Resignation

This whole week so far I have battled with sleep. I'm not even sure why, but there's this storm of raging crap revolving around my head every time I lapse into solitude. And I suppose the other thing is the outrageous amount of pain my right knee insists on putting me in. I'm starting to think that the time may have come to see a doctor. But I can already see how that will end up. And I really, honestly, cannot be bothered with that dreadful and dreary cycle of doctors, scans, surgeons and physiotherapy. I just don't care that much, I'd rather be in pain.

Not really actually, I just feel like this is the less painful alternative. If you hadn't got this feeling from my previous post, I've had a gutful of doctors. So congratulations if you managed to miss that, that's pretty damn impressive and totally irrelevant.

Anyway, it's now 12.30, still in pain, still thinking, not so surprisingly, still awake. I want to be asleep, I really do. I'm two days into this week and already I've burst into tears more times than is ever necessary. They're not full on breakdowns, just little burst of "Omg, what am I doing?!" Part of this is being overtired (as if that wasn't already obvious) and part of it is my life being crap and I want a better one. And I feel like that in my nice and developed country with the modern miracle of medicine, I should be able to have it -- and not the other way round, which has ended up being the case for me. It's challenging for one to consider medicine as being something that causes illness. Medicine is synonymous with healing and I suppose at a much more subconscious level, that's the part I'm finding hardest. Medicine should have and should be helping me, and yet all it's done is made things worse to the point where I'm going through all the delightful tests I outline in somewhat colourful language in the below post.

So yes, it is very, very challenging to consider that something that should be helpful should be so damn unhelpful to the point its creating permanent damage. Not only is the condition I have, more likely than not, been afflicted with so foreign and rare that I'm educating counsellors and not the other way round, the general idea of medicine being responsible for my current state is foreign enough to people on that subconscious level that they don't know what to say or do and I just don't know how to accept it and move on with my life. I just can't. I just cannot make any sort of peace with any of this. It's so distracting because it's always there. I haven't done any helpful work for school since last Wednesday and I don't know when I'll be able to do anything helpful for school again. This period of indecision, where nothing is confirmed, lasts until July 20th. Yes, the day before my birthday. I'm being set up for a lovely early birthday present here. Perhaps I'll just have to ensure that I don't make it to that day. At any rate, until I reach July 20th, I'm liable to be distracted and agitated and wound up and just generally confused and upset. I've already had one school SAC pushed back. And I did a really bad job of that because now I've got three in one day so I'm half convinced I'm going to have to change more. Focusing for eighty minutes on a good day is an effort, fancy focussing dead on for three times eighty minute classes to complete all the SACs. This can't end well.

So why am I still awake? Because I'm constantly thinking. I was told to write down all the 'what if's' so I could quiz the specialist, but I don't think it's a 'what if' situation at this point. I was conditioned more than a year ago to accept that I had this "disease" (because that is what he called it). Being told I didn't actually have it was fantastic. Then being told I had it again? Absolutely debilitating. But still, not a case of the 'what ifs'. I know full well what will happen if I am officially diagnosed. I know what treatments will be offered, I know I'll be rejecting them, I know that regular testing will be a must, I know that I will be stuck like this forever, I know that I'll never use any kind of hormone contraceptive ever again. I know all there is to know. And that isn't much because my specialist doesn't know all that much either. Medicine hasn't advanced as far as we'd think and liked it to have. Yep, we can get fantastic awesome images of any part of our body. Doesn't mean we know what irregular readings and images mean. And that's what makes this so hard. The period of indecision is long, and there's no real guarantee we'll know what to do even when we know what's wrong.

I so want them to say that I'm not sick, that I don't have this disease. But suffering the debilitating effects of having my world crushed, again, I'm not prepared to allow myself that hope and optimism again.

All the dates for now are set. Part of me wants them to hurry, part of me does not. Most of me just wants this whole thing to be over, even though it won't be. It will probably never be. This waking existence is like a permanent nightmare and causing myself pain simply cannot wake me up.

I'm so tired of leaving people speechless. I'm so tired of being speechless myself. I miss my sharpness of mind and my ability to get things done. I miss certainty and I miss being pain free. Not that I'm entirely clear on what being pain free is like, because it's been an absurdly long time since I've been pain free. I'm not even sure that state actually exists.

I don't think I swore once in this post tonight, shows you how drained I am once the anger dissipates. All that's really left at this point is sadness and resignation. Swap the cussing for tears. Sealed my fate.

- Sky