Someone needs to make me cry

I’m serious. I think I’ve got constipation of the weeping. It would be quite a relief to have a good blub without being appallingly angry (or drunk) to do it (I always cry when I’m angry. It’s infuriating. No one takes you seriously when you’ve gone magenta and are blowing your nose on a sodden rag of bog-roll in between the lengthy and scarily articulate imprecations. I’m 35, but my angry emoting circuit is stuck on 15). Where was I going with this, before the Attack of the Parenthesis? Oh, right. Lack of crying. Lack, at least, of sad crying rather than raging crying. Because I can totally do raging crying. Things I got in a rage with last week:

  1. Eastenders (I don’t even watch it. I hate soaps. Sorry, but I do. My soap-enjoyment gene is defective). For those of you not in Blighty and giving this paragraph a blank look, basically, a character’s baby died (ugh) so in her grief she swapped it with the next-door neighbour’s baby and NO ONE ELSE NOTICED THE BABIES HAD RADICALLY CHANGED APPEARANCE AND OUTFITS. Also, minus eighteen kazillion points and a permanent black karma mark for promulgating that offensive, ugly, hateful, lying, shitweasel, wrong, disgusting, foul, unkind, hurtful, damaging, stupid, crappy, and above all dishonest stereotype of the Woman Who Can’t Have/Loses Her Own Babies Steals Other People’s. I hope the scriptwriters who wrote that one wake up every night for a month in a sweat of shame and guilt at how prurient and nasty they were. And that’s the edited, days later, I-bloody-AM-calm hope.
  2. H (poor H). H has taken the sport of ‘not listening to May’ to Olympic contender levels these past few months. Admittedly he does this when he’s stressed at work and he has been stressed at work, and his best friend at work left for pastures greener and less stressy, so H is a tad bereft (it took H about three months to work out he was missing his friend, by the way. When he announced this insight into his own grumpy and distracted mood the other day, I gently rested my face on the cool, cool refridgerator door and wondered, well, many things, but chiefly I wondered what exactly happened between that man’s ears when I said things like ‘it must be odd, not being able to see [friend] every day. Do you miss him? Are you OK?’ approximately once a week for said three months). Anyway, H got a bit epic in the not-listening stakes and I made my views on that sort of thing very clear indeed and there was, yes, nose-blowing on sodden rags of toilet paper and no, it did not leave me feeling in the least bit better.
  3. The BBC, who should know better, had a story about Chlamydia infections being linked to ectopic pregnancies later on in life. Which they presented as being ‘news’. I distinctly remember being told about these risks in ‘health and general education’ classes at school when I was 17, ie 18 years ago. It’s not news. The news part is that you don’t need to be scarred to buggery for your tubes to be knackered, but hey! That’s not news to me either! I’ve known for years, since before we started trying to get pregnant, that any kind of infection of the girl-parts led to issues with Fallopian tubes no longer wafting eggs along properly. (And being told this worked, because I religiously used condoms until H and I became a very permanent item indeed, and any (alleged, putative, seen by HSG technician twice but always denied heartily by Miss Consultant) damage to my only Fallopian tube was almost certainly caused by the major surgery I had when I was 18). Other alleged contributary causes for ectopics: smoking, using hormonal contraception, using an IUD, taking the morning-after pill, having abdominal surgery, endometriosis, being older, being a teenager, poor diet, being overweight, being underweight, caesareans, having a difficult previous birth, being a fucking woman OK? See? Everything we do is wrong, even the things that aren’t our fault. Even the things that are the right thing to do. Fucking scientists. Why aren’t they out there telling men their dicks will rot right off if they don’t use condoms? Why aren’t they out there telling men that if they smoke, drink, use marijuana, use cocaine, are over 40, are overweight or eat junk, then they’re the one with damaged sperm causing their partners to miscarry? Why aren’t the news media nagging the men half-to-death with guilt and shame and humiliation and blame?.

Anyway, as you can see, I am doing perfectly well on the rage front. Over-well, if anything. First person to tell me I’m premenstrual gets stabbed in the leg with a knitting-needle. I don’t get premenstrual. Ask H. I go psycho when I’m ovulating instead, because I’m cool and different like that. This? This is grief.

(This morning’s pee-stick, negative. Huh, I thought, and left it on the toilet cistern with the others while I counted my tampons).

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15 responses to “Someone needs to make me cry

  • a

    Yeah, it’s hard to have a good cry when you’re all ragey. Sorry. You’re probably going to have to get all worn down from the rage before the good crying can come along. Or, maybe, like me, you’ll just stay generally ragey. My fuse can be measured in Angstroms.

  • Amy P

    The answer to the guilt question in #3 (I’ll admit I’m stereotyping, and it’s one of the very few male/female stereotypes that Tom and I don’t flip-flop) is simply that men don’t go on guilt-trips nearly as easily as women…

    I’ll send you some clips that make me not-angry-weepy (your mileage may vary–you’ll see why they make *me* cry, anyhow…) over on that place that may or may not actually notify you I’ve sent you a message.

  • Valery

    Good grief.
    Bad grief.
    Can I come over and do an Anger class with you? I’ll swap you my tears for a day…
    hugs

  • wombattwo

    Angry crying is so annoying: you can’t get your point across, and it’s exhausting, and doesn’t even make you feel any better afterwards. I’m glad I don’t really watch soaps, but even I heard about the Eastenders storyline. Absolutely vile.

  • Daisy

    I HATE that crying when angry thing, I do it too and it feels so WEAK! So inconvenient because then there’s no hope of properly addressing whatever the issue is. Bleh.

  • BigP's Heather

    or

    http://www.tearsandhope.com/

    both always, always send me over the edge in tears…

    I”m sorry. And BigP NEVER listens. At least H sometimes listens. Sorry, that doesn’t help with the rage, it is still frustrating when they don’t listen. Especially when it would have totally benefited him to listen and you were right three months ago – super frustrating. Stab HIM with a knitting needle. That’ll teach him!!!

  • runnyyolk

    You have to have had any kind of infection for your fallopian tubes to crap out either. I’ve never had anything like that and still had an ectopic. It seems being a fucking woman was my only requirement.

  • Lulu

    I love the part about your husband not listening. It’s so true.

  • twangy

    I think I know how you feel – I suppose one big emotion at a time is all a person can contain. Sigh.

    All in time.

    Aren’t men funny? The times, (the TIMES!) I’ve had to explain why that woman is behaving like that, when we are watching television. I’m learning to be (more) patient. He’s a Martian, after all. And he is funny.

  • Betty M

    Men! I think though they just don’t have the capacity to talk as much as women do about fertility, pregnancy and loss stuff which presumably is why male bloggers in this area are as rare as hens teeth. Instead of just sucking it up and listening they stick fingers in ears and go la, la, la causing rage, fury and annoying tears of rage. At least did in my case.

    Don’t watch Eastenders but that storyline was crass in the extreme. Ditto the inaccurate pre-eclampsia one in the Archers.

  • Womb For Improvement

    I find watching a movie that makes me cry means once I start I can’t stop. May I recommend Pan’s Labyrinth if you haven’t already seen it? (I watched in on a lap top on a train, I was a sticky, snotty, red-eyed mess by the time we got to Edinburgh).

    • May

      Oh, I own it (I can see it on the shelf as I type this. Hello, DVD!). I bawled hysterically. And the ending! I had the hiccoughs for about an hour after. *blows nose*

  • Bionic Baby Mama

    H is miles ahead of my father. it took moving to another farking continent and living there for a quite a while for him to grasp that the universe wouldn’t just magically replace the friends he’d left behind with exact replicas, such that he wouldn’t miss them anymore. he was in his 50s, by the by, and had moved plenty before then.

    i hate weeping blockages. they make a person feel so awful. i’ve never found anything works until suddenly *everything* works, if you follow me.

    i had a fine freak out only yesterday at some holier-than-thou nitwit commenting on an IF blog about how women just shouldn’t wait so long, etc. funny how men are left right out of that scenario of imagined frivolity, too.

  • Korechronicles

    Another weepy rager here…and oh, how does it diminish the pure, clear, coherent rightness of any argument you might want to make? It then becomes about the crying and not the issue most of the time.

    And I sometimes think we are fitted with an sub-concious over-ride switch on tears when it comes to grief. Because, very often, once we start – we just can’t stop. Thinking of you and the silent H and wishing you love.

  • Laura

    Ahh ha! I received an article today in my email that talks about the very bad things men can do to screw up their sperm!
    http://healthychild.org/blog/comments/pre_conception_dads_toxic_legacies/

    Now…it’s too bad these articles are too far and few between.

    Things that make me have a great big cry: watching that you tube video of that song “I would die for that” by Kellie Coffey – DO NOT WATCH if you haven’t before and don’t want to cry..it’s about infertility.

    I hope every day that things will get better for you May.

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