So far no adverse effects (no more or less gastric distress than before); however, I have noticed that my *ahem* "movements" have been a bit "different" than before. No more sudden onset liquified "shame," but now it's slower and more deliberate if that makes sense. Seems like my food stays in me longer (and I can only assume so, too, does the medicine).
Been incredibly moody this past week. I can't tell if this is something new or part of the baseline of moodiness I have.
Period still is a no-show, save for a little spotting or discharge the last week of June, but by no means was it a "flow."
I wish I'd just go right into menopause at this point. I can't handle anymore hypothetical intellectualizing over whether I want to have a kid or not. I've tried, unsuccessfully, for eight years to get him "on topic," and somehow the conversation never fully resolves itself. And now, eight years later (mind you, this is on top of the near-10 years wasted with the exhusband), he wants to talk about it, yet is emotionally detached from it, and I'm beyond this discussion.
One moment, I'm too fat to get pregnant. Or I'm too high of a risk with everything else wrong with me. One moment he says, "I didn't marry you for kids, I married you to be with you." Next moment, he's talking about adoption or surrogacy in India. And yet, he has failed to respect or regard the fact that I am six years older than he, with any sense of urgency.
When I married, I was interested in having a kid. OUR kid. Someone with both sets of qualities. The romantic idea of making your "love real" and "building a family of our own." He's always had his own agenda. While I'm not trying to demonize him... we're on so totally opposite time tables for each of our lives, I feel like two meteorites passing each other in deep space. For all intents and perspectives, it LOOKS LIKE we'll collide and become one; yet in space, a degree "off" and it's a near miss.
I have such a fear of failure in every aspect of my life, I'd just assume not attempt anything out of fear of becoming an even bigger failure. And as alone as I feel now, sorting all this out on my own, I cannot even fathom the difficulty of doing this without a support system... and without my dad to guide me.
We got lost yesterday on our way home, trying to get out of Jersey City (visiting friends), and the husband talked about the whole baby topic. I was stressed about being lost, and now brings up an emotional topic for me, and it totally unraveled me to the point of needing to pull over so I could sob, as I was stifling a full-on sob-fest while driving, and did not feel safe crying while driving.
So I pulled over somewhere and just fell apart, while the husband was saying, "Gee, um, this isn't a safe place to do this." It was as safe as any, imho, and to be honest, I don't want to live anymore. Haven't for a while. This is what my life is reduced to? Why bother? I sat there sobbing without an arm around me comforting me, without words of comfort, or even attempts at any of this. We sat in the car, and I felt worlds apart.
For the record, I'm not compliant with my Lexapro anymore. Haven't sought help for what I suspect is bipolar disorder. Yet one more set of doctors to go to, ALONE, for me to deal with this, ALONE.
I have a recommendation for a therapist from an online friend. I haven't managed to make the call yet. And even if I did, I don't put much value in "talk therapy," when from a family history standpoint emotional shit/depression like this is rampant. And even if I did call... where the fuck do I start? It's all so hopeless.
