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That’s the most honest thing I may ever say. I am done.

I am just done with this whole routine. I don’t want to do this anymore. I am so tired of chasing dreams that I absolutely know will never come to fruition. I am not happy.

I’m not happy because I am so angry. I am angry at the world, or Mother Nature, God, or somebody. I don’t know who to blame for my anger. That just makes me even madder knowing that there is no one going to be held accountable for the state of my life. Except me.

I am angry for my mother being gone. My life has been unbearably lonely since she died and I will never have her here to love me. There is an emptiness inside when you realize you have no blood family other than the ones you made. I’m an orphan. An old orphan, but an orphan all the same.

I’m angry because my life seems to out of my control. My money is based on whether or not my bosses continue to keep their businesses profitable and whether it not they feel I deserve a fair piece of that profit. I work all the time and rarely have days off, for far less money than most people with my skills and education make. It’s a maddening circle I don’t know how to get out of.

I’m angry because every time I want something, it never happens. My fortieth birthday tattoo. My framed published stories. My dream wedding. My dream ring. My relaxing vacation to the Bahamas. A writing career. These events mean nothing to anyone but me. They were just things I have longed for and not gotten. It is no surprise, once I really consider the thought, that I got pregnant and miscarried. I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO GET WHAT I WANT.

I am tired. My brain is too overloaded to pee on stick all the time. Or to become obsessed with an online fertility chart. I don’t want to still be checking my basal body temperature when I am 45. I am too tired to cry every month that I see I have -once again- started my period. I don’t want to frantically rush to the drugstore to buy 15 pregnancy tests just because I had a vivid dream the night before.

In truth, our infertility is our fault. We didn’t take care of it and value it as we should have. And now we are paying the price. The price is longing for something you want very badly and knowing at the same time that you caused this insanity. You could have decided to try again earlier. Or you could have not chosen to have a vasectomy. Or you could have chosen a different partner. You could have taken better care of yourself. These are the deep thoughts that run through my head when the house is finally quiet. There are a ton of things I could have and should have done. But, I didn’t.

No magic wand or fairy godmother is going to bail me out of this one and I don’t even buy lottery tickets. There is no miracle coming my way. This is just what it is. A pipe dream that had little chance of ever becoming a reality. I set myself up for failure. I decide that I can change some big, huge thing and suddenly life will be better and it will make sense.

I am no one to believe that I am capable of making mountains move. Who am I to think that maybe I will finally get lucky and defy the odds? Who I am to expect better? More? I am nobody. I am just a perimenopausal woman thinking she is tougher than Mother Nature is.

I have come to the point in this whole rat race where I feel there is nothing to be gained. This hopelessness of trying to move forward with my baby dreams is just too much. I am not going to be one of those faces on a pickle jar with a hole cut in it for easy donations in the convenience store. I am not going to win some ivf giveaway through some contest where i have to prove my worth to a panel of judges. There is no campaign to help me being blasted all over the Internet with 25,000 followers and benefactors. I’m not special.

It is time to face reality. Having a baby at my age is crazy. Expecting to be able to do this with nothing going for you is even nuttier. No more emails to and from strangers praying for a good donor. No more trying to stay positive. No more waiting for things to get better. No more wasting my time on pointless pursuits.

I am not happy. Having a baby is not going to change that. Until I change the things in my life that needs changing, I am never going to be happy. Once I figure out how to change my life so that I can be happy, it will be too late to even consider bringing another beautiful life into my world. I am at the end of a journey I should never have taken.

I don’t know what happens from here. I think nothing happens from here. It is sad and disappointing to accept that this is just not going to happen. All of the things I would need to even have a shot at this are just outside of my reach. It’s time to realize that I am in over my head and I have been drowning for too long.

With this, I bid the trying to conceive community a sad goodbye. I have met some wonderful people online. For once I felt a connection to other women who were welcoming and sympathetic. The part I will miss most about trying to have another baby is the collective good wishes and daydreaming of an infertility support group. They have given me an opportunity to talk about our devastating miscarriage and have shown me hope and positive reinforcement. I may never know these ladies in person, but I will always be grateful for their company, their support, and their nurturing shoulders to lean on. May you all realize your baby dreams soon. You deserve to be happy.

Good night Gracie.