Archive | August 2014

It is done


At 1am this morning I changed the sheets on my bed for the first time in almost two months.

It’s official: I will never sleep in sheets that my husband slept in ever again.

I didn’t cry. I wasn’t emotional.

In fact I was so calm about the process I even stopped to take the above photos.

Well I guess I wasn’t completely calm. Once I stripped the sheets it took me 10 minutes to put the new set on the bed. When I finished the job and stood back to admire my handiwork I realised that I had actually put the old sheets back on the bed again so I had to remove them a second time. That was a bit tough.

I didn’t really know whether to put the old sheets in the washing machine, the garbage bin or just burn them. I ended up leaving them in the bathtub for now.

Well…that’s that.

Another accomplishment to tick off my list.

Another step further away from the man I love.

Another moment of acceptance that my life has changed, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Just keep breathing, Sadie, just keep breathing.


The purge

I was chatting to my cousin Phoebe on the phone tonight. She called to check up on me. We’re pretty close and she’s good like that.

After she was satisfied that I’m still keeping my head above water, the conversation turned to other things. Even though she is a few years younger than me we loosely move in some of the same social circles and share several friends.

“Ugh did I tell you that I almost ran into Doug on the weekend?” she asked, the loathing dripping from her voice.

“No.” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Did you?”

“I was at Drew’s party on Saturday night,” she replied. “Drew mentioned that Doug had texted to say he was on his way so I quickly bailed out of there. I’m so glad you didn’t go to the party, it would have been totally awkward for you.”

It suddenly felt like my throat was tightening and restricting my ability to breathe.

“Drew…had a party?” I eventually managed to splutter.

For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line, then I heard my cousin sigh.

“I’m sorry Sadie.” she said. “It’s so awful when friends pick sides. He should have invited you too.”

This is the story of my life now. My friends have abandoned me in droves. Why? I just don’t know.

For almost a decade Doug and I have been part of the same tight knit group of friends. Maybe we were more like family than friends. We all worked for the same company, lunched together, spent our evenings together, vacationed together, had fun on the weekends together. Those people made my life better, and happier, and richer.

And as we all grew older some things changed, but the important things still stayed the same. We all changed jobs, two people in the group moved interstate, another two got married, and of course there was Doug and I trying to start a family of our own. But still I knew those people were there for me. Loyal friends who would do anything that I asked of them.

I remember the time one of the boys phoned me, and when I answered I was hysterically crying. He asked me if I was okay, and when I said no he hung up the phone, got straight in his car, and drove for over an hour to reach my house. When he knocked on the door, he was carrying a large box of chocolates that he’d grabbed from the supermarket on the way over.

He didn’t even need to ask me what was wrong before he made the decision to get into his car. All that mattered was that I was upset, and he knew he needed to be there for me.

Do you know I can’t even remember the reason I was crying now? But I do remember the kindness my friend showed me. He loved me like a sister and I loved him like a brother.

Do you know how many times that “brother” has contacted me since my husband left? Zero.

Do you know how many of the people in our “tight knit” group have spoken to me at all since my husband left? One.

The only friend who I’m still on speaking terms with is one of the people who moved interstate. He left about two years ago to take a job in Canberra. With the IVF and miscarriages, neither Doug nor I made any real effort to keep in contact with him and we mostly lost touch.

He texted me last month and made a silly little joke about Doug. That’s when I realised he didn’t even know Doug had left me. I phoned him and we spoke for hours. He was genuinely shocked and obviously very supportive of me. But there isn’t much he can do from Canberra and it doesn’t really make me feel less alone.

I have no idea why I have been purged from my own group of friends.

I have no idea what Doug has told them to make them wipe me from their lives. He must have spun some wretched lies.

I have no idea why not a single one of those people has bothered to contact me to ask my side of the story, or check that I’m okay.

It hurts me. It hurts me terribly. I have been socially isolated, but I have no idea what crimes I committed to deserve this kind of punishment.

I really heavily relied on that group of friends for support, guidance and love. I don’t really have anyone else outside my family who is consistently there for me. I mean there’s a few people, but I still feel like I’m walking around with a huge chunk scooped out of my heart.

My childhood best friend lives in a small town a couple of hours away. He drove to my house when my husband first left and even brought his sister’s new puppy to try and cheer me up. But he’s a dentist so he works extremely long hours and it’s hard for him to make the long drive on a regular basis.

I had two really close girlfriends at work who I regularly socialised with. They were both amazing through my miscarriages and beyond.

One left about four months ago to take a job closer to home so she can spend more time with her baby son. I know she would be there for me if I called her, but I’m not mentally ready to be around her son and I also suspect she may be expecting again.

My other girlfriend sat with me for hours while I cried, on the day I returned to work after Doug left me. She was angry for me and supportive of me and said all the right things. What she didn’t say was that she’d been offered a teaching contract at another university and was finishing up her position less than a week later. She felt so guilty about leaving me that she didn’t even end up telling me until she had already left.

Our next door neighbours, Mark and Rebecca, have also been really amazing. They’re almost the same age as my husband and I, and we were already quite friendly with them before Doug left.

But now Rebecca texts me regularly to see how I’m doing, they’ve invited me around for dinner on a few occasions and they also bring their dogs over to play with my dog. Mark has even given me the password to their Wifi so that I’m not completely without internet, although I have to sit in the front room of my house to pick up their signal.

My neighbours are great but there’s no deep love or connection there. Not the same kind of connection I had with all my friends. The ones I grew up with, who understand me better than I understand myself.

So even though Mark and Rebecca are wonderful, I still feel isolated. I miss my closest friends. I hate that they’ve hurt me like this. And now I’m not going to take their crap anymore.

Tonight, after my cousin put her foot in her mouth and I found out I hadn’t been invited to Drew’s party, I logged into Facebook and unfriended him. Petty, I know. But it was either that or phone him to abuse him, and I didn’t think the latter was a wise option.

Then, as if possessed by a determination I didn’t know still existed within me, I started writing out a list of names on a piece of paper. It was a list of all the friends who had turned their backs on me. A list of people to unfriend on Facebook.

Tonight, I purged my friends the only way I know how. One by one, on social media. How very Gen Y of me.

I started with the easy ones. Firstly I took care of the spouses and family members of those I love. They were followed by the friends who didn’t mean so much to me, or the ones I’d lost touch with over the years.

Then I moved onto my close friends. Then to my very best friends. I hesitated over a few of them, remembering the good times we’d shared in the past. But then I reminded myself how many times they’ve all reached out to me in the past month. Unfriended.

I am so tired now. I am always so tired, but I also feel drained and disappointed. I feel like these people have stolen a light from me that I will never get back.

Ten years of friendship meant nothing to them. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. It was just over. I feel like a huge, important chapter of my life has just closed. I will never have that type of friend again.

We were silly teenagers when we first met, and we grew together into adults. Those types of bonds can’t be replicated or replaced. Those memories can’t be duplicated.

I will never get those years of my life back. I feel like the happy events of my youth are tainted. Or maybe I just made them all up inside my head. Maybe these friendships that I believed were solidly forged in all our hearts, were simply imaginary.

I know eventually I will find a new group of friends. I will forge new bonds. I will make new memories.

But for now I am just tired.

And so very sad.

Sadie xx

p.s thank you all for your advice about sleeping pills I really appreciate it and hope to respond to you all individually once I have managed to get some sleep…how’s that for irony?

Pre-dawn slime

I think I had an hallucination last night.

Is it a hallucination or an hallucination? Either way I think I had one. And that’s a bit scary because I’ve never had one before.

It was probably about 3am. I can remember checking my clock at 2.30 so I mustn’t have been asleep for very long. But I awoke very suddenly, and I was filled with a strangely disturbing fear even though I hadn’t been dreaming. Panicked, I pushed back the blankets and leapt out of bed.

My dog Arnie, who had been happily sleeping on my stomach, groaned and sat up. I stumbled a few steps away from the bed and pressed my back up against the closest wall. The bedroom was softly illuminated and I could see quite well because I’ve been sleeping with the light switched on in my walk-in wardrobe.

I glanced around, trying to find a source for what had awoken me, but saw nothing. Then I looked up at the bedroom door, which was closed. I could hear a strange sizzling, slurping sound and then I saw this black goop oozing rapidly through the frame of the door. It looked sort of like really thick oil. Seconds later the weird noise stopped, and the black slime retracted to the other side of the door. In an instant it was completely gone.

Clearly my dog didn’t see such a thing or hear any such noise, because he just sat there looking at me like I was some kind of idiot. I stood there for a few more minutes, staring silently at the door and waiting for something to happen. Of course nothing did.

In my sleep deprived state I strongly suspected it was large spiders that were responsible for the black goop. Because, you know, that’s obvious isn’t it? When there’s a highly suspicious black substance seeping through your bedroom door at 3am it’s bound to be caused by spiders. Did you not realise that spiders are commonly known for carrying around buckets of slime?

After a while I figured that there was no way the spiders could get into the bedroom without unlocking the door, so I crawled back into bed and went to sleep. I didn’t wake up this morning until 10am. Good thing it’s Saturday and I didn’t have anywhere to be.

I think that the seven hours of solid sleep did me really good. That’s the most I’ve slept in weeks and I’m pretty certain I really, really needed it.

I conducted a google investigation this morning and surprise surprise – one of the leading causes of visual and auditory hallucinations (apart from the obvious like mental illness or drug induced psychosis)  is sustained lack of sleep. It’s been more than six weeks since I’ve managed a full night’s sleep so that makes perfect sense.

I’m trying so hard to sleep. I really am. In fact I think I might be trying too hard to sleep and hindering my own efforts. I’ve become too conscious of the fact I’m trying to trick my brain into sleeping.

I’ve tried meditation, relaxation music, an app that plays sounds of the ocean, lights off, lights on, more blankets, less blankets, having a bath before bed, warm milk with honey, gym before bed, no gym before bed, reading until I’m tired, sleeping in my husband’s clothes, getting up and walking around in the night, counting sheep, and herbal sleep remedies. Pretty much everything except proper sleeping pills.

When I go to bed at night I miss my husband so much and I just can’t seem to shut my mind off. Sometimes I am so angry at him and can’t stop thinking about how much I hate him. Other times I just lie there and cry and wish so much that I could phone him and beg him to come home. Either way, even when I’m ridiculously tired as soon as my head hits the pillow I am wide awake. I can lie there and wordlessly stare at the ceiling for hours if I allow myself.

I’m thinking I probably do need some hard core sleeping pills, but I’m just not sure of them. I took sleeping pills on the flight to Malaysia earlier this year. I reacted badly to them and ended up vomiting for hours. When I did eventually fall asleep, Doug said I spent hours twitching and violently throwing my arms around (which wasn’t a fun experience for him because he was seated next to me on the plane).

I’m also worried if I take sleeping pills I will be too groggy to get up for work in the morning. The last thing I need right now is to be in trouble at work for consistently being late.

If anyone has had a good experience with sleeping medication I’d love some advice! Or any other ideas to get me sleeping.

As always thank you all for your continued support. You guys are amazing. And I’m not just saying that because I want some advice…

Sadie xx





My brother lives at my house, so we share the fridge.

When he first moved in, the top shelf and the vegetable crisper on the bottom left were allocated to him. The three middle shelves and the larger vegetable crisper on the right were kept for Doug and I.

This first photo was taken about 2 weeks after my husband left:


That jug of water belongs only to Doug. After I had each of my embryos transferred I was extremely superstitious about eating or drinking anything colder than room temperature, and so even now I hate the thought of drinking cold water.

The carton of milk was put there by my mother because I had run out of fresh milk and refused to buy more.

The bag of cheese was left over from the night we made chicken enchiladas the weekend before Doug left.

Everything else in the fridge at that time belonged to my brother.

I wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t stomach food. There was no food in my house. It made me sick to even think about it.

Aaaaand this is is my fridge tonight:


This is progess, is it not? Okay sure I still haven’t bought fresh milk. No, there are still no vegetables in my crisper. And yes Doug’s water jug is still sitting there completely untouched as if he’s somehow coming home to drink it.

But there’s a little punnet of tomatoes in there! And yoghurt! And three tubs of soup! I’m not capable of cooking yet but at least I’m able to eat something when I get home from work.

I’m pretty happy with my efforts here.

I think the contents of my fridge provide tangible proof I am going to be okay.

Tiny little steps in the right direction are better than leaps and bounds backwards.

Now if only I could re-teach myself to sleep at night…

A free ride when you’ve already paid

It’s just past 1am.

Still hours until I expect I’ll fall asleep, even though I have to be up at 7 for work.

But tonight has been a very bad night. Tonight may have been the roughest night for me since I first chose to get out of bed in the days after my husband left me.

I have been solidly crying for over five hours now. My brother is working the night shift at the hospital and my parents are away on vacation so there is genuinely nobody around me at this time. I have to face this on my own.

Do you remember about a week ago my husband told me that he was having the internet service disconnected at our home? Well he had informed me that he would not require the modem. He told me to keep the modem and have new internet connected to the property in my own name. How very gracious of him.

Disregarding the fact I can’t afford internet right now, I was actually extremely relieved that in the future when my circumstances have (hopefully) improved I will not need to worry about purchasing a modem. It was going to be one less thing to stress about.

But this afternoon at 4pm he texted to say he would be requiring the modem after all, and that I would need to leave it in the letterbox for him to pick up.

Just like that.

This man, who claimed he would love me until he took his last breath. This man, who earns a ridiculous wage and drives around in a luxury company car while he chats on his company phone. This man was demanding I hand over a little plastic modem to him.

So that really shook me. Coupled with the fact I haven’t much slept in weeks, I didn’t deal with the news very well. It was something inconsequential, but just awful enough to properly upset me.

But to make matters much worse, I had one of those moments tonight where something incredible dawns on you. An epiphany. An ah-ha! moment.

You see, for days now I have been bloated and noticing a lot of egg white cervical mucus. I never get EWCM because I am anovulatory.

Then yesterday I caught myself feeling a little frisky for the first time since my husband walked out. The feeling really surprised me, even though it passed quite quickly.

Finally, after I had been crying for about half an hour this evening, I became acutely aware of a strong cramping on my lower right side.

“Oh great,” I sobbed. “Now my right ovary is joining the party. Can’t I even catch a break here?”

And then it hit me like a tonne of bricks.

I am on day 15 of my cycle.

I am ovulating.

I. Am. Ovulating.

I am ovulating on my own, without any sort of medical intervention, for the first time in my entire life. Let that sink in for a moment. The first time in my entire life.

And where is my husband?  He’s gone, baby, gone. Oh the glorious irony.

How could this be happening to me? Why is my body doing this? It had years to cooperate, but it never once came to the party. I feel like this is a disgusting, cruel joke.

And so I just lost it. I cried and cried and cried. The fact I am ovulating is truly devastating to me. I have wanted this terribly for the past 3 years and it has finally happened the month after my husband leaves me. Seriously?!

You’d think I could cry myself to sleep by now, but apparently whilst my reproductive system is becoming functional my brain is still being stubborn.

I desperately wanted to phone my husband and say “Darling guess what? I’m ovulating! Can you believe it?”

My infertility was something very private that we shared mostly with each other, so naturally he is the person I wanted to share this news with. I wanted to tell him so badly. So badly. But obviously that isn’t an option, so instead I’ve just sat here and sobbed hysterically.

I hate my body. Hate, hate, hate, hate. How could it do this to me now? How? This is not the time for ovulation. Please just give me a friggen break from my friggen life!

So often I wish I could wake up from this nightmare. But then I remember that if you want to wake up from something you first need to fall asleep.

Well, shit. Looks like I’m going to be here a while.

Ramblings on a Tuesday morning


I feel like I am reaching my breaking point.

Every day that passes I am edging closer and closer towards a cliff face.

My resolve to not contact my husband is weakening, and my desire for closure is intensifying. Last night at 2am, after tossing and turning for hours, I picked up my phone and opened a new text message. I typed in one word: why. That’s all. Just…why.

I had this grand idea that I could send him the message, and if I woke up the next morning and had remorse I could then send a follow-up saying “whoopsie that text wasn’t meant for you” and somehow he would believe me.

I mean it was only one little three letter word. Surely that could have been the start of a message meant for someone else? A message for my brother like “why did you leave the back door unlocked when you left for the hospital?” or for my best friend “why didn’t you tell me that you were going to be in town this weekend?”

What stopped me from sending that message? I don’t know. Pride, I guess. Not that I’m an overly proud person. Plus the fact that he would have known the follow-up message was a lie. Even in my sleep deprived haze I knew that much.

Come on now, a message sent at 2am? How obvious could I be? And then he would truly know how weak and pathetic I am, because I was snivelling to him whilst he was off enjoying his life. Or rather, he was off sleeping whilst I was lying awake in these awful, dirty sheets of ours.

I think about it constantly. This need to contact him. This burning, insatiable craving that I’m trying so hard to keep at bay. It’s not even a daily struggle; it’s more like an hourly battle. Do you recall that ridiculous myth that men think about sex every seven seconds? Replace men with Sadie, and sex with texting my husband. Yep, that sounds about right. That pretty much sums up my level of obsession.

I think one of the problems is that in my mind, this contact ultimately leads to reconcilliation. Actually it’s not even that. It’s this idea that I will get him talking to me, and then the flood gates will open and he will tell me he is so sorry and he has made such a mistake.

And then I will sneer at him and tell him I’m too good for him now, and that he can never return to me. And he’ll sob and beg me to reconsider, and I’ll say no. No way, Mister. You blew it. Goodbye forever. I never want to see your face around these parts again.

That right there. That’s closure. And also a beautiful fantasy that will never come true. Because he will never ask to come home. Because he is not thinking about me, or worrying about me, or losing sleep over me, or lamenting that he has made a mistake. He doesn’t crave contact with me because he has moved on from me.

I fantasize about seeing our friends too. Well, his friends. They haven’t spoken to me in almost two months so clearly they aren’t my friends anymore. I imagine running into them at the supermarket and I have different scenarios for each of them.

The guy who told my husband he should just hurry up and leave me? I would walk up to him and scream in his face. Tell him how he has ruined my life, and he’s a selfish pig who doesn’t understand what it feels like to go through IVF or lose children. I would tell his girlfriend that she should never get fat, never get sick and never need support because clearly her partner is not capable of compassion.

The one who has been a close friend of mine for ten years, and knows exactly about all of my miscarriages and fertility struggles? The one who I expected to treat me with kindness and respect? I would just spit on him now. Spit on him or maybe slap him in the face.

The friend who my husband moved in with after he walked out on me? Well in my fantasy I see him in the cereal aisle. And I stare at him. And he wordlessly stares back at me, not knowing what to say. And then I slowly and deliberately turn my back on him and walk away. And it makes me feel powerful, and strong.

I’m starting to get irrationally angry now. I pulled all of the alcohol out of our cupboards last night and laid it out on the kitchen bench. My husband has left a lot of very expensive rum and whisky behind, but I know eventually he will come to collect it.

I very nearly tipped it all down the sink. I figured I could replace it with iced tea, which is so similar in colour. He wouldn’t even realise until he went to drink it. I could just picture him putting a glass of what he thought was whisky to his lips, and then spitting the liquid out in disgust. Thankfully my brother came home from work right before I could actually enact my plan, and calmed me down.

When I am driving my car, particularly at night time, I think a lot about death. I think about just planting my foot on the accelerator and driving head first into something really solid like a brick wall or shop front. I wonder how easy it would be to disable the airbag so that nothing comes between my head and the steering wheel at the moment of impact. I think about my blood splattered all over the cracked windshield, and the horn blaring monotonously, and smoke rising from the mangled engine.

Sometimes I think about setting the house on fire. First I would make sure my dog is safe. I have thought about where I would take him. The next door neighbours have a front patio that I could lock him on, but I would worry he would be too close to the fire there.

So then I think maybe I could drive my car a few hundred metres down the street, and leave him inside with the windows rolled down far enough that he would be okay. I could leave him some food and water on the back seat, and his favourite snuggle blanket. He would be fine there. And then I could walk home, and pour petrol over the curtains, and set them on fire. Then I would just lie down in my bed and wait to die while the house burned around me.

I don’t actually want to die. I have no desire to kill myself. I just want the shit to stop. Is it so bad that I just want the shit to stop? I just want to be able to go to bed at night and actually sleep. I want to wake up in the morning and not have my thoughts immediately turn to my husband. I want to feel free from these shackles I have placed upon my own hands and feet.

Every single day people ask me why I’m so happy. Friends, colleagues, relatives, even strangers. They say they can’t understand how I’m keeping it all together. How am I getting out of bed every morning? Why do I have such a positive attitude? Where did I find my smile and my laugh? What has caused me to be so calm about this entire situation? How is it possible that I look better now than I did six months ago?

I can see what they see. On the outside I look perfectly put together. I look like a woman who is living a purposeful and fulfilled life. I look strong, and determined and happy.

Even my therapist has raised this point with me. I went and saw her last week and she said I am coping remarkably well. She said I am coping too well and that she rarely sees people handle multiple traumatic events so calmly. She said it’s almost as if I have injected my own heart with anesthesia in order to protect myself.

I handled my last miscarriage just fine, and now I am handling my husband’s abandonment, and the fact that I am suddenly broke and having to leave my home. She said this is raising red flags for her. She is concerned that one day I am just going to explode with emotion, and if this happens I need to quickly make my way to the closest hospital. I thought that was a bit overly dramatic, but hey what do I know? I’m not a psychologist.

I think it’s pretty obvious that there’s more going on with me right now than the image I am outwardly portraying. During the day I am mostly fine, but at night time I become this whole other beast. Alone in my bedroom, my mind spiralling out of control, nobody to comfort me. And I don’t want anyone to comfort me. I don’t want anyone near me, or touching me, or talking to me. Not even my husband.

I keep having this flashback to my birthday at the end of May. It’s so hard to believe it was only a few short months ago. I have honestly never been so happy in my entire life. I was pregnant, and the doctor had told me this was the one. My take home baby. My husband was so happy, and sweet, and loving. We were looking at furniture for the nursery. Everything was perfect. 2014 was going to be my year. It was finally my time.

Funny how life actually turns out.

And by funny I mean tragic.

Really fucking tragic.

Haha nice one, troll!

It should go without saying but just so everyone is aware, the “Doug” who made that nasty comment on my last post was not my husband.

The comment came in at 3.30am this morning (eastern standard time) and at that stage I had no hits from Australia on my blog for the day.

Never mind the fact that my husband’s name isn’t actually Doug. I chose to use a pseudonym for him when I started this blog to protect his identity, and I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume he knows his own real name.

Plus if my husband really wanted to maliciously hurt me he wouldn’t do it by posting a bitchy comment on my blog. There are a million better ways for him to upset me. I’m actually going to give the guy some credit here and say that he’s definitely smart enough to know that.

Thanks for the laugh though, troll. Seriously I never laugh first thing in the morning anymore. You have truly brightened my day.

Sadie xx