Not a Happy Post

Today is not a good day. As I have for basically all of the last week, I feel awful. At least I haven't vomited (yet) today. So far, the massive amounts of progesterone Dr. Young put me on have only made me a little PMS-y and introspective (I want to punch people, then think for a long time about why). But yesterday, the insanity began. I've been crying about everything. And nothing. Things actually worth crying about make me want to lay down and never get up again because the world is such a terrible and miserable place.

It's today I finally feel like my thin thread of patience has broken, and released the unanswerable question: Why? Why, after feeling so awful for so long, now that I finally have some hope of things getting better, do I feel worse than ever? Why have I been sick for years? Why am I stuck in this horrible town where every woman I see when I'm out shopping, at the doctor's office, at church, or anywhere else is sporting either a belly bump or a sweet child? And why can't I just be happy for their miracles instead of being bitter about my malfunctioning body and secretly calling them "Fat'n'Happys" so I can forget that they're people too?

Why can't I stop thinking that somehow, this is my fault? Like if I hadn't gotten engaged to Glenn and gotten a huge hormone overdose with my first month on the Patch (from Hell), I would probably be a Fat'n'Happy by now myself, and I would never have been miserable or put Tim through the stress and hard work of taking care of me and sometimes our entire household alone.

And what am I supposed to learn from this that I'm obviously failing to learn?

And when will I finally be healthy? Or is "normal," healthy Amy gone forever?

And who even cares after all of this time?

And where, of all of the places I've turned for peace, will I find it?

But the way how to survive all of this is the only thing that's clear. Faith. I can't deny my knowledge that Heavenly Father has a plan for me, and that what I'm going through is a part of it. My suffering now will make me more able to succor a sister who suffers later. My misery is not useless.

I sometimes grumble that all of my pain and sickness over the past few years could easily add up to a pretty nasty nine months of pregnancy, and if things had gone right, I'd have a baby by now. I hope something almost as miraculous can be borne of my sorrows.