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Okay. So my gyno (not my actual gyno but a 'consultant' or something) said that I had to make another appointment for a pap smear and an internal ultra sound. Oh, JOY! Also they were considering putting me on Mirena. Mum said no way, that she'd had a UTI at one point and that it was really fucking paintful. Seeing as I've inherited her backwards lying uterus and strange giant voice box, I can probably be pretty sure that I won't want a UTI. Cause seriously, I am so sensitive down there at the best of times.
Right now is not the best of times. This has been one mother-fucking PAINFUL period. I've had it for two days now and it's been AWFUL. No, not two days... three days. Saturday? I think so. The days seriously just melt into each other.
I'm falling into a sort of despair. I realised at the gynae today that this fucking problem isn't going anywhere. I have shit to work through and there's no magic cure. It's the waiting months for treatment that fucks me up. I NEED those months, man! I want to be out and about, meeting people, finding a man, having FUN. Drinking till dawn and working hard and making money. Swimming at the beach, having full, wonderful sunny days.
All I have is art, my book, my cats, my family and my friends. Which is all right, some people don't even have that. And I'm thankful for it, really. To be stuck at home, I've got the best family for it. You can't go a day without someone popping by and making you laugh.
I keep trying to reassure myself that my whole life isn't going to be like this, that things will get better. But part of me thinks it's a fancy hope and that I should be happy with the nitty gritty of things. But I've never been happy with it. It's why I do what I do. Art, whatever. Cause I want to make something better. To leave the place prettier and more colourful than I found it.
Right now is not the best of times. This has been one mother-fucking PAINFUL period. I've had it for two days now and it's been AWFUL. No, not two days... three days. Saturday? I think so. The days seriously just melt into each other.
I'm falling into a sort of despair. I realised at the gynae today that this fucking problem isn't going anywhere. I have shit to work through and there's no magic cure. It's the waiting months for treatment that fucks me up. I NEED those months, man! I want to be out and about, meeting people, finding a man, having FUN. Drinking till dawn and working hard and making money. Swimming at the beach, having full, wonderful sunny days.
All I have is art, my book, my cats, my family and my friends. Which is all right, some people don't even have that. And I'm thankful for it, really. To be stuck at home, I've got the best family for it. You can't go a day without someone popping by and making you laugh.
I keep trying to reassure myself that my whole life isn't going to be like this, that things will get better. But part of me thinks it's a fancy hope and that I should be happy with the nitty gritty of things. But I've never been happy with it. It's why I do what I do. Art, whatever. Cause I want to make something better. To leave the place prettier and more colourful than I found it.
