Infertility Sucks (inspired over the past four years, but this excerpt sometime in 2014)

Let me preface this some....I wrote this LATE LATE one night. A night I could have gone to bed sad and woken up feeling a bit better, but I let myself pour out. The below was me pouring it all out. I don't feel sorry for myself, but I do think that people have been going through something like this just need to get it out. Let the pain and anger and sadness and confusion and loneliness pour out of you with no reservations.
So this was mine.

I'd say this was written sometime in early to mid 2014:

Infertility Sucks

Infertility sucks. There’s no better way of explaining it. It’s a monthly cycle of emotion. I don’t care what advice is given. I don’t care how peaceful you’ve become about it; the moment you see blood on the toilet paper, you’ve failed again. Another failed attempt. Depending where you are on the journey, maybe your hope was really high, or really low, but I’ve found the emotion that goes into the low hope is compounded by the numerous fails so far that even the low hope can bring unstoppable tears. So you cry. You silent cry because what will wailing do. You’re alone. Even if you have a spouse, you feel alone. You know God is there. But in that moment you are sad and angry. how many more blood stained toilet paper news do I have to bare. You ask. 
Days pass, and you have a new layer to your scarred tissue. You’re tougher now. You’re more experienced at the pain. Days lead to indifference. You’re cool with whatever happens. Then, you’re almost mid-cycle and think ‘what the hell, let’s take an ovulation kit;” negative. But now you’re interest is up and you’re paying attention to your body again. Two days later, you know…you take a test, and there’s the smiley face. Oh that is great, you’re so in sync with your body. So, it’s sex for 3 days. If you haven’t already started the every other day…and it’s “incubation time” on the bed as if your’e a chicken incubating its egg, yet your pose resembles a strange labor and delivery scene. 10 minutes should be enough. So, it’s required sex, and required poses for 3-5 days. Then, you are relieved for some time off, and the next week is easy. If anything you might be aware of implantation, but on a good week, you blend in to indifference again. Then, the dreaded D-Day week. Each day, you can’t help but take notice of feelings. Three days before your period is due, you look at the toilet paper every time you wipe, even for a faint shade of pink or brown. Now, period is due. Where is it? Well, this is strange; i’m a 28-day-er. You start going through your iphone calendar to review the last several months. Has this happened before? Noway. But you can’t take a test. Nothing is more devastating than blood other than a negative pregnancy test. So you wait. Two days late. You’ve loosened up. Imagine the “it could really be happening.” The reasons why this timing is so perfect. The view of how God let it all fall into perfect place. You imagine it. The news. Knowing you have a baby inside of you. Could that really be you? After all these years. You go to bed thinking of it and how life will change. You wake up with energy because there is new excitement. Ten minutes later you get coffee and feel something too familiar. A cramp. No. You go to the toilet and nothing is there. This further validates that this could be happening. Minutes later, a cramp. A fear. A real fear. You shove the toilet paper up. Your husband hesitates getting into the shower because he wants to know. Blood. There it is. The red blood spot that screams you’ve failed again. Your husband, so supportive, has sad and frustration in his eyes. You sob. Quietly. Tears fall to the floor from your eyes. No sounds. You're fighting it. Not again. You’re so used to this, not again. Be strong. You know this deal.
You move on. Get ready for church, crying here and there. The rest of the day is sullen. You stay busy, but can’t deny the flutter of hope that resulted in a crash and burn, right over your toilet. 
Then, you get to spend the next 48 hours with severe cramps. As if you need a reminder that things didn’t work out.
You yell to God. You cling. You push. You ask why. You have to give up. You do, but you wonder how you try if you give it up. You end up being noticeably somber, withdrawn. 

Infertility is so lonely. If feels. so. lonely. And I am helpless.
God. Help me.

Love, Amanda