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It’s midnight.

I’m sitting in my bathroom, hot tears streaming down my face. I’m clutching my phone, waiting for my girlfriend to reply my desperate messages. But she is 13 hours away in another world and there is nothing that she can do for me but tell me that I will get through this one day.

Thing is, I am not sure I can. At this very moment, I’m sitting naked among a million pieces of my heart. Or at least that’s how I feel. Because my heart chips off little by little, bit by bit. I am no longer the same girl that I used to be, I am no longer the fun, silly person that I was. This is an older, more wrinkly me. Beyond the physical changes, I am sadder, more jaded, hollower and angrier.

I think about how those around me get pregnant one by one. I see their babies grow and it reminds me just how long we have been trying. I tell myself that they are good people and they deserve all the happiness that they can get, I truly believe that. But I get mad. Because surely, I deserve that modicum of happiness too. Who is to say that I don’t?

Even if I get my happily ever after, I will never forget all that I have felt throughout this journey. I may grow fuller and stronger but there will always be a part of me that aches for the intense sadness that we went through. Infertility is a very long and lonely road. My heart breaks but each time, I need to pull myself together and stand straight up. Because life has to go on, I can’t continue crying on the bathroom floor with no end in sight.

I don’t think I will ever be the same again.

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