Usually, this time of the month harbors hope for me. A new cycle and a new opportunity. But I’m exhausted. Exhausted of praying and hoping and crying and thinking and believing this is the month. I am just sick and tired of it.
I’m just tapped out. I am mad. and resentful. and I am losing faith. Because I hurt so much over this. And it baffles me that I still feel so alone. I haven’t felt his presence in this. I know that I have wonderful friends on here that will talk me through this, once again. I hate it that they are burdened with this. I hate that this is all I think about. All I talk about. I hate being defined by this. But I do. and I am.
But tomorrow I’ll pep up. I’ll be better. Because I am fickle I guess. and I can’t stay mad, even though I want to because I hurt so much. But that too requires energy, and have I mentioned that I’m pretty tapped out?
Then, in a few days, we’ll force ourselves to have sex daily, or every other day at least. Because it must be done. Not because we love each other, which we do, but because it’s just that time of the month. You know, the optimum time. And that’s pressure, and pressure isn’t ever any fun. Oh no, that kind of sex is a luxury-reserved for those who can get pregnant easily or quickly, or those who use condoms. So there isn’t anymore of that spontaneity, that passion, because it’s on the schedule-Aunt Flo’s schedule-and there just isn’t anything sexy about her. And that makes me mad too. And sad. Because the days for sex have to be reserved, because, you see, I’m all tapped out, even for that.
So the cycle begins again. The ups and downs and in betweens. But today, I feel lost. And angry. And ashamed. And afraid. And hopeless. And desperate. And I think I just might need a hug. But I like my space. So I guess I’m screwed. -No pun intended.