I had a talk with Zsa Zsa about my anger. I felt justified with it; she felt like it was very unhealthy. She had some valid points, but I'm so much more comfortable with it than any other emotion, that it is hard to control. But I'm trying. I'm trying not to be so mad. Trying not to be angry at others. Trying not to hate myself. Just... trying.
The last week has been filled with bouts of sadness. Times when I lay in bed full of rage. Flanked by times when I'm able to (ever so) briefly concentrate on work, lose myself in a movie, or cuddle with my husband at night. I'm attempting to return to some kind of normalcy. Whatever that means. I know it'll just take time, but I wish I could just fast forward three months. I want this part to be over with.
It took me a solid two weeks to talk to one of my closest friends about the miscarriage. Strange because she's a processor like me and typically very comforting with her words. When I originally texted her my bad news (I was in no shape for a phone call at that point) I got a return voicemail that just seemed a little off. She said all the right things and on the surface it all seemed valid, but something wasn't right. Was it the tone of sadness that was missing? I didn't know and decided that I needed to keep my distance. However, eventually I knew that phone call had to happen or the fallout of not doing so might permanently hurt our friendship. So I finally called.
She and her partner have been trying to get pregnant (starting a solid year+ after us) and since the IUI is one of the first options for a gay couple, she understands roughly what its like. She has also been privy to our struggle with infertility and our first miscarriage. So when I told her the details of what had happened, she was genuinely sympathetic. I talked as things entered my head and didn't use a filter, vomiting the events of the past two weeks. An hour into my diatribe, there was a lull. I knew I shouldn't have asked, but I also couldn't stop myself. Her partner had an IUI just two weeks prior and somehow, in my gut, I already knew the answer. I forced my friend into an impossible situation: if she told me the truth, it would send daggers into my heart and if she lied, our friendship would suffer a deep betrayal.
Hearing that one of my closest friends was newly pregnant after talking for over an hour about how mine was prematurely taken, was infuriating. I felt embarrassed that I'd let my guard down and spoke the gruesome truth. I felt angry that while she listened to my pain she held a secret so wonderful that involuntary smiles spread across her face throughout the day. I hate that the voicemail she left me may have been the same day she found out she was expecting- and was unable to hide the joy in her voice. The same day I lost mine.
I know my feelings are irrational. I know that she is just an innocent target for my anger. I know that my jealousy is only adding to this pool of muck. I know that she loves me and feels horrible about everything that has happened; that the timing is just cruel. I hate that she keeps trying to reach out and that all I can do is sting her with my silence. I feel so guilty for feeling like this. It's so hard to consciously know what you feel isn't real, yet at the same time it is so real that you can hold it in your hand. I'm ashamed of this, but I can't seem to let it go.