Tiny little tears

It happened again. A totally innocent daily occurrence turned into drama for me. A friend emailed me some pictures of one of her kids, and there was this one candid shot where she's holding her son up...and she's just beaming into the camera. A totally natural, normal picture of an totally natural, normal every day life.

And I cried.

Sometimes, there are these little moments where it feels as though someone is reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart, hard enough to make it hurt, to make it feel like it will burst from the pressure. I want to be happy for others, I do - but it's just getting harder and harder not to be resentful. Each time I have to stop myself from almost starting an argument because I really just want to tell them to STOP SENDING ME REMINDERS OF MY INFERTILITY!!!

But it's not their fault - how could they know that the things that are just normal for them are like shrapnel to me, like a hollow-point bullet that pierces your heart and then expands to cause even more damage. It just hurts so much.

I'm not crying now. I want to, and I know I will again before long - probably before I can hit the "publish" button at the end of this screen, to add another blog entry on this road of desolation. I keep seeing them everywhere - all these women from all walks of life, tall and short, fat and anorexic, young and old. They all have kids, many of them more than one person should want to have, many more pregnant yet again.

Sometimes I feel invisible. I feel like I'm walking through a nightmare - like I'm not really there and no one feels or notices my pain. I keep thinking that I should be able to wake up now, anytime now, please let me wake up NOW. But of course it's not a dream - it's my life. I feel so empty, so lost and deprived of any kind of hope.

I know I'm not alone with this problem - I know there are many women who've walked miles in my shoes, been there done that and got the t-shirt to prove it. But somehow that doesn't help me - it doesn't lessen my pain, my anger, my frustration. It doesn't make me feel any less lonely and alone with this problem that threatens to envelop me and swallow me whole, to wrap a dark ugly cape around me and keep the light out.

I feel so, so alone.

Catching Up...

In the last month or so, I've found myself staring into space a lot: at the ceiling when I'm lying in bed at night or first thing in the morning; at the wall when I'm somewhere in a room, a building; into just plain oblivion most other times of the day. I feel like I'm just trying to survive every single day.

A few weeks ago, I had quite possibly the worst day yet. I had to go to the hospital to have some blood tests done in what I imagine will potentially be a long battery of tests to determine whether or not I'm reproductively challenged - which, of course, will affect not only the course of action for the doctors as far as Kenton is concerned, but also our decisions based on that. We've talked about it a little, and I've already told him that I'm drawing the line where surgery is concerned - if that's the only hope for having biological children, then I guess we'll have to pursue other avenues. I'm not putting his or my life on the line on some small fraction of "maybe, someday".

So I spent about 6 hours in the hospital. Surrounded by mothers, women with heavily pregnant bellies, nursing infants and baby cries. It was literally like someone had scripted my worst nightmare and cast me in the starring role: Alexa, Infertile! Thankfully, I had brought a book so I was barely able to keep it together. Yet every time I heard a baby crying, something inside of me felt like needles and pins - like all I could think about was MY baby crying, the baby that's not even conceived and may never come to be, the baby that I would take care of and love and never neglect. Not that, in this instance, I'm saying that the cries came from neglect of course - it just hurt me, physically as much as emotionally.

To boot, when I later when to do some shopping, a woman said to me: "Oh, you smell good! Is that baby powder?" I think I probably looked at her like I'd missed a vital dosage of my anti-mental medication. Of course I tried to get a grip, give her a thinly veiled smile and told her that it was probably my shampoo.

Baby powder. Those little, insignificant, basic things that are of absolutely no importance to mother other than a product regularly purchased along with toilet paper and butter. To me, these things are taken on near-iconic status:

"BABY POWDER - now only for those who CAN have babies!"

I'm having these movie-type moments where I imagine these blasts or blips in some spoof-type, retro voice-over - and I'm sitting here, little pile of misery, advertised as Coming Soon To A Theater Near You. I imagine this black and white scene with beautifully coiffed, perfectly silhouetted middle upper class 1950s housewives with their 2.1 children whispering behind upheld hands, eyes wide open, aghast at The Woman Scorned By Nature.

And, still, Kenton is not getting the picture. I feel like I'm sitting on hot coals - and he keeps throwing these things into everyday conversation like "what are you going to do when we have kids" - like that's just assumed, like there's no hindrances, like there's a bun in the oven as we speak. INFURIATING!! I know that he has a different way of dealing with this, but I am so damn mad at him. I mean, I keep trying to EXPLAIN (read: beat into his male brain) that I have a limited amount of time left IN THE BEST OF CIRCUMSTANCES, which clearly isn't even the case with us. And I told him, I cannot, cannot, CANNOT go through life without a child, not completely. He keeps throwing adoption in there like that's supposed to make it all better - like that's not just one of those things we might not even be able to afford.

So then, the other day, I'm talking to this 21-YEAR OLD GIRL who tells me that they're having issues because she's been trying to get pregnant - without success - for two years. Part of me wanted to throttle her because I felt like saying: WTF YOU HAVE NO CLUE!! And there was that evil, disgusting, horrible part of me that thought: good, serves you right. I can't even begin to describe the shame and horror I feel when these kinds of mean, selfish and pathetic feelings overcome me - but I keep thinking that, whenever I'm confronted with something like that, there's this little voice that's telling me, seeeeeee, you're not the only one, it's not your fault, it's not you're fault. Because, somehow, I still feel that it's all my fault. It's my fault.

I go through these phases of wanting to do a lot of stuff just so I can block out the pain and these feelings of...what is it? Being incomplete, a failure, dysfunctional, BROKEN. I feel broken. I feel like something got ripped out, trampled on, and then put in a totally dislocated place so that I can never be the same again. God and, for such a long time, I didn't even really think about any of this - even until a couple of years ago it wasn't this bad. Now all I can think about is that little wiggly thing that's not in my arms, those tiny hands not clasping my fingers, that tiny little face not smiling up at me. I AM BROKEN. I feel shattered. I feel not whole. I feel like part of me is dying a little bit every day - and Kenton doesn't get it. HE DOESN'T GET IT. I just don't know what to do, don't know what to say, don't know how to deal with this.

And then there was that consultation with a doctor who, quite obviously, couldn't have cared less about my concerns or my issues. My regular doctor was out of town, which I hadn't known - because, trust me, there's no way I would've seen this guy if I'd known what I was in for. He didn't bother to read my file, didn't even really look at the blood test results, but only told me that the starting point for an infertility workup is a hysterosalpingogram:


http://www.webmd.com/infertility-and-reproduction/guide/hysterosalpingogram-21590

http://www.advancedfertility.com/hsg.htm



Aside from the fact that I'm not really that crazy about letting someone loose with a bunch of tools in my reproductive organs, there also seems to be no information whatsoever about whether or not this is PAINFUL. There's all this clinical blabla which, when it's all said and done, tells me precious little other than that it's the first step to determine whether, in addition to Kenton's problems, I might be throwing my own in the balance. Thanks, that's really helpful. NOT! I feel violated just thinking about it.

So that's where it's at. I'm sorry I've been silent so long - your comments continue to give me hope and something to hold onto in these trying times. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Tears, tears and more tears...

Once again, the comments to my last post really made me feel better - THANK YOU! It's nice to know that some people can really relate, and know exactly how I feel and what I'm going through.

The other night, we watched Cheaper By The Dozen 2 - and when Piper Perabo has her baby, I literally sobbed. I tried to stifle it so that I was just this pathetic, wimpering, shaking mass of pent-up frustration, pain and despair.

All day long, I see all these women - mothers - who couldn't represent a more diverse group: tall, short, skinny, fat, pretty, ugly, smart, stupid, kind, mean, well-mannered, rude...You name it, they're all there. And I KNOW how shallow it is of me to think this, but sometimes I see someone and I can't help wondering: HOW THE HELL DID SHE END UP WITH A KID??? Today was one of those times...ALL! DAMN! DAY!!! When I went to the post office, I saw this woman who was what I always think should be the picture next to the dictionary of (female) couch potato: she looked unkempt, unwashed, was quite overweight and made no bones about it in her crappy, ill-fitting clothes. So she gets out of the car, and as I'm looking her over from a safe distance and thinking to myself, good grief woman!, another thought sneaks into my head: 20 bucks says SHE has a baby. And sure enough, bulging pants and nasty tshirt, greasy hair and all, she opens the trunk of her minivan and takes out a stroller. I actually felt nauseous - and there was a part of me that just wanted to SCREAM.
Then there was the woman - two kids in a stroller - who was so skinny, even her jeans made her look anorexic. I started thinking that she was probably one of those women who breastfed because they say that it burns extra calories (so I've read somewhere, a long time ago).

I HATE MYSELF FOR THINKING BADLY OF OTHERS!!

Don't get me wrong - in many instances I feel that my judgment is, while perhaps snide and mean, nonetheless correct and appropriate. When I see a baby in a car seat being stuffed with Burger King, there's a part of me that wants to yank the child away from the person fueling childhood obesity and a host of other developmental crap.

Everywhere I look, people have kids - dads absorbed in tickling a too-cute-for-words infant, mothers scolding (or, more often than not, failing to do so with bratty kids), sometimes yelling for no apparent reason. And it hurts. All of it.

I found myself in the car today, driving without really paying attention to anything around me - when a sudden realization hit me. I can't live this life without children - I can't give it up. For such a long time I kept thinking, maybe it's not that big of a deal. Maybe I don't NEED to have kids - maybe I can just deal with that not being part of my life. I kept thinking, do I really want to get pregnant - with all the discomfort, pain, potential risks etc that come with it? Do I really want to deal with sleepless nights, poopy diapers, potential medical conditions etc? And I kept thinking, no - I'm not ready. No, it's not that big of a deal - I don't think this would work for me anyway. But today, it hit me like a brick. I started thinking about living the rest of my life without ever having children, without grandchildren, without cute little smiles as the world's greatest reward there ever was or could me, without tears of joy and tears of pain, without MOTHERHOOD. And the thought breaks my heart - and I think that, if it turns out that there's no way for us to ever have kids, it'll break my spirit in a way that I'll never be able to fully recover from.

People make it look so easy - women have kids all the time. Sometimes back to back, sometimes multiple births - regardless of social class, education, weight, age...It happens all the time. In fact, sometimes it seems to me that the ease with which some women have kids is directly proportionate to how UNsuitable they are as mothers. I mean, teenage moms? Or women who push a stroller with one hand and puff a cigarette with the other?

I often think about writing a post, and then don't - because I feel like I'm going in circles, like I'm always just saying the same thing, over and over: that I hurt, that I'm sad, that I'm scared, that I don't know what to do or how to handle this at all. I have days where I feel like I'm on autopilot because I just can't get through the day any other way. This is one of the most lonely things that could possibly happen to anyone...

Change Is Never Easy

I have a confession to make: I'm tired of my endlessly self-indulging pity party. I'm tired of moaning, groaning, complaining and whining. You know why? Because, for one, it does NOT change the facts of our situation. Second - and that's really the crucial point here - what it DOES do is make me feel even more irritable, miserable and just plain grumpy. ALL! THE! DAMN! TIME!!! So I've decided that it's time that I TRY to contemplate all these issues - and my feelings in relation to them - in a different light.

Am I suddenly converting to a new-found belief in some higher authority which may or may not have decided that I'm quite simply not "meant" to have children? Nope. Have I perhaps decided to attempt to reduce my exposure to Belly Town by become a complete hermit? No, siree! Rather, I've had this sudden "aha" moment: the only thing all this belly-aching is accomplishing is making me feel LESS empowered, LESS in control, and MORE upset. Errrr, no thanks!

The other reason for this attempt at redirecting my thoughts and feelings is the cumulative of a number of different things. For one, the wonderful, warm and thoughtful comments that often pop up on my blog, which I value and which make me feel not only like I'm not alone, but that there are people out there who can empathize. The other thing is that, in the past couple of months, there have been so many tragedies (admittedly most of them in remote corners of my life) - and I'm starting to feel like my constant griping is insolent, childish and ungrateful. Don't get me wrong - the hurt, the frustration, the anger and everything else hasn't gone away. I haven't suddenly embraced some new zen-like outlook (glazed eyes optional) that would do away with the emotional side of this journey. Oh no, I'm still strapped into my seat with the same bewildered look and fright wig.

Only...you know what it's like. If you're constantly miserable and keep focusing on the negatives, eventually, that's ALL there is: your life becomes this abyss, this black hole, and before you know it, you've become your own worst enemy. And, seriously? Who needs that kind of pressure?

So...I guess what I'm trying to say - to myself, to the wonderful, lovely, sweet & caring ladies following this blog, and to everyone else - is that maybe, just maybe, it's time to take a step back and stop focusing on the thing that ISN'T going right in my life - in all of our lives - and get back to the business of being happy about the things we do have: good friends, plentiful lives, partners and families who love and support us (and who, in some cases like mine, learn to love us despite our obsessive-compulsive need to over-analyze everything! :) Maybe it's time to take a better look at ourselves, our lives, and ask some critical questions: WHY is it such an imperative for me to have a child? WHY do I keep berating myself for things that are OUT OF MY CONTROL? At the end of the day, sure, there are some things that CAN promote fertility and other things that MAY jeopardize fertility - but beyond that, it's really just Russian roulette: you, yes; you, not so much.

Unlike some people, however, I'm definitely not a fan of the "meant to be" school of thought. I don't think there's any rhyme or reason why some people abound with babies, while others are left with a not-unlike-dessert feeling of DROUGHT. What do I mean, you might wonder? Well, it takes a mighty strong woman NOT to feel slighted when surrounded by women who, seemingly without difficulty (and I would like to stress the word "seemingly" at this point since, of course, we can never really know with how much easy OR difficulty someone has achieved that which we all covet so much), managed to pop out one or more of those tiny little gurgling thingies that make your heart thump wildly in your chest, threatening to make you go deaf with excitement. And then...those feelings of being left out and let down: by nature, by God if you're a woman of faith, by something, somewhere...until all you're really left with is a single, painfully one-sided question to which you may never get an answer: WHY NOT ME?


I, for one, am choosing to end hostilities - at least for the time being. I'm tired of being at war with myself and the world. I'm exhausted from endless "what if"s without answer, of guilt and shame. For now, I'm just going to take each day as it comes to me - in the hopes, as always, that things will eventually fall into place - somehow.

New Year, New Pain

The last few weeks have been a bit of a blur - with holidays, little bouts of the flu and other things to make me chicken out from dealing with The Issue. But here I am, still in the same boat. No need for New Year's Resolutions on this subject, since it's out of my control to begin with...

Kenton did gave another sperm sample last week, so we're waiting to hear back on the results. I don't even know why they had us wait so long after the first one. Meanwhile, he still acts like nothing's wrong - and apparently doesn't realize that in NOT dealing with this issue, he's actually hurting me even more. He keeps saying things like "when we have kids", as though it's just a matter of us decided on the time and place of conception. Each time, it cuts me like a knife because I keep thinking: what do you mean, WHEN? How about IF? And what IF we CAN'T???

Of course, life around me goes on unchanged. Oh, no, wait - that's not true: in my immediate environment, as well as in the world of celebrities, people are having second and third babies, twins, more babies...And I'm still sitting here thinking, wait a minute - what about ME??

In light of some personal things that I've become privy to in the last month or so, I know I shouldn't moan and gripe - I should just be happy to be alive and be happy to have a good, caring husband. And I can deal with not having a baby right this second - but I'm starting to have this horrible feeling of growing old and never being able to have a child. The other day, I got one of those glossy gossip magazines, and there was this picture of Jessica Alba with her baby girl. She's crouched and has a hand protectively around her daughter to make sure the baby doesn't fall down, and the baby is sort of glancing backwards so that it seems as though it's looking almost straight at the camera. I looked at that picture for what seemed like hours - the little ears and a hint of a smile playing on her lips. The maternal gesture of keeping the baby safe. It all seems so normal, so NOT extraordinary, almost banal - and yet I feel like a goldfish, forever going round and round in the same old way, looking out at the world but unable to participate in any of the wonderful things going on out there.

Even my hairdresser got pregnant, and up and quit her job in the advent of her first baby being born - and she pretty much got knocked up on her honeymoon. It's like Bump City out there. Meanwhile, I'm stuck in Misery Central, population growing.

Over the holidays, I fell into one tub of ice cream after the next, not unlike an alcoholic looking for salvation - or maybe just a dulling of the senses - in the bottom of every bottle. I feel like crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head, but ironically, sleep continues to elude me. Instead, I lie awake at night, tossing and turning, hundreds of images in my mind, all competing for a chance to drive me insane. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in so long, I think I've forgotten what it felt like to wake up and NOT have my whole neck and back in knots.

So here I am: New Year, but no new me. No dreams of motherhood fulfilled. No pain of childlessness abated.

You know what really gets me? If I were a recovering alcoholic, no one would expect me to go bar hopping with my gal pals. If I was doing Weight Watchers, people would understand if I said no to chocolate cake. But no one understands that, when you're in this kind of predicament, the last thing you want is to keep having your face rubbed in other people's fecundity. I don't want to constantly be confronted with this notion that, without kids, I should still participate - gleefully! - in activities that revolve around family life. As much as I love Kenton, I'm starting to sense that I don't think I'll feel fulfilled if we can never have kids. And I know that I've written here and talked to friends about adoption - which I still think is an important choice, alternative, option; what have you. But I am suddenly - and painfully - aware of the fact that, as it turns out, adoption was a wonderful option - so long as I had a choice. As in, I would CHOOSE to adopt a child instead of having my own, or as well as having my own. As it is, of course, my choices are growing smaller by the week - outlook: not good.

For the first time in my life, I feel as though my resources are failing me. My family still has no idea about what's going on - I really just couldn't cope with the mixture of pity, dismissal and judgment that I fear would sound loudly from that corner if prompted for a response. So I still live with this deep, dark, hideously paralyzing "secret" of sorts.

But I guess I have to find an outlet somewhere, and that will be my challenge in the weeks to come. I have to DO something - with myself, with my thoughts, with my pain. So, I'm still here...

Same old, same old...

I got my period today.

That just about says it all, doesn't it. Happy period?? I THINK NOT!

I'm just tired of being in this boat. I'm tired of dealing with this. I'm tired of feeling rejected and denied - feeling incomplete. Like showing up late for a job interview and finding out they gave the job to someone else, someone less competent, because they showed up at the appointed time.

Kenton finally called the doctor's office today, so I'm waiting to find out if/when he's going to be seen. What happens from there on out, who knows? Just having my periods makes me feel so bleak and sad, again.

I keep wondering how this happened to me. How did I end up in this situation? How did I end up married and comfortable enough, smart enough, old enough, to be able to face any and all challenges of motherhood head-on - and be denied? I feel like I got kicked out of some fancy country club without even being considered in the first place. It's ridiculous - all of it. This whole failed "experiment" is making me angry and it's making me unhappy.

Some days I just feel like smashing things around me. I am overcome by this blind rage - really just a feeling of impotence (ironic how this word has such different meanings depending on the context) as I am faced with this...sentence. Yes, that's what it feels like: I feel like I've been sentenced. Sentenced to a life without children. Sentenced to a life without ever becoming pregnant - and yet, how ironic, since as with so many other things, I didn't know how much I wanted it until I found out that I most likely will never even have the damn friggin CHOICE in the first place!!! Cue: rage.

Yet...at this same time, there are other aspects of my life - which for personal reasons I won't go into here, as they involve other people's lives and only vaguely my own - that give me pause to reflect. It's easy to get caught up in your own little world - with its ups and downs, its joys and pains. It's easy to forget that, no matter how lousy you feel, there's always someone else who has a worse lot in life. Strangely, I feel horrible these days when I even CONTEMPLATE sinking into my own private, morose abyss of unhappiness. I feel like I am so ungrateful - ungrateful for what I DO have. There are so many maxims, sayings, quotes out there that resonate with me on so many levels - yet actually LIVING according to the principles they espouse seems to be beyond me.

I sit back and think, life could be so much worse. I could live in a war-torn country. I could be pregnant as a result of rape. I could have a horribly crippling disease. Someone I love could die suddenly. And in the absence of all these far more horrific considerations, shouldn't I be able to put my own misery into perspective and think to myself: you know what, I got it good!!

But musings and ponderings don't quell the heart that wants what it wants. The other day, Kenton and I went to a nearby Starbucks - and there was this couple, probably about our age, all decked out for a weekend outing with a tiny, bundled up baby boy. I smiled at the father who glanced my way, pride beaming all across his face. And then I looked at Kenton, studiously avoiding the general direction of the couple - and I thought, why not us? WHY???

People often try to comfort those in pain or sadness with platitudes like "it wasn't meant to be" or, more theologically, "it's all part of God's plan". I have to grit my teeth when I just THINK about things like that because my reaction would probably be something like WHO THE FUCK ASKED YOU FOR YOUR TEN CENTS??? Comfort? I think NOT! What ever possesses people to think that these things are supposed to make you feel better is something I'll probably never understand.

____________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, life continues unabated. I'm reading, working, occasionally doing some menial tasks that allow my thoughts to roam freely. Sometimes, though, I find myself driving - and completely getting lost in these internal debates or monologues. I hate to admit it, but it's not uncommon for me to get to someplace and suddenly realize that I've been driving for half an hour but have little or no recollection of any part of the journey. Other times, I get so distracted that I either slow down or speed up without realizing it. Thankfully, it's never to the extent where I'd cause or be involved in an accident - but, still, even as far as it's been going on with me, it's not without its dangers.

I try to stay busy, as before. I try not to think about it. But then I look in the mirror and I think, I'm too old for all this. I shouldn't have to worry about this, it should already have been over and done with. I should have my statistically correct 2-point-something kids and be able to enjoy the things most parents probably take for granted.

So many people make judgments about things they don't understand - especially about things like parenthood. Without knowing my circumstances, several people I know have made comments to me about other people, intimating that if nature doesn't give you kids without trouble, then you're just not meant to have any. Easy to say when you're not affected by that proposition. And then I've heard, more than once now, that in-vitro children are considered "sub-standard" by many - being as they do not hail from the most "potent" combination of their parents' characteristics and genetic material. So where does that leave me? I really don't know. I don't know how to feel about any of this anymore. I feel like I'm just going in circles, going through the motions, trying to pretend everything is ok. Trying to pretend I don't think about it all the time, don't peruse baby websites in some sick, sadistic way of punishing myself, maybe.

I just don't know what to do with all these thoughts and feelings anymore.

Trouble Bubble

It's been over a week since my last post. The problem I have is that I feel like I'm going in circles - that I have nothing new to say, and nothing I write is original either because I'm hardly the first, only or last person to go through this.

Kenton has an appointment in a few days to talk to the doctor about running some blood labs and other tests. I hope that he can make it clear to them that we've already waited FOREVER, that every single month we're put off is like rubbing salt in an open wound. I just want to move on, one way or another. I just want some answers, black on white - and I want to be able to make a decision of what to do next. As long as none of the basics have been completed and checked off the list, we're in limbo - and that, more than anything, is just killing me.

You'd think that I should be immune to it by now - or, conversely, in tears practically every day. There's not a single day that I venture out without knowing that I'm going to be confronted with the same, painful images of children - young and old, tall and short, thin and fat, cute and ugly, quiet and loud - assaulting my sensitivities. I feel somewhat taunted by these constant reminders - and yet so alone, so guarded, in keeping this sad, unfortunate issue to myself.

I've further contemplated whether or not I should broach the subject with my best friend, but it seems like such a burden to ask someone else to share. And, at the end of the day, what is she supposed to do? Miles away with a husband, children and pets - the complete white-picket-fence-life that we BOTH thought we'd have by now - how can I ask her to deal with this? But, perhaps, in some way, the truth behind my hesitation to tell her is what I'm afraid would be missing: a real understanding of the depth of pain we're going through. As much as I love her and trust her, there's a part of me that keeps imagining the conversation she'd undoubtedly have with her own husband - and what he might think of Kenton. I know - it's silly. But I feel so protective of him. I fear that, if I tell those closest to us, they will - albeit silently - judge him. I worry about the "talk" behind our backs - questioning his virility, his masculinity, calling our marriage into question. I know that, in most cases, it wouldn't be meant as mean or degrading - but just the idea of it makes me reconsider any ideas I've had about disclosing our misfortune.

They say that shared pain is halved pain - but I wonder if that's true in this case. Because, really? There's nothing anyone could do to help us. I guess I just feel kind of hopeless - and cheated. We were so careful, so "smart" about always using protection when we were still dating; never being "stupid" or taking unnecessary risks. Even when I'd known Kenton long enough to be able to say that he would never have let me deal with an unplanned pregnancy by myself, we were both on the same page: we wouldn't start a family until after we'd been married for a while and had a nice nest egg to fall back on.

What a joke.

So now I watch him sleep at night, restless, while I try to pretend everything is ok. I read for hours, sometimes until the sun is practically coming up - trying to somehow dull the emtpy, sad feeling. It's sort of like coming to someone's house when you have every reason to believe you were invited - and then having the door literally slammed shut in your face. You stand there, unbelieving - shocked, hurt. For a moment you think, no - there must've been a mistake. You almost convince yourself that this didn't really just happen. Surely you just had a day dream or something. But it's all too real.