Troublemaking Trolls - a story by me (not a nice fairytale though - sorry)

There once was a site. It was a good site. People looked at it, found what they were lacking and they pronounced that it was good. They were happy. On their journeys through the troubled land of infertility (travel tip: avoid this tour if you can, I really do not recommend it), they often found themselves on different paths. Some stayed in the town of “trying to conceive” (not by choice, they just couldn’t find the exit).

Some progressed onto a travelator called “pregnancy” and others found themselves transported to “assisted conception” and “adoption”, just to name a few locations.

Those that went to “pregnancy” were never the same. They changed. “Pregnancy” has many exits too, some better than others. I found myself in “pregnancy” and unfortunately I was pushed through a door called “miscarriage”.

I didn’t want to be there. I kicked, I screamed and I checked and rechecked the itinerary – I was sure I was in the wrong place. The signposting was clear – you couldn’t go back. I tried, but that exit was well sealed to me. There seemed to be only two ways out: “Surrender” and back to “trying to conceive”.

“Surrender” wasn’t an option for me (I had heard it was very lonely in there), so I found myself in “trying to conceive” except I felt that I didn’t really belong in there. I searched for something else. (surely there had to be something else), and I found it.

It was white and sparkling, the grass was a little greener, the sky was blue and it felt like everyone understood me. They called it “trying after miscarriage or loss” (the locals called it “biting the bullet”) and it felt like home. Here I could be myself.

I stayed for quite a while, (perhaps longer than I should have), and after a while, I became part of the furniture. It wasn’t where I wanted to be, but it was a safe place to be.

I made friends there. Some were fleeting (they were eager to move on and were able to find where they needed to be), but a rare few were the kind of friendship where a part of you (deep inside, none of this surface stuff) becomes part of them and visa versa. I could not imagine my life without them being an integral part of it.

Then she came. She tiptoed in and messed up the place. At first they were really subtle changes; a chair moved; some feelings bumped. But after a while it became mountains and she started slashing and burning feelings (and then stomping on them twice).

She attacked me and I was down and out. I wasn’t sure I could recover enough to stay. She started attacking my friends and wounded them badly. She had this technique – slash deep, wait until someone called out in objection, and then run and hide for a while. When things had settled down she would emerge from her cave and look for another victim.

And it wasn’t just the attacks that got to me. She turned out to be a troll in disguise. A vile, lying, hurtful troll. Nothing about her added up. She had no consideration for anyone else and that hurt me.

I tore a pathway out of there and haven’t returned. Some of my friends followed, too wounded like me, to survive intact and remain. Some were made of sterner stuff and built up their defences and have managed to remain, albeit scarred.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of how “trying after miscarriage or loss” is going, but it just stirs up feelings again when I see her hurting others.

I still have my remarkable friends – the ones that have a part of me with them, and I am so thankful for that. If I have to live on the outskirts of a city were I used to live, then my survival is completely because of those friends.

This troll, this beast of unmentionable horror, this cow (although that would be mean to cows to really call her this), she is slowly taking over the place, bent on destroying what good remains.

I have been tempted to do something, although not entirely sure what, to make life difficult for her. I am not sure I can though, as I hesitate to stoop to her level. Not only that but this particular gargoyle seems to feed off the hurt feelings of others. Do I feed that perverse hunger? I think not.

Maybe one day, I can be secure that she has been exposed by her own actions. Until then I will just continue to survive in this barren landscape and hope my journey takes me back to the land of “pregnancy”. Next visit, I can assure you, I will be hanging onto the sides with every ounce of strength I have. I will not fall off again.

I just hope my friends are okay and I can be their support when they need it. Together we can accomplish amazing things.