It took my friend M. five years and IVF to get pregnant with her twins. Early on in her pregnancy, she showed warning signs of incompetent cervix. A few weeks ago, she got her stitch and has been bedridden. Today, at 24 weeks, she is now bedridden in the hospital. She’s due on March, but the doctors are just hoping she’ll make it to December.
I just this to have a happy ending. I’m tired of being sad.
Speaking of sad, DH has talked me into seeing someone for depression. A psychiatrist. I’m still not pleased with this decision and I’m not going in with a positive attitude about this right now, but I’ll give it a try. What’s the worst that could happen? That I end up relying on medication for happiness? At least I’d be happy. Besides, I’m already dependent on my husband for my happiness, and I’m afraid that I’m suffocating him with my neediness.
Therapy is getting harder and harder. Monday, I had to read a dialogue that I wrote between myself and my anger. I didn’t save it, but I think I’ll ask her for a copy of it to post here. DH was there to here my recitation, and I think was even harder. He recognizes that I’m hurting, and he knows that I realize I’m not healthy, but there is nothing he can do. If I’m going to be completely honest, I agreed to go to the doctor out of his sake rather than mine. I don’t really have a positive outlook – I’m not sure that I’ll be able to go back and be the person that I was when he fell in love with me, but I at least want to be tolerable again. Less angry. Less volatile.
I don’t want depression medication. I have no problem with my anxiety meds that I take once in awhile, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about getting on a long-term solution – if solution is even the right word.
I think a good sign is that I felt sadness for M.’s situation today.
As always, I’ll post later.
Oh! Good news is that DH is feeling better. He’s walking around and everything!