Archives for category: Endometriosis

I’m absolutely incredulous at the amount of time it is taking to move out of this phase. I can tell you how I got here: physically, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, philosophically, sociologically, economically… I have done the reading as a means of trying to find my way out of it.

The last time I healed an emotional wound I looked back and I could list accomplishments like ‘got a degree’. I clearly could not have been doing ‘nothing’ in that time. It’s just that then, as now, I did it all in a haze of dissociation. I was completely overwhelmed by my circumstances whilst refusing to bow to them.

I have to some extent let life wash over me. Sometimes believing that I was giving myself a kind of spiritual once over. I think that’s probably bunkum. I’m just immensely lonely, and very sad. I can not tolerate how deeply I feel that life is passing me by. One year rolls into the next, and I think with each passing year, “you’ve never been so fat”, “so lacking in energy”… and think of all the things that I could have done.

I was the first in my family to get a degree, I was the first to have a career, I went sailing, I engaged in the arts, I actively threw off the shackles of poverty and went to get mine. And now capitalism is functioning like it aught to, the middle and upper classes are squeezing me out of work and maintaining their privilege. And I miss my life.

Knowing this is what’s happening doesn’t make it easier to cope. It highlights the injustices and reinforces my lack of confidence. It successfully gaslights me into compliance. I am the only one complaining. The only other person that understood how this feels, declines to talk to me.

So here I am. Equally loathing myself for feeling sorry for myself, and trying to pep talk myself into taking the least awful routes out of this impasse. I already gave up on taking PIP to tribunal AGAIN, because of the fucking psych evaluation that I had done. The one that confirmed that other than depression (because of my circumstances) I am in fact perfectly sane.

In the long run, this long line of CPN’s and psychiatrist’s and counsellor’s stamp of sanity will be beneficial, but right now, it feels like chains. I am running out of ways to defend myself self against the social. I am living in terror that eventually they are going to sanction me, and that my worst fear will come true: I will end up homeless again.

I can’t handle the pride I feel, and the shame that lives with it. I hate to admit to anyone that knows me that I am out of work. It’s the worst kept secret I’m sure everyone knows, but it’s my Achilles heal. I got a degree, just to end up on the dole. Just who did I think I was anyway.

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All the things I can not say:

I have endometriosis.

Every time I have a period I have a lot of pain. A LOT of pain.

When I was 22 I was in an abusive relationship and he caused me a lot of pain. A LOT of pain.

When ever I have a period, the pain mixes together and I can’t tell how much of the pain that I am in is anguish.

I want a baby.

My body wants a baby.

Every month, I have a shout and a scream and then a big cry, because there is nowhere else for me to burn off this energy.

I want sex. My god, do I miss sex.

I want intimacy. I ache sometimes because I go for so long without being touched, even by friends.

I would like a relationship, but I am terrified of emotional intimacy. I have a very serious problem with not being able to identify monsters. I can see them for other people, but I am incapable of seeing them for myself.

Every time I spend Christmas with my nephew, when I leave him, I feel like a hole has been blown in my hull. My ship sinks. I miss him so much, and yet, I am scared that my clinging love will stifle him. So, I make every excuse under the sun to not go visit: he lives too far away, I can’t afford the travel, I would be interfering……….

I am fed up of my drunk mothers self centred, self absorbed bullshit. I am tired of my stepdads refusal to go to counselling with her because he is terrified she will leave him. I am tired of my dad’s blasé responses because he is also incapable of talking. I am tired of feeling like a fucking teenager, because my parents never taught me to grow up, or learn how to spot a monster.

This Christmas, when my mother stood jabbing her finger an inch away from my face, snarling “You should let someone love you”. I died inside.

I am trying. I am trying. For the love of fucking love, I am trying. It hurts so much, and I keep on trying.

The playlist for this most modern tragedy is the album that was big when I was 22:
Lauren Hill – X-Factor.