insanity.

As time has passed, in many ways, I feel more and more insane.

Just when I think I'm good -- so normal -- I lose it.

I read online that due to the hormones from an IVF cycle, when it fails it's very similar to enduring a miscarriage.  I don't mean to compare my experience to the experience of anyone who has been through a miscarriage, because I can't know if that's accurate or not.  But I will tell you that I have felt a devastating loss, a sense of insanity, an unpredictability in my mood and emotions, and an intense feeling of grief.

Last night I had a long phone conversation with my baby sister who lives in LA.  I told her my stories of devastation and all of the instances of insanity I have experienced.  Moments when I truly wondered if I was stable -- if I could go on with normal things and not reveal how crazy I am.

I shared a specific story with her from this past weekend, and we laughed about it.  Which felt good.  We laughed because it was so pathetic, and because it really is funny, but only because I'm a couple of days past it.  She said I should write about it.

On Friday, I got my hair cut.  I woke up and put makeup on.  I got dressed in my favorite jeans and heeled boots, and I felt kind of pretty.  This hadn't happened in a long time.

I had randomly gotten a last minute appointment because I felt like I needed it.  My new hairdresser was cute and sweet, and I soaked it all in as she washed my hair and I felt a little pampered.

I came home and did dishes.  I cleaned the bathroom and picked up the kitchen.  I played with my dogs.  I felt normal, and I was proud of myself.  I started to believe that I would be okay.

On Saturday I woke up feeling fairly good.  My husband and I made breakfast and watched a little morning television.

I told myself how normal and awesome and strong and impressive I am.  I really focused on how well I was doing and thought, God -- you are a fucking rock star right now.  Keep it up.  And then at some point I started crying.

And I guess that opened up everything, and I cried and I cried.  I cried for hours.  I couldn't stop.  J suggested I get in the hot shower and just sit there if I wanted.  So I did, and it felt good, and I got out tear-free and calmed down.

I had lotioned my body and put on my fluffy robe.  I made my way to the kitchen to get a glass of water so I could just chill out.  Our dogs were running around, and Walter jumped up on my bare legs, scratching me.  I told him No.  I told him Off.  And he got down.

And then he did it again.  Jumped up and scratched my legs.  And I turned and out of nowhere -- I'm not even convinced that the thoughts entered my mind before the words flew out of my mouth -- I screamed "GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU FUCKING DOG. FUCK YOU!"  Literally screamed.  So loud and out of control.

I calmly set my glass of water on the counter and turned around to leave the kitchen.  I walked to my bedroom and just stood there.

Obviously J had heard this whole thing go down, and he came in to find me.  And I collapsed in tears again, and the tears didn't leave me for another few hours.  I felt out of control and awful.  Again.

Some days I am me.  And some days I am terrible.  And I just want to be me again.

{Side note to anyone who might be worried about my dog -- He's fine.  I immediately felt badly for yelling at him, but he's fine.  We love him and spoil him, and he has a wonderful life (at least when I can keep my shit together).}