Before I knew anything about anything I thought getting a period as often as I do (every 18-22 days) was a blessing because it meant more chances than the average person to get pregnant. It was a grounding realization to discover that such a frequent cycle actually made it much, much harder for me. Having so many periods quickly became the bane of my existence. At least, I would reason with empty air, at least if you aren't going to let me be pregnant stop making me get a period all the damn time.
Unfortunately, empty air gives no fucks for my logic so every 18-22 days all the planning, the medicines, the surgery, the prayers, and my body became once more obvious failures. Every 18-22 days I had to let K know that he still wasn't going to be a dad. Every 18-22 days I had to decide if I was strong enough to do it all over again.
It cut me to my core to bleed, and so frequently. I will never forget the deep sadness that came from having it confirmed that the cramping I felt wasn't from the implantation of a tiny embryo but my barren body shedding its useless tissue.
I never stopped hoping otherwise, though, and that's how it got me, how it nearly destroyed me. I really thought each month that if I did this thing and that, if I prayed harder, tried harder, changed, added, or subtracted some certain thing maybe maybe maybe please please please it would work. Still my period showed up as faithful as ever to destroy my hope and, as silly as this may sound to someone, it's something I'll never be able to forgive.
So, now, after everything and with my baby clinging to my side, every 18-22 days I get the reminder that some things never change.