Breaking Silence

I'm just going to come out with it. I really, really want to be pregnant and I'm really, really sad that I'm not.

These are things I almost never say out loud. Things I've only spoken to a handful of people. And lately they are things I try not to even think out loud. Does it makes sense to say thinking out loud? Sometimes my thoughts are very quiet little whispers, faintest rustlings that disturb me very little. And sometimes they are giant voices shouting in my head. Sometimes my thoughts are very loud.

And as the days go by and I'm not pregnant, the desire gets a little stronger, and the sadness gets a little bigger, and the thoughts in my head get a little more shouty.

It's my inclination to hold these things to myself. To carry them close, so close. To never, not ever, put them on display. These hurts are too tender. The desires run too deep. And if I hold them tightly, maybe I can control them, maybe I can subdue them, maybe I can shrink the hurt down to a manageable size. Reduce the desire to something saner, more logical. As if desire has ever had anything to do with logic. 

But I'm holding tighter and tighter, and I'm covering over so very much of myself in the process, and the desire still gets stronger, the pain more insistent, the thoughts more and more shouty . . . and the lump of it all, the very dense, hard, massive ball of all the things I'm shoving down and down and down is getting bigger and messier and harder to breathe past and the silence isn't helping me anyway, not really. So here I am. I'm just coming out with it.

I really, really want to be pregnant. And I'm really, really sad that I'm not.

I'm going to try saying that a little bit more and a little bit louder for a while. Saying it out loud and not just to myself. I may even write about it a little more here. And maybe then my thoughts will settle back down to their normal, if mildly cacophonous, hum.