So this is for all the lovely ladies who have been through where we are right now.
And men, I guess. I don't think there are a lot of Y chromosomes who hang out here.
Does this shit ever get easier?
I have to say, when I was so busy that I didn't have a moment to think for myself and I was sleeping on borrowed time because there was just so much to do, it was easier. It really was, but you can't work on infertility if you're dead, so it doesn't sound like a good way to do things. I am the world's best sleeper, and I was getting 4 hours of sleep at most per night. It wasn't because I couldn't sleep but because there just weren't enough hours to get enough sleep. I was running on fumes and caffeine. Wonderful, wonderful caffeine.
And I just can't do that.
I feel like a spool of thread. When you first get it, it's well put together and looks solid. It's wrapped up tight and self-contained. As you use it or unravel more than you need, it becomes less orderly and starts to look disheveled. You roll it back up again as neatly as possible the first time, but it doesn't look the same. As you use it, or as it falls out of the sewing basket and rolls across the floor, you take less and less time to wrap it up well because it's just freaking thread. You can just get more thread. It's still perfectly good thread that is useful for the same purposes as before, but it's not orderly. It's not self-contained. It's a cotton hot mess. Finally, you stop rolling it up at all because it's just so tangled in itself that it doesn't even matter anymore. You've cut the slack off of it so many times that there is much less of it, but not because the other pieces have been used. They've just been wasted.
Eventually, it can't even serve the one purpose for which it exists-- to hold stuff together. It goes at the bottom of the sewing basket to be replaced by less messy spools that still have their shit on lock. And it will remain there until you get tired of the strings being tangled in everything and having to rip your useful tools out of it's grasp.
I'm a spool of thread who is full of knots and just as useful but so well disguised as something so very broken. I've gotten so used to feeling broken that it's almost like the status quo. It's just part of what this is. It's part of who I am. I can't even prove that I'm one piece anymore. But I am. I'm tangled and knotted and disorganized, but I'm one piece.
So, back to the original question: does this ever get easier?