I had a bit of a breakdown yesterday again. I had a killer headache all day and stopped to get something to drown my sorrows into -- a huge bag of Jays BBQ chips and chocolate chip cookies. After gorging on the chips - the entire bloody bag - I took a nap (turns out I didn't have everything I needed to make the cookies).

While I drifted off it dawned on me that I need help. If I was a drinker, I probably would've gotten drunk last night. If I was a pot smoker, I probably would've gotten stoned. Instead I just eat. And eat and eat and eat.

It's no wonder I'm obese.

It's nights like last night when I realize that I'm very slowly killing myself with the toxic foods I gorge on at times.

How sick is that? Really, how fucking sick is that?

There are people in much worse shape than me in this world. People with much graver lives and problems than mine... and here I am eating myself to death.

::shakes head::

I told S that maybe I need to go see an infertility therapist or something. He said, "can't we just have more sex?"

I need him to come to terms that there is a possibility that this is not going to happen for us. I really need him to acknowledge that - and I told him this last night. But he won't give in to that. Instead, he insists that he needs me not to give up hope.

::takes deep breath in::

And that's when I spilled the beans on what's been bothering me the most lately: Fear. I'm terrified of getting my hopes up again only to be crushed again like I was last July.

"Remember how positive I was last July?" I cried to S. "I had no doubts about that pregnancy and then he took it all away from me."

I cried and cried.

"I don't think I can live through that again," I whispered.

"But you can't give up all hope," he told me. And I know he's right. And I haven't given up ALL hope. But I'm a little more realistic this time around because... well... there's a reason I still haven't gotten pregnant, I believe.

Sigh.

I've been doing some research and I think my luteal phase is too short. Prior to getting pregnant it was 10 days which is right at the cusp of being long enough and not long enough. Lately, it seems it's been about 8 days. If that's the case, if the problem is that my LP is too short, I think it's fixable.

See, I still have *some* hope that I can be fixed.

I'm not a doctor though... but I'm planning to call one this afternoon.

I hate this shit. I just really hate this fucking shit.

I had a significant temperature drop read on the ole basal thermometer this morning. I guess AF will be arriving at any moment. I guess that explains the horrid irritability lately. And the cramps and sore boobs and ridiculous gorging. I mean, why would any of those symptoms be equal to being pregnant? It's me, after all.

Another cycle down the drain.

I guess I'll be calling the doctor in the next day or two and asking for an appointment to discuss our next step. I cannot continue on like this until a year past the m/c date (end of July). I just can't keep playing the mind/heart/body games.

S said he'll go with me to the appointment.

I'm not going to lie and pretend like this all makes me happy. Obviously it doesn't. I mean, sure a part of me just wants to know something, just wants to have some sort of reason for the madness... but a bigger part of me is terrified to hear that it's the worst case scenario, that the one brief pregnancy I experienced was a fluke and it will never happen again.

Because then what? After this appointment, after the blood and semen and whatnot is tested, then what?

This just was not supposed to happen like this. I mean, I don't really know why I'm so fucking surprised that, once again, nothing in my life comes easy... yet I am. I know that should that day come when I get to be called Momma... this will ALL be worth it. I know that.

But what if that day never happens?

I do still have hope, I really really do... I just... UGH!!!!!