I’m very depressed and angry right now. I didn’t feel any cramps or any pain of any kind, so I wasn’t expecting to wipe the few spots of reddish-pink blood I wiped off when I went to pee. So, this is going to be a normal period, huh? What’s normal for me, anyhow. It may be light, but tomorrow I’ll have a fuller flow with cramps. Then the next day I’ll spot off and it’ll be just about over till next month.

And I thought this new little plan of ours was helping me? Well, I obviously thought wrong. I just thought what I wanted to think. I just wanted to believe it’d help me to feel like not having a kid wasn’t the end of the world. Once again, I’m left with anger and hatred towards God, feeling like a freak, hopeless, empty. What am I here for?! If God won’t let me move forward, what does he want me to do, move backward? I tell myself I should go back to dancing. It’s better than cleaning. I hate having to pay others’ incomes, but with two incomes now it won’t hurt as much, some money’s better than none, I’ll get back in shape, and it’s all God would allow for me, next to cleaning or being some kind of cashier. But I refuse to settle! I’ve settled enough! I’ll just be the nothing, nobody, half-woman that I am. It’s like I’ve stepped outside my own body, watching myself be molded, controlled and made to be what God wants, not what I want. I told God, “I hate you! How dare you let murderers have it all. Children, good health, money, the works. But I can’t have my dream and therefore, neither can my husband. All we want is a child. Just a child. We may as well be asking to walk out into our backyard and find a million dollars sitting there, not for a child. We can’t ask for or have a child. That’s too much. Too far out. Too unheard of. Too abnormal. All cuz we didn’t kill in the name of you.” I try to tell myself it’s only cuz God’s looking out for me cuz he knows I could never handle it. Not with my screwy schedule and lungs. But no, he’s punishing me, cuz if he can do anything, why can’t he make me handle it? Why can’t he just put me on a normal schedule, make me repulsed at the idea of smoking and let me take it from there? Cuz he doesn’t give a shit. Cuz he hates me. Cuz he hates my husband and is also punishing him through punishing me.

I want to talk to Tom about how I feel when he comes home, but it won’t change a thing and he’ll just say I’m all wrong and not believe me. He doesn’t believe in women’s intuition, dream premonitions, and being psychic. But each month that I get my period, whether it’s one of those months we hit it right or not, is a sad and scary reminder of just what a half-woman I am and all I can do is think of that dream. That dream wasn’t just a dream. It meant something. It was a tell-tale sign of reality and of what my logic and woman’s intuition has always told me.

A part of me wants to rebel against God and get the years of testing going and tell Dr. Rugg to set us up for testing, even though I know I won’t win and will be told what I already know and what I don’t want to hear. This way, maybe Tom won’t be telling me when I’m 80 that I was always OK and that we just didn’t hit it right.

The other part knows that if I did that, not only would it get me nowhere, but that’s asking for major trouble from God and I don’t want to put my life or my husband’s life in any kind of danger.

I still have death thoughts. I mean, what’s the purpose of my being here? To take up space, cost money, bitch to my husband about stuff that can’t be changed, do my hobbies and clean? I’ve definitely lived my life. My life is surely over. There’s nothing more I can do or achieve. Nothing I could want as bad as a kid. The only way I can literally move on would be to die. That way I can either go to hell, if there is one, and I’ve been in hell enough here, or maybe I’ll come back and kill someone, then have it all. Or at least my top dreams.

I have a husband that’s straight out of a fairytale. I don’t have to be drugged up, live in the places I’ve lived in, be around the people I’ve been around, so, why isn’t that enough? Isn’t it selfish and wrong of me to want more and to want a child, anyway? Why can’t I just be happy with the way things are? It comes back to the same answer, though. I love my husband, I love my hobbies, but I want a child. I don’t want to be or do what God wants me to be or do. I want a child. My husband wants a child. I don’t want to just accept and leave things the way they are, but what kind of wife am I? Just a wife who can’t give her husband or herself what they really want most, besides each other.

All I am is a dreamer. That’s all my life has been based upon are dreams. Wishing I could always keep a schedule, quit smoking, and have a kid. Well, there’s no reason to keep a schedule, except for a few appointments here and there. There’s no reason to quit smoking since I only sing as a hobby and since there’ll never be a child to be up for constantly, day after day, and therefore not wanting the effects of cigarettes to make that all the harder to do and put me at risk of an ER attack, and I certainly don’t want to add any more years to this empty, hopeless life of mine that’s over. And they say your life is over once you have a kid? Well, I wish it was over for that purpose, but no, it’s over cuz I can’t do or have anything I really want. Yes, we may have newer and better gadgets and things, move someday, take a nice trip to California, but that’s it. The first best dream is out of the question.

I almost wish I could go kill Quinn as that way Andy won’t have to worry about going back to him and that way there’ll be one less sicko in this world and then maybe God will love us enough to give us what he gives to 98% of the world. A child. A simple child. Not lots of them. Not a couple of them. Just one child.

Now I look at the what-ifs. What if I hadn’t been a DES daughter? What if I had been fertile? What if I did get pregnant? Would it have made me as happier and as fulfilled as I always believed it would? Or would God have killed it or would he have made me miserable all over again in a new and different way? Could my body really take it? Would I really lose my mind? Would I be another Dureen? Would our marriage get worse or end? Well, no one will ever know the answers to these questions.

Would taking the pregnancy test at the end of this month really be wise? I mean, why should I be a sucker and even more of a fool? A sterile woman taking a pregnancy test? Oh, please!

All I know is that I’ve got to do something. I can’t keep going on like this and going through this month after month, year after year, but you know what? There’s not a damn thing I can do, compliments of God. I’m only right where he wants me to be and right where I’ll always be, with no way to fix this, and with no way out. I can do absolutely nothing about this. My life and my body just don’t belong to me.

I also tell myself a lot, well, if you were just better in bed, maybe Tom would get off more. OK, so I’m not great in bed, and if he got off more and was happy with that, great. But that’s all he could be about it - happy. Not making me pregnant. It doesn’t matter how often we screw, how good we are in bed, how often he gets off, or how happy he is about getting off little, a medium amount, or a lot, I love our fun, I want to get better in bed, I want my husband to be sexually satisfied, happy, complete, but that’s about all that can ever happen and I don’t know about that either. My talents lie in art and music, not sex. I believe Tom when he tells me I’m beautiful and that what he sees doesn’t matter, cuz it’s what his emotions are that counts, but I’m still not the slim, fit person I once was, either.

Later...

Just went to take a dump and this time I wiped nothing off. The spots I had earlier were not enough to flow onto a liner. I still don’t know if I buy the fact that I’ve heard that most women who are in the early stages of pregnancy bleed to some degree or have spots. Pregnant women don’t bleed or spot, do they? Not unless they’re having a miscarriage.

I shouldn’t have thrown my old typed journal stuff to the recyclers. I should’ve used the backs of those sheets for drafts.

I changed Gizzy’s cage the other day. What a breeze it was! It only took me a few minutes.

I did a couple more face drawings yesterday that came out pretty well. Of course, this is one of my trade-offs and compensations for being sterile. Bet I couldn’t draw or sing if I could have a child!