.

Journal Post 5

I've done well lately to distract myself from my...whatever.  I've lost 26 lbs working on another 10.  I am eating only raw vegetables and fruit.  I work out 5 times a week, always cardio, sometimes weight training too.  I've pushed harder at work and believe I will be promoted.

A friend of mine is worried I obsess over my situation too much.  Which I know is true.  I don't think I could face tomorrow if I wasn't though.  I've got to think and push and do.  Unfortunately, this will mean sadness, tears and pain.  But I can't fail before I try.  I have to try.  If I fail, I will assess that.  I still feel that I wouldn't want anything to do with myself if I fail.

I'm not angry with god. Even in he is there.  I just don't think he is worth my time.  God won't make me better or worse.  And I'm not going to save my last dance.  I'm not going to think of reasons about my after life to make me feel optimistic.  What difference does it make if everyone else gets mansions, 17 virgins, their own projected happiness, and I don't?  It changes nothing for me.  I don't think I could ever go back to being a believer.  I'd be believing in the Easter Bunny, for someone else's sake.  And I just don't care.

Most of what I do is so that I can feel like I am someone worth being with.

Its amazing to me that I can just cry and cry.  If I even slightly remember how sad I've been, WHAM, there it is.  The ELEPHANT in the room.  Everything is terrible.  Sleep, tomorrow, food, goals.  Awful. Its why tomorrow I will not eat.

Telling

I have written the letter that I will give to my husband to read about my sexual abuse as a teen.  I have edited it.  I have asked him when would be a good time to have him read something important and at first he said in about a month and then felt worried and wanted to read it sooner.  He said he has a feeling he knows what it is about.  Anyway, for me it feels like the cat is almost out of the bag.

I did not expect to feel so scared to do this.  I am afraid that he will not want me anymore, or treat me differently.  I am afraid I will hurt him with this.  Or I am afraid that he will react in a way that makes me distrust him.

What is strange is I KNOW I was molested on several occasions but I still fall into a pattern of thinking "its not a big deal" or "I could have prevented it".  I read up on sexual abuse and my symptoms keep leaping out at me.  I hate that I have harbored so much shame and guilt for so long.  I hate that I confused molestation with every doctor I went to and felt molested there.  I hate that all my anger, confusion, and depression was treated with pills instead of counseling.  I hate that I never trusted anyone to tell them and no one ever asked.  I hate that it is only now that I am realizing that what happened was not okay, and that I shouldn't feel the way I do.

I am afraid that I will tell him all this and he will not want me anymore.  That he didn't sign up for this.  That he will be mad at me the way I was afraid my parents would have been.

Journal Entry 4 (ending 2009)

I am scared to go to the doctor--I don't know where to start.  I am scared that though I have ovaries, my eggs will be useless or non-existent.

I feel like a failure to my husband.  I find myself hoping that I accidentally die somehow to spare him an empty future.  He's still young and can find happiness with someone who can make him a father.  I should have never let him marry me.  I wasn't meant for anything in this world.  Just a mistake, a natural disaster.

While visiting family at Christmas I cried myself to sleep twice.  One at my sister's and once at my mom's.  It was just so hard because I awoke to a baby crying. I wanted to wake to a baby instead of to depression.

I am pretty sure my depression has become pretty bad.  I don't have much faith in tomorrow but understand it is my responsibility to move forward.  I don't want to kill myself, I just wish I was never born in the first place.

When I think of the future all I can imagine at this point is sadness.  I can't even imagine a child anymore--it seems so fairytale.  I read about these other women with MRKH and they are doing everything to have a baby.  Shelling out cash and taking out loans--and they are failing.  I can't handle the thought of losing my future again and again.  I can't be told I can't do it.  I think that would be my total downfall.  I would lose all hope.  I don't know how I would learn to cope with that.  I would ask my husband to leave me.  I would hope he would.  I don't know if I could ever be happy, I would have to distract myself with traveling or drinking or start doing something reckless.

I obsess over money.  I worry I will take out a loan to have a baby and fail and then the monthly bills will come reminding me that I have to pay for my failures.

I guess my state of mind is despair.  I don't see tat happiness is an option.

Journal Entry 3

I am so beside myself with grief.  So much has been compacting me deeper into lifelessness.  I feel like I will keep fighting forever and never be happy.  I feel useless and angry.  I want to be beaten.  I want to be hit by a car or crash into a tree, to get away from all my worries and fears and failures.  I want to make my last mistake and never be remembered.

I waited 20 minutes before driving home today just so I wouldn't do anything stupid.  Then I put my makeup back on to cover the tears and ended up smearing snot all over my face.  I have such a dreadful feeling inside, I want to dig it out.  I want to feel the pain of my heart being sliced away from my poisoned body.  I honestly hate who I am.  I hate me.  I want to stop having panic attacks. Why do I even fight for my breath?  Why breathe so deeply?

Its all a scary dream, or scary movie and you just want the terror to end.  I can do that, I can be my hero and end this monster.

But I don't want to be anyone else's monster.  I scare me enough--I have to protect those who care for me so they never know the terror.

Journal Entry 2

What we don't know is will it work? Well, I don't know.  Should I get on with my life?  Should I decide this now, that my life will be forever empty?  Fill it with books and art and selfish endeavors?  Never becoming who I wanted to be all along?  I might as well want to change my age, my race, my height.  I am who I am, whole or not.  So much weighs on tomorrow and now it seems like yesterday.  There's no time.  There's no money.  I feel so weak.

I don't think about killing myself but I sometimes wish something bad would happen to me.  Something that would take me out, that would relieve all the doubts, pressure and my worries would be simpler or gone.  I drive often without a seatbelt.

I know the fault in thinking that way.  I thought about talking to a counselor but I know what they would say.  They would say I am a real woman, whole and worthwhile.  They would say I need to not bear all this burden alone.  But is is my burden!  And who can lift it?  Who can solve this puzzle?  Who can give me what I need? No, this is my burden.  I must carry it.  If it weighs 2 tons, it doesn't go away with more backs to lift it.  Its still there, it will never go away.  I will just learn to accept what I didn't understand all those years ago and what I am coming to understand its full implications.  This is not a birth defect.  This is not a syndrome.  This is not infertility or a challenge.  This is a new reality based on something much like worries--except for the expectation that something can be done.  Is that fear? Defeat? Doom?

My mind tells me to run away, move far away from everyone and live alone like you are destined.  See things that no one else will ever see and let that be your quest, your purpose.  Why push so hard to fit in this round hole when you are square.  Be square.

Pricking

Inside my head by choice
Looking for a way to explain
Who I've become instead
Of who I was . . .

Each hated corner I've lighted
I've found a new one for you.
A perfect place to bleed
A shiver of painless blue
Of who I am.

So fearful are we to talk
Knowing of all the dark
That hasn't been charted.
Doubting evil we fear to mark
Of who I will be

Journal Entry 1

I am sick of telling people I don't want kids and coveting theirs.  The truth is, I can't have them.  Please don't make me lie anymore.  Please don't make me cry.

The hows are crushing me again.

People gush over how cute I would look pregnant and what cute kids I'd have. They want me to catch the baby bug.  But I am sick of having it.

I hate to want something so bad and feel like it is a lost cause but try anyway.  To save and save and blow my life's savings and loans and have it fail.  The sadness I would bring to so many.  All I will want is to die.  I promised myself I would never kill myself in my twenties nor if I had to write a note.  And I would have to.  I am just going to hold the hopeless hope that I might do the incredible.

I grow so tired of crying.

Pea Salad

Dear sweet Jesus, shoot me if I ever blog about pea salad.  I was taking in a dose of reading some blogs from some friends of mine and wishing I had kids as happy as them when I realized that these stay at home moms are blogging about peas.  PEAS.  As in those delicious little green balls.  Why are we blogging about peas?  I can only assume there is nothing else in this world that can occupy a mind that sits at home with happy little kids.  Don't get me wrong, I would love to swap, but you can bet I wouldn't blog about peas.  Oh the irony.

Today I ate nothing except for a pear, 5 pecans, and 10 kernels of popcorn.  I drank a lot of tea.  Then I came home and devoured an entire quesadilla, beans, and a large horchata.  I have been hating myself for this all night and took some laxatives to get it out sooner.  I realize I am doing something wrong but it just feels too awful to eat and when I do it feels to awful to keep it in.

I have a skewed perception of myself.  I am constantly asking my husband if someone looks to be about my size so that I can get an idea of how big I look.  Because I honestly can't tell.  To me all I see is ridiculously large breasts, rubbing thighs, a double chin, fat upper arms, and the roll of back fat from where my bra cuts in.  I wish I had a job where I moved around all day and burned calories.  I feel like I will never be thin.

I am gearing up to be surrounded by kids in a few days.  My nephews specifically.  I am excited to see them but also know that last time I cried all night for 2 nights.  It is sincerely painful to have a little boy put his tiny hand on my cheek.  Painful to have a little boy tell me he loves me.  Devastating to see a little boy go unnoticed.  Every time I write about kids I realize how much I suppress because automatically the tears start coming.  I feel like Superman, acting all normal during the day yet completely out of my element, and then I come home and look through as many walls as I want.  Forgive my failed metaphor.

Also, today a strange occurrence unfolded on my way to work.  It was unbelievably foggy and I couldn't see more than 5 yards ahead.  Some guy tailed me and tried to pass me on a two way road.  He almost crashed into two vehicles, fish tailed, spun out and hit a ditch at 45 MPH and flipped over.  There was no place for me to stop to help so I had to call it in.  What was strange is I kept wishing that he had hit me, or that I was in the ditch.  I hardly ever have those kind of thoughts, it is more I wish I was never born or cease to exist kind of thoughts.  But literally, I was envious that I was not in the ditch.  That feeling was so disgusting to me that I cried from being mad at myself.

I am biding my time to be able to talk to my husband about my issues going to a doctor.  I have wanted to tell him every night but I don't want to burden him with something new to worry about.  Honestly, I wish he would have married someone who is better for him than me.

When You Dip I Dip You Dip

My husband has been feeling a bit low lately.  He realizes, as I do, that we need to make more money to afford our future children and that is just not happening.  I can't help but feel like it is my fault he is sad.  He would never feel this way if it weren't for me.

Further, I have been up late, every night, wanting so badly to tell him about my fears of the doctor and why I have them.  But I can't bring myself to do it.  I know that it would be another blow to him.

I always feel like I am one big disappointment.  That there is nothing that I can quite do well enough to make up for what I cannot do.  Like I shovel dirt into the sky trying to fill it and it just falls back down.  This is why I cook and it must be perfect. Why at work I must be the best, THE BEST, at my job.  Why in school and A- is a reason to retake a class to maintain a 4.0.  It is why I am so meticulous in everything I do.  Still, I feel like it is never good enough.  I get teased about it, like it is endearing that I am such an over achiever.  That darn girl, always spinning her wheels.

I suppose I will never feel whole.  Part of me will always hate that I never got to hold a baby in my womb.  Part of me will always feel guilty that I put my spouse through something that should not be his burden.  My absent womb makes my stomach look pregnant with fat, my teeth too crooked, my thighs too wide.  It makes me ugly.  A shell of a woman.  What a fancy costume.

I Hate Girls

Well it must be easy to decode what this post is about.

I do, though, hate girls.  I don't relate to them at all.  I hate their entitled, princessy ways.  I hate their stupid emotions that make them seem like the most important thing ever.  I hate their insensitivities.  The inability to be honest and sincere.  The inability to keep secrets.  Their bull headed way of being right even when they are wrong.  For their constant need to talk bad about everyone else to everyone.  Of course, I have to say I hate them because they do not have MRKH nor remotely identify with it.  It is because of girls, I hide and pretend I just happen not to have any tampons...all the time.  And yes I do use birth control and state whatever commercial I have seen and lie about how it makes me feel.  And, no I don't want kids yet even though I know I am getting older.  Fuck you.  Don't ask me a question you aren't prepared to hear an answer for.  I swear to god I will murder you if you complain about how heavy you are bleeding one more time or losing sleep from your 4 month old.  Shove that effing photo of your ultra sound down your throat and choke.

No matter how much I want a baby, I am mortified to have a girl lest I pass on my condition OR don't and I end up hating my little girl when she becomes exactly what I stated above.

Mockery

Fuck me all you want
I am dead inside.
Make a monument
of mockery.

Fuck me
Fuck the life into me
Wager on a losing bet
that one and one is three

Fuck me
Ceremoniously
Show me again
What I should be

The Ugly Little Girl

Everyone has a name for their sadness.  It is The Darkness, The Monster, The Evil Twin.  Mine is The Ugly Little Girl.  In every way I am what defines ugly.

I am putrid.

Inside each person, their darkness resides.  But my Ugly Little Girl consumes.  A demon possessing a body from within for 14 years, rotting, smelting, burning, raging, and festering.  She is a disease that spreads to everything I touch.

There remains nothing pure.  Not a thought, an action, or relationship.  The Ugly Little Girl has firmed her grip, buried her fingers into it all.

I am putrid.

Fade

I feel attacked by every comment about having kids.  Anything to do with kids.  Today, I wanted to sign up to be a volunteer for an art project with kids and a coworker blurted out "who, you? Who hates kids?" And why was I offended?  My facade worked.  I faded into the background.  This man believes I hate kids.  But, I love them. I envy those who have them.  It is you I hate.

I received a letter from my brother lamenting that he will probably never have kids because he will never get married.  He talked about his sisters and watching them be moms.  But all the while I'm reading this with little thought bubbles that say "except for me" and "yeah, me too" and "but not for me."

Honestly, I hate playing the role of a victim.  I hate not being able overcome this.  I hate kicking myself and pitying myself.  My core personality does not support it.  But it is so overwhelming that I don't know how not to feel this way.  It is an endless cycle of being sad, then getting mad at myself.  Both lead to completely hating myself.

I am on a binging phase right now.  I won't step on the scale because I know how much I have eaten lately.  I starve myself through the whole day then I come home and whoosh...eat and eat. Cereal, pasta, chips, candy, cheese.  I just eat.  I know this is because I am weak and I can only control not eating when I have a proper distraction.  I don't have one at home right now.  I need to remedy that.

Anyway, I do have to say, other than the issues I divulge here, I am a well adjusted person.  I do the best I can with where I am.  I just don't know how long I can hold all the pieces together before I become the creepy older woman with no kids.  Dear God.  There is only one of those at work....and she is really, really, creepy.  Well, hello future.

I have many symptoms that I have too long ignored.  The most normal of them is nail biting. I also pull out my eyelashes, prick myself with pins, and take too hot showers and scratch my skin.  I have never fully realized that I do these things regularly until recently.  They all feel somewhat the same way.  It begins with me feeling uncomfortable and I bite my nails, or pull at my lashes, or I prick myself.  If I feel especially uncomfortable, I will shower and scratch it out.  It feels good to me.  The pin pricking is the newest habit.  I discovered it on accident when something sharp in my purse poked me and it felt like a warm tingling all over.  So now I do it when I am feeling really uncomfortable and it calms me down.  I know it isn't normal, I would't tell anyone about it.


I came to an alarming correlation I have never thought of before. The idea of going to a gynecologist or any doctor that would look at me "down there" scares me.  I am 28 and I haven't been to one since I was 17.  I hate them, just thinking about going makes me want to cry and scream.  I think about all the doctors from my youth who poked at me, pushed things in me, touched me and I can't even really remember all of it because I would just zone out.  Why couldn't I handle going to a doctor?  And then I realized: just before I learned about my abnormality, I had been molested, several times.  Going to the doctor directly brings up those memories.  I felt molested by the doctors because of the abuse was so close together.  Now that I know this, I think I can talk myself down from the ledge when I go to the doctor in 2012.  


I have long wanted to talk to my husband about this stuff but I feel guilty talking to him about things that are bound to upset him.  I also worry that he will not believe me or think I am insane.

I Want a Baby: The Crazy Edition

(http://sweet-and-lowdown.tumblr.com/post/3356787912)

I want a baby. To give you what you need. To conquer that which has held me down for nearing two decades. To stop defining myself as worthless, ugly, fat, angry, depressed, wayward, dramatic, doomed. To let my demon go. To let this ugly little girl grow into a woman and forget what created her.

I want a baby to give us a family. To stop the sad looks from my family. To answer the unspoken question of yours. To stop the incessant pestering of when am I going to have a baby. To stop the lie I tell that I don’t want one.

I want a baby to prove that I can do what I think I cannot. To stop feeling mad at my luck or destiny or God or whatever force I feel like blaming it on when I get too depressed.

I want a baby to give it a name. To forget my importance. To have something to share other than cookies and nerdisms. To give me depth that is impossible to have without.

I want a baby. Even though my reasons are bad. Even though I don’t deserve one. Even though it would be hard. Even though I will probably be a bad mother.

I want a baby to release the obsession. To find my heart again and cry at movies and relate to women. I want a baby to grow into a better person. To learn and expand my abilities. I want a baby to accomplish something I know I cannot.

I want a baby so I can hold them again. So I can stop the façade that I don’t like kids. So I don’t nearly cry when you hold yours or talk about them with that gleam in your eye. So I can play with them without a dagger in my heart. So I can watch eyes light up when I first make them laugh, or hear music, or feel sand between their little toes.

Even though my reasons are bad. I want a baby. I don’t want to long for one. I don’t want to delay. I don’t want to have patience. I don’t want to spend all I have to have a baby I can’t afford. I don’t want to adopt one that has issues I cannot fix. I don’t want to put all I have and to wind up where I am now but without anything left. I don’t want to fail. And fail. And fail. And die. And die. And die.

I want a baby so I can cry like this over their worries, and not my selfish desires.

So I can stop trying to be a woman and start being me. So I don’t have to lose sleep every night and tell people I just don’t need that much sleep. So I don’t have to pretend I am happy. So I can be intimate. So I don’t have to get so low I think about crashing the car. So I can think that I can offer happiness to those I disappoint. So I don’t feel like life will always be as empty as the next adventure. The next distraction.  So I don’t have to plan things to keep me going and excited for just one more month.


I want a baby, so I don't think about how good it would be for you that I die an early death.  So I don't wonder how long until you leave me and if it will be because I can't give you a child, or because of my insanity in that.

Hiding

I have other blogs.  One for my family, one for my eating disorder, and now, ultimately, one for the root of my eating disorder.  Chances are, if you are reading this blog, you already know what MRKH is.  I have lived with this secret, that I have MRKH, that I cannot get pregnant, ever since I was 14.  This blog is a way of coming out--and I am coming out to strangers . . . under an alias.  I still hide.  Why?  I need to let it out, I need to be me, and accept how others will perceive me.  But I just haven't arrived at the ability to do that.  Even as I write this, I am concerned that if any adoption agencies, or surrogacy agencies ever read this, they would deny me a child.  Because, what is to follow are all my secrets.  All my lashing outs. What will be here is how a woman thinks when she has lived with MRKH and infertility for so long.  Though, these words would never escape my lips.