When Brains Go Bad

My brain hates me. I feel like I've addressed this before, but I don't remember what post it was and I don't feel like looking it up. The jist of it was this: My brain always sends me dreams about Ben cheating on me or leaving me or losing interest in me. My brain is kind of sadistic. And I've come to realize that it's (obviously) my own insecurities causing the dreams. My husband is amazing, and I love him, and often feel that I don't deserve him. I feel like he can do much better than plain ol' me. And thus, I get the nightmares.

But my husband, for whatever reason, is crazy about me. Certifiable. He'd do anything for me. As I'm typing this, he's in the kitchen making brownies because I'm supposed to take brownies to the women's broadcast at my church tonight, and I'm having such a massively terrible day that I just don't have the energy to do it myself. So he's doing it for me. No complaints, no heavy sighs, nothing to suggest that he might have something better to do. He's amazing.

A while back, I finally really let myself believe that Ben is head over heels in love with me and devoted to me. Since then, I have had very few - if any - nightmares about him leaving me.

So, my brain being the sadistic jerk that it is, it's finding other ways to mess me up.

While Ben was gone, the weight of our infertility was off of my shoulders for a while. He was deployed, so I couldn't get pregnant anyway. I missed him, a LOT, but from this one perspective, it was a bit of a vacation. I didn't have to think about the six and a half years of failed attempts to have a second child.

He came home, and it was awesome. Because having him home IS AWESOME. But of course, no matter how hard I tried to not think about it, the monthly "what if?" battle began again in the back of my head.

I told myself, "You're probably not pregnant. After six and a half years, what are the odds it would happen now?" But I couldn't help thinking, "maybe..."

I said, "It doesn't matter. It'll happen when God wants it to happen. It's out of my hands. Don't worry about it." But in the back of my mind, I was aware of every weird change to my body or mind that could, POTENTIALLY be a sign of pregnancy.

I repeatedly thought, "It's no big deal. Don't think about it. If you think about it, you'll hope, and then you'll be sad when you're not pregnant. We've been doing this for six and a half years! Too many heartaches to count. You're almost certainly not pregnant. So don't think about it. Don't hope. DON'T HOPE." Because, in situations like this, "hope" is a four-letter word in all the negative ways.

But you can't help it. No matter how good you've gotten at not focusing on it, not dwelling on it, not even thinking about it, that tiny hope is always in the back of your mind.

And I'm going to tell you something - I have gotten good at it. I used to stress out about it, but now I live my life without much pregnancy-related stress at all. I've gotten really good at pushing everything down and telling myself that it will all be okay.

But that doesn't mean that the hope isn't there. And where there's hope, there's inevitable disappointment.

However, I've gotten pretty good at that, too. Yesterday, when I found out that I wasn't pregnant, I was fine! I didn't cry or anything. I was a bit short-tempered for a few minutes, but I got over it quickly. I told myself it didn't matter. It'll happen someday. Or it won't.

I don't want my life to revolve around my infertility. Granted, it's something that I don't really keep quiet about, either. I'm not afraid to share my struggles with people, usually in the hopes that my experiences might help them with whatever they may be dealing with. And it is the biggest trial in my life. It's certainly been going on for the longest. So yeah, it's a part of my life. Even a big part of it. But I don't want my entire life to be centered on my infertility. That's not healthy.

So, while it hurts, and while I talk about it pretty frequently on my blog, that's only because it is a big part of my life. And sometimes a girl needs to vent. But it's not the most important thing in my life. Most days, I don't even think about it.

But this is not one of those days.

As I mentioned earlier, I was fine yesterday when I found out that, as usual, I wasn't pregnant. It wasn't a really big deal.

But then, last night, my brain made up for the lack of Ben-centered nightmares and did something truly sadistic.

Last night, I dreamed the same thing the entire night. I even woke up twice and went back to sleep in the hopes that my dream would change.

It didn't.

In my dream, we were living in an ancient empire where, in order for a new emperor to rise, a human sacrifice had to be made. So they chose a person who made little to no contribution to society. Someone who wouldn't be missed.

They chose me.

"You can't have more kids," they told me. "Your daughter is grown enough that she doesn't really need you. You don't have a college degree, or a job. You're good with music, but that isn't really necessary for society. You don't contribute in any way that has any meaning. So it makes sense that you would be our sacrifice."

I dreamed this dream, in many variations, all night long.

So, I woke up today feeling like not only am I a failure as a mother, but also as a human being.

I don't have a college degree. I did six years of college, but I have nothing to show for it. So I can't get a job that makes any decent kind of money.

I don't know how to do anything useful, like fix a car or computer; sew a decent anything; cook anything particularly nutritious or tasty; do taxes or perform surgery or give grand speeches. I don't have any skills of inspiration or persuasion. I can't even convince people to attend a party or a church activity!

So what do I do? I'm a stay-at-home mother with one really easy kid. All I've really wanted from life was to be the wife of a good man (at least I nailed that part), and a mother to a whole flock of children. Instead, I'm the human version of "Parenting for Dummies." I have one easy kid who requires very little parenting. A monkey could do my job.

The only things I'm good at are things that are nice, but not really necessary.

I play the organ at church, but I could easily be replaced by an iPod. And the iPod would make fewer mistakes.

I take pictures, but let's be honest: anyone with a decent camera can do that, too.

I can sing, but there's about a million other people in the world who can sing, too, and most of them much better than me.

I can act, but really, that's purely frivolous entertainment. It's fun, but not really useful. I'm certainly not good enough as a singer or actor that anyone would ever pay me for it.

I really don't do anything that has any genuine value. And I never live in one place long enough to really leave a lasting impression on anyone. Once I move away, I just slowly fade out of people's memories. After a while, it's like I was never there in the first place.

I'm so replaceable. 

So, yeah. Today has been pretty crappy. My brain hates me for some reason, and made that abundantly clear last night. The funny thing is, I never really thought any of those things about myself before. I always thought I was a fairly cool chickie (despite using words like "chickie"). So I'm not sure where my brain is getting all of this from. I had no idea that I had so much self-loathing in my subconscious.

But when I think about it, my brain has a point. What good am I, really? I don't really do anything particularly useful. I just kind of... exist.

I suppose that's true for most people, though. I had just always liked to think that maybe there was a greater purpose for my life than just "existing."