I say a lot of stupid things.
In real life, I have no filter, and that becomes glaringly apparent to anyone who has ever spent more than 15 minutes with me.
I am not above crossing lines, making people uncomfortable, and revealing far too much about myself and the inner workings of my sick and twisted brain.
And most of this I do without any real clue what it is I’m saying until it’s too late anyway.
One of the main reasons writing is my preferred mode of communication is because when I'm sitting in front of a keyboard, at least I can think about what I’m saying before I say it.
But most of those who are close to me know that 90% of what comes out of my mouth should either promptly be ignored, or laughed at. Because one way or another, I don’t typically mean anything the way it comes out.
Lately though, I’ve been letting things slip out of my mouth that even I know aren’t appropriate. Things that I realize are just ghastly and wrong and I shouldn’t be joking about. Because no matter how funny I may think I’m being in the moment, it just isn’t funny at all.
After my failed cycle, I got the distinct impression that those who cared about me were watching me. Waiting for me to slip and fall. Wondering if this was the thing that just might push me over the edge.
And it was in that cautious handling that I became annoyed. Frustrated that not only was I having to take care of myself, but I was also having to project a “good to go” image so that everyone around me would just stop worrying.
That’s when the joking began. The one liners about how everyone had me on an unnecessary suicide watch and it needed to stop before I actually earned the concern that was being thrown my way.
The ill fated joke continued, until it became something I referenced every time the idea of this next round failing came up.
I do want to pause for a second and point out that I realize how crass it is to ever joke about anything as serious as suicide. For anyone reading this (or walking by when the nonsense flys out of my mouth) who has ever lost a loved one in this way, I do want to deeply apologize for my insensitivity. I wish I had more valid excuses for saying things that I so completely and totally recognize are wrong, but I don’t. I’m just an idiot sometimes.
Yesterday I was talking to The Devirginator, and the subject of this next round came up. We were discussing whether or not I was coming home for Thanksgiving, and I was explaining to him that I’ll find out one way or another if this cycle works just a few days prior to Turkey Day. I was trying to tell him how apprehensive I am about purchasing a ticket now because “If this cycle fails and I then have to come home and deal with a bunch of people, I’ll probably slit my wrists.”
I’m telling you, I have no tact at all sometimes.
The thing that kind of snapped me back to reality though, was the reaction of my good friend.
While everyone else has awkwardly laughed off my declarations and likely silently prayed that I was joking when the verbal vomit has spewed, he actually stopped me in the middle of my next sentence and said “Hey wait a minute, I just want to make sure you’re not serious here.”
This guy who I have known for almost 14 years of my life, and who understands my twisted way with words better than anyone.
This guy who I don’t think has ever taken anything I’ve said seriously.
This guy who has to have heard me say a million similar things throughout the years.
Suddenly he was stopping me and clarifying that I wasn’t serious.
About killing myself.
And that’s when I realized the joke had gone too far. That if one of my best friends was asking for clarity about how serious I was, it probably wasn't that funny.
That in all reality, it wasn’t something to joke about at all.
Because people do kill themselves. People do hit a low point where they just can’t handle life anymore, and they give up. People do it every day.
For the record: That won’t be me.
This last two years has been trying at best. I have definitely struggled. And that failed cycle in July pushed me down further then I would have even thought I could fall.
But, I pulled myself back up. I dug my way out of that grief, and I would do the same thing with this next round if it too should go south. I’m not going to lie; another failure will hit me like a knife in the gut. But my dad and I were talking about it today, and he made a good point; I’m better prepared this time. Last time around, I don’t think I ever really acknowledged that failure was a possibility. I mean, yes, in the back of my head I knew it might not work, but I don’t think I ever believed it would happen to me.
This time I know better.
The hardest thing about another failure for me now would be the feeling that my chances were all gone. The loss of hope in knowing that there were no more embryos left, and that I wasn’t in the right financial or physical shape to create more.
That finality will be hard for me should I have to face that day.
But I will survive it. Just like I have survived the rest of this, I would make it through that too. Because that’s what I do; I fight, I survive, and I thrive.
So for the record, should you hear any asinine comments about calling it all quits coming out of my mouth, don’t hesitate to set me straight. I don’t mean it, and I shouldn’t be saying it.
It’s just that in my awkward attempt to somehow make this all seem like it isn’t as big and bad and scary as it actually is, I think I may sometimes go too far.
And while I have no idea what the future holds or how I’ll make it through should things not go my way in November, I do know one thing for sure:
I will make it through.
One way or another.
I will make it through.
ADSPACE
