At Long Last!

28 Aug

At long last, the hospital has agreed to do something to treat my illness. Earlier this week, my consultant offered to operate, adding a warning that this wouldn’t permanently fix my health but the removal of the cyst ravaging my left ovary and day-to-day life, could provide some temporary relief.

I sobbed tears of joy, exhaustion and relief when I was told. I am so grateful that, at long last, there is hope to enjoy a pain-free existence – even if it’s only for a few months post-surgery.

My physical ailments are finally being addressed. Soon, I will need to tackle my crippling loneliness and worthlessness but first, I have to prepare myself for the operation ahead. I have no date for my surgery but I am on the waiting list for urgent cases, so I pray that it will be in the very near future.

Where is Peace?

23 Aug

Where is peace, if not found within?
Where is the silence breaking through the din,
Of endless noise and voices, screaming in my brain?
Where is the peace, which is meant to keep me sane?

What It Feels Like When You’re Always An Option And Never A Priority | Idealist Revolution

16 Aug

I Am Here

12 Jul

I am here. Still.




I am here, yet I do not feel the euphoria of living. I am tired and sick. Diminished and damaged.

Endometriosis. A horrible cold. Fever. Sore throat. Running nose. Blocked sinuses.

I have travelled through an entire spectrum of pain over the past seven days, only to arrive… here.

I am so overwhelmingly lonely. I am accustomed to living with the sense of constant isolation, only that feeling is now layered over a strange undercurrent of not my usual discontent but something decaying. My soul – something I felt absent for two years until last October – has shown itself to be diseased and dying. It cannot keep my body healthy and it shall never lift my being above its worthlessness.

I am anguished by my failure to be more. I should be something better. I ought to be more precious. I expected life to be… different. I wanted a family.

I wanted to love and be loved.

I know I can never regenerate the decaying fabric of my soul. It can never make itself whole without that for which I shall always yearn: a family of my own; a loving husband and treasured children.

My womb and ovaries are of no use; my eggs are more decayed than my soul. My purpose is to breathe but never live and my destiny is to be worthless to every man I have ever loved. I am cursed. The hex grows darker and more powerful with every passing day. We are living in the age of wickedness and I can feel the chill of evil attacking my skin, seeping into my pores and devouring the invisible, living matter I call a soul.

My breath aches with each movement of my chest… inhaling and exhaling oxygen and pain in unison. I yearn for the caress of peace, to glide softly over my being from head to toe, healing all that is sick and grieving.

For all my failings, I have but one saving grace: compassion. I will continue to shield my loved ones from my heartache and project to the world all that I should have been yet sadly never will: strong; happy; accepted and fulfilled.

Who am I? A chameleon and a deceiver. A mirage and an illusion. I am everything yet nothing in the blink of an eye. I am carefree yet agitated with the shrug of a shoulder. I am warm yet cold with the twist of a smile. I look in the mirror and find someone and no-one, staring from the same red-rimmed eyes. My veins hold the bright blood of a living human and the blackest clots of gangrene from my soul.

I am here… this is my place; my destiny and my punishment. I cannot ever leave this place but I will never stop trying to transform it into a shelter I can call “home”. I will find a way to live here. I will make it my own… no matter how painful an endeavour it may prove to be.

I Want to Escape

28 Jun

I need a break. I long for a holiday; a chance to get away from everything and everyone, although I sadly cannot leave behind my own self. I want to escape so badly. I need to recharge and feel something more… something better.

I have so many thoughts swirling within my head; emotions spinning and blending together, into a cyclone of overwhelming power. I am caught in the air, suspended with no means of stopping the force which has overtaken my life.

I am stuck within a vacuum; I cannot make plans nor escape my restraints. My poor health has blocked my progress and I do not know when I shall be permitted to spread my wings and soar into a future where freedom and choices are as ubiquitous as ants.

Someday, I shall be free. Someday, I shall be able to look at myself and know that I am in control of my own being; I can pursue or reject options at will, instead of being forced to stand still because of Endometriosis.

Working it Out

28 Jun

I’m working it out… as in, going through the required motions of the rest of my life as one would dutifully fulfil an obligatory notice period within an employment contract. In short, I am working like a donkey until I reach the end of the line (my death).

I am not fit enough to work: Endometriosis has crippled my daily life. Yet, I do it anyway because I have no choice; no control; no voice. I started a new job six weeks ago. It was a crazy ‘decision’ but therein lies the problem – there was no degree of choice. I had to accept the role because the hospital screwed up and dismissed my symptoms without investigating. I was pushed into this employment by my local Job Centre… with a screaming 7cm by 5cm cyst on my left ovary and a 1cm by 1.5 cm cyst on the other. I had been bleeding for six weeks at this point, passing clots the size of large brazil nuts at 20 to 90 minute intervals. The pain, of course, was equally intense – but my local hospital instructed that I toodle off home to rejoin the workforce like a healthy person.

I did… and my symptoms are unbearable.

The strain upon my physical and mental health is now immeasurable. A combination of commuting for three hours per day, sitting at a desk for extended periods and trekking across the country for meetings is nothing less than excruciating in my current condition. I cannot begin to describe the horrors I have suffered withn my own body. Each work day is torture: imagine your insides ripping and shredding, stinging and stabbing, bleeding and burning. I am taking pain killers every four hours and I cannot function properly any longer.

Yet, I still go to work. I go because no-one cares if I bleed all day and cry in agony. No-one cares that a worthless human being is still suffering and deteriorating. I have ended up in the emergency room yet again, have fought with the hospital over lack of treatment and now need an urgent MRI scan before a potential hysterectomy. Still, no-one with the power to help genuinely cares. It’s a nightmare.

I am in such pain but I cannot resign from my job. I would be ineligible for help from the state if I were to walk away from employment and I desperately need an income. People called me a “sponger” when I had no job and it weighs heavy in my fears for the future. I do not want to be ill and in need of financial help from the welfare system. I am already unwelcome in society… few welcome the worthless. Yet more shun those deemed to be a burden.

What can I do? My condition is growing worse each day; my health is deteriorating faster than ever and I am struggling at work. I am missing my deadlines and compelled to work endless overtime to catch up on my daily tasks. All the while, my insides are being eviscerated and all I feel is pain. All day, every day… even through painkillers.

I am trying to keep up appearances to the outside world, playing down my symptoms to my employer, family and friends. I keep up my social media feeds, still attend the odd social function and friends’ birthday dinners but all I feel throughout is pain and discomfort. I am overwhelmingly unwell, diminished and constantly exhausted, with a greater sense of loneliness and isolation. I hate having to bear this alone. I hate that I have no best friend nor lover to hug for reassurance and comfort. There is nobody to see me through the daily horror of my situation.

I live with my parents but I have to mask the depth of my pain to spare their ailing health. They’re not stupid and they have understood the gravity of what’s happening to my body: the concern in their eyes only adds to my burden. I feel grief for their grief, sorrow for their helplessness. I am as redundant as they feel. None of us can do anything to fix this so what’s the point in telling them how bad I feel?

My suffering is my cross to bear and I am at the end of the line. I want to die. I really, really want to pass away; peacefully and alone. I want to slip into the haven of freedom, where there is no suffering nor pain. I want to let go and get swept away into the vast expanse of nothingness that I imagine to be death. I am sick of suffering. I am sick of being sick. I am sick of my sickness being irrelevant to the medical world. I am so weary from living in pain and anguish. I just want to die.

What a Day!

23 Jun

I am sitting on a train carriage, heading home, following a two hour detour which saw me mistakenly travel to the opposite side of town, in a haze of confusion. I am exhausted and dazed, making silly mistakes.

That’s pretty much the story of my life: setting off to someplace, somewhere; thinking I know where I’m heading; discovering that I have somehow made a mistake; my plan has spectacularly derailed; I have only myself to blame for my epic stupidity; veering away from oblivion and getting back on track quickly becomes impossible.

This morning, I was told I would be referred for an urgent MRI scan in the imminent future, which will most likely reveal that I require a partial hysterectomy, due to ongoing issues associated with Endometriosis. I will get to keep one ovary – whichever is least damaged by the condition. Lucky me.

I have been in a daze ever since.

It is not impossible for the MRI scan to reveal more promising results, although the fire spreading across my abdomen at this exact second insists upon arguing otherwise. It’s not impossible… only highly improbable.

I feel less than a woman after hearing this news. I have been less for so long – in every conceivable category – yet I have never felt more less than I do now. I grieve for all my failings with bitter regret: why can’t I be like the rest of them? Why am I always unworthy of the things others enjoy so freely: love, fertility, status, purpose, good health.

I am so tired of it all. I want to break free like Freddie Mercury… and die. I’d try, but I’m sure that plan would spectacularly derail as well.


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