Okay, so technically, I’m not on Clomid any more. but that doesn’t mean that it’s not still making me crazy. Some highlights from the past few days:
Day 3: I am convinced of the following: the husband’s desire to cut his hair is indicative of major psychological problems that ultimately mean he wants to leave me; while watching The Simpsons, the fact that the husband wants to take a nap is manifestation that he is plotting his escape; same evening, multiple things at the bar make me cry, such as the fact that we get up and leave the room before the band is finished and I fear I have hurt their feelings.
Day 4: not so bad. A few bouts of weepiness, but sanity prevails!
Day 5: While teaching a class on media portrayals of women, I am convinced that my students hate me because I am fat and ugly, which leads me to have a little freak-out in the ladies’ room.
Day 6: Thus far today I have cried three times at the same thing, and am choking up a little bit about it now. I saw a picture of a koala bear that had been rescued in the fires in Australia and was so happy that it had been saved, but then became overwhelmingly sad at the fact that so many little animals were dying, and then I just started thinking about everything dying…
So, yes, Clomid makes me crazy. Friends who have also been on Clomid have reported similar things, but for the most part have been successful in conceiving. I will admit that even with all the craziness, I would take a thousand times more if I knew that it would take in the end. Let’s hope the low doses work though, for the sake of my family, friends and co-workers.