Spent the day (9am-9pm) in the hospital, ending with the resident wanting to admit me because my nausea wasn’t getting any better, an opinion overruled by the attending physician, who was concerned my student health insurance wouldn’t cover the cost. So I was out of the street, rehydrated but no less nauseated, left to depend on Compazine suppositories because the student pharmacy isn’t open on the weekend for me to get Reglan or Zofran.

And, of course, texting D. throughout, him wondering what’s going on. He called after I’d already gone to bed and I didn’t even hear the phone vibrate. Ah, well.

The past 24 hours: Vomit. Work a bit. Vomit. Try to read. Vomit. Watch some television. Vomit. Drink some 7-UP. Vomit. Eat some crackers. Vomit. Lie down. Vomit. Stand up. Vomit. Sit down. Vomit. (Rinse and repeat.)

D. hung up on me yesterday and, other than a couple of nasty e-mails, nothing for 24 hours. He’s been telling people about our situation, and I pointed out that I felt my privacy was being violated. I received I didn’t do anything wrong and how dare you tell me whom I can tell… then silence. I typed up an e-mail I didn’t send:

I don’t know what to say anymore. I’m tired of working hard to stay in love with you. I’m tired of fighting for our relationship. I’m not saying it’s over, because I don’t think that’s inevitably the case, but you’re on the verge of losing me. I have made mistakes, but I don’t deserve malevolence.

I’m at the point where I no longer know what the best thing to do is, both with the pregnancy and this relationship. I talked with my friend N. last night, whom I’d called to set up a lunch date. He called back almost immediately and said, without provocation, You sound really depressed…more than I’ve ever heard you. Are you okay? What can I do? The answer is that I don’t know what anyone can do, short of taking a two-by-four and whacking D. across the head to get him to wake up to the fact that he is completely fucking things up. From abandoning me when I’ve needed him most to a complete lack of empathy about his violation of my privacy, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

As I stave off both tears and episodes of vomiting, I both want D. to go far, far away and come rushing back to take me in his arms and apologize. But apologies only work for so long, and there have been too many of them for too long. Perhaps what I need is to learn how to do this alone.