One more "little death"

I read once about the "little deaths" that infertility brings every month. The familiar wetness between your legs that brings with it the red of death...the death of your chance to conceive that month. Even though I know that the chances are so low they are almost not even there...there is still that one little part of me that thinks maybe this time will be the time.

I started birth control pills this last month. Even though I knew the white pills were coming they still caught me by surprise. Last night I took the first one, and today the pain came just like every other time, and tonight...my little death.

Is it still a death when I know that that stupid pill makes it even more impossible? Is it still something to mourn when there was never anything there to begin with? Even though I know through months of therapy and talking with friends that I have every right to feel this way...I still feel guilty.

I feel guilty that I have all these things to be thankful for and yet all I can think about is everything I don't have. I feel guilty because the only thing I could ever want for Christmas no one can ever give to me, and I hate that. I feel guilty that I can't look at myself in the mirror and see who I am and not some broken woman. I feel guilty that I can't make love to my husband and enjoy it because all I can think about is how nothing will come of it but one simple moment of pleasure. Thats almost the worst of all...because I know he deserves something better than that.

I am on these magic pills that are supposed to make everything better. I always said that I would never go on anti-depressants again and yet here I am taking the little blue pill they keep increasing the dosage of in some attempt to make it work better. Right next to those stupid birth control pills. And the pain pills. And the anxiety pills. And the nausea pills. And the pills pills pills. Why is it that these little things are supposed to make everything ok? Nothing is getting any more ok than it was before the pills, so why still take them? Why still pretend that tere is some end to this feeling inside, and these stupid things are going to help me get there?

I know I shouldn't complain so much. I know that the doctors are trying to come up with the "right" dosage and all that crap...but its been months! When am I going to start feeling better? When am I going to be able to look at all the good things in my life and not just the bad. I am about to move out of this basement and into our own apartment. Dan just got a great job, and things are finally starting to look up. And all I can think is broken.

Broken.

Broken.

Broken.

Its not just my womb anymore. Its not just my useless body now. Its me. I, me, myself...WHO I AM....is broken.

So what is the little death? Is it the fact that another month has gone by without the blessing I pray for daily? Or is it me? Am I just a series of little deaths? When will they stop? When will I be a life again?