I am in a dark place again. It has been happening quite a lot lately. It’s just that everything seems so bleak and uncertain with this APAS thing. I move in and out of this black hole once in a while (especially during THAT time of the month).
Sometimes, I get tired of waiting. It feels so unfair. It’s that treacherous feeling of wanting to blame someone but there’s really no one that you could pass this burden on to but yourself. I wanted to punch someone, anyone. Just to let all these suppressed emotions out.
I am in that dark place. Again.
Edzel has reassured me more than once that the baby will come. Sooner or later, it will come. And if it doesn’t, we have each other and that is more than enough. I want to hold on to that thought. And I could never be grateful for those words. But still that pain remains. Consuming you from the inside until your head feels like there are thousand shards of glass piercing through it and your heart just wants to pop out of your chest.
I wanted to write a book about this condition – this effing crazy journey of infertility. Medically, that is how they define it (infertility) when you have been trying for a year and haven’t conceived. It pains to be categorised as such. But that’s a fact. A joke of a fact, if I may say.
I have already gathered those who would want to share their stories but I can’t yet move forward. I have to go back to my core, stabilise myself and see where this goes. I couldn’t write a book that can inspire others when I am on downward spiral. One day… one day soon.
But anyway, here is the prologue of that book I am planning to write. Let me know what you think of it, loves. I need a little bit of inspiration and a dozen more affection.
PROLOGUE
There are many situations that propel writers to write. It could be a movie, a book, a painful experience. Or it could be that you just need to write. A deadline, a requirement in school or work. Or it could also be that desire, a deep yearning to do just so – a calling.
In my case, I have struggled with my writing for a very long time. In my younger years, I know that I will be a writer. But priorities change. Reality happens. People grow up and something that you love to do so much takes a backseat because you have obligations to fulfill.
Writing was something that I never thought of as a profession. Don’t get me wrong, I admire all the prolific writers out there who can earn a living from it. But somehow, for me, it was different. My writing is so personal. It is a window to my soul. I write because I want to express my innermost thoughts. It is a hobby, a passion. Some dreary days I ask myself, ‘who the hell would want to know about your journey? About what you write?’ I still do not know the answer to that question. But I persevere. I still write. Just for the love of writing.
And then, something just happened recently that made me realize that I need to put my calling into action. I need to write a book about my journey. Why?
Because I have stories to tell.
This book is a story about infertility (it still pains me to even type the word). This is a story about the continuing journey of couples who have been in this boat and those who are still lost in it – to serve as a reminder that we are not alone.
Some of us wait for a long time. Some of us don’t have to wait that long and are taken by surprise when our prayers are answered when we least expect it. Some of us pay millions to hasten the wait. But in all the waiting, tears were shed. Dreams have been shattered. Relationships have been tested in fire. But as my writing, we persevere. Because in the end, we have to play with the cards we’ve been dealt.
These are our stories. This could also be yours.
