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Mar. 28th, 2013 12:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lykomancerBlah.
On and off again flirtation with mid-grade melancholy. Dissatisfaction brightening to apathy briefly before shading back into dissatisfaction, like clouds and sun on a heavily overcast day. Annoyance, gloom. This doesn't have the dignity of true depression, not even mild depression. Depression cuts, its blade so sharp that the first sensation is cold numbness; the pain hits afterward. This feels more like fingering a bruise, only less voluntary and without the masochistic pleasure. There's no storm, no lightning, no thunder, no rain; just clouds and oppressive humidity.
I'm not lonely, precisely. I prefer solitary. Since moving to Owatonna two years ago I have made no new friends at all, and I see the ones I had before I moved less often. (Not that I was particularly sociable even when I could see them more frequently.) I don't mind only having Jinya. That's enough.
Part of me would desperately like to date, although I think this has more with the idea that I want to just to prove that I still can and less to do with any real desire to see someone. I would like to have sex with a real live human being again sometime. That'd be nice. I'd like the assurance that I am still desirable. But other than that...? No. I have no interest in other people. I don't want to met anyone. I don't want to get to know anyone. I don't want to deal with their issues. I don't want to "train" anyone. I don't want to have to explain myself. I don't want to have to defend my boundaries.
I can handle the idea of making a friend, if the opportunity arose. (And I am becoming friend-ish with some of my coworkers.) But getting close enough to "date" someone just makes me feel tired and preemptively irritated.
And I don't feel particularly desirable anymore, which chafes. My hair is strongly grey. I'm pasty white, furry, and overweight. I'm 32, which means I am starting to feel twinges of guilt when I contemplate fucking 20 year olds...guilt, and a little bit like I'm over-reaching. Yes, I could attempt to "fix" the things about myself that bother me: dye my hair, tan, shave, diet and exercise, etc. There are some limitations on those "fixes" (such as the fact that we only have a shower and not a bathtub, and I can't see well enough to shave in the shower while bent double with water pouring in my face to accomplish much of anything other than razor burn...and it's not even worth the effort since I have freaking stubble by the time I get upstairs to my room)...but the real issue is my own stubbornness. I don't want to. I don't need to "fix" my-fucking-self. I don't need to, and by God, I'm not fucking going to.
Some people look at themselves and don't like what they see, so they make these insane or grandiose attempts to correct themselves, make themselves look like what society says they should look like. I look at myself, and when I don't like it, I just make myself deal with it. I'm not sure if that's any more mentally healthy, honestly.
And I'm back to bleeding like I'm fucking dying.
Awesome.
For about a year or so, my period was actually, by-God regular(-ish). It lasted a little over a week...and then went away. All on its own.
But now I'm back to bleeding/oozing scummy maroon mucus 27/7 for two and a half weeks, followed by a week and a half of holy shit, I think someone sheathed a cleaver in my crotch! level hemorrhaging. Seriously, my Diva cup holds an ounce, and for the last three days I've had to empty it about once every four hours else it overflows.
-_-
Honestly, the massive bloodloss and constant concern about overflow is not the part that bothers me the most. That's just a *sigh, eyeroll* level. The ongoing brown scum, on the other hand, enrages me. Even if I wanted to have sex with someone, my fucking crotch oozes disgusting biowaste ALL THE TIME. Oh, not a lot. Just enough to be a pain in the ass, stain my underwear unless I wear a pad/tampon/cup, and completely rule out even the possibility of being eaten out or fingered. THANKS, BODY. YOU ASSHOLE.
Yes, I could go on birth control, which stops all this. However, birth control also annihilates my libido and aggravates my depression. My emotional response feels Saran Wrapped in muted unhappiness, and I don't even want to masturbate. I used to tolerate it, because I appreciated Not Bleeding All the Time and Not Catching the Preg, but I'm finding it increasingly intolerable as I get older.
I did go to the doctor's once to investigate whether I have uterine fibroids. Two hours later, I was waiting for my bus and contemplating how I got so turned around in the office that they never did follow through with my original concerns about fibroids and instead ended up testing me for diabetes.
Yep, that went well.
Two of my bosses have a horrible flu virus. Here's to hoping I don't have to deal with that, too.
On and off again flirtation with mid-grade melancholy. Dissatisfaction brightening to apathy briefly before shading back into dissatisfaction, like clouds and sun on a heavily overcast day. Annoyance, gloom. This doesn't have the dignity of true depression, not even mild depression. Depression cuts, its blade so sharp that the first sensation is cold numbness; the pain hits afterward. This feels more like fingering a bruise, only less voluntary and without the masochistic pleasure. There's no storm, no lightning, no thunder, no rain; just clouds and oppressive humidity.
I'm not lonely, precisely. I prefer solitary. Since moving to Owatonna two years ago I have made no new friends at all, and I see the ones I had before I moved less often. (Not that I was particularly sociable even when I could see them more frequently.) I don't mind only having Jinya. That's enough.
Part of me would desperately like to date, although I think this has more with the idea that I want to just to prove that I still can and less to do with any real desire to see someone. I would like to have sex with a real live human being again sometime. That'd be nice. I'd like the assurance that I am still desirable. But other than that...? No. I have no interest in other people. I don't want to met anyone. I don't want to get to know anyone. I don't want to deal with their issues. I don't want to "train" anyone. I don't want to have to explain myself. I don't want to have to defend my boundaries.
I can handle the idea of making a friend, if the opportunity arose. (And I am becoming friend-ish with some of my coworkers.) But getting close enough to "date" someone just makes me feel tired and preemptively irritated.
And I don't feel particularly desirable anymore, which chafes. My hair is strongly grey. I'm pasty white, furry, and overweight. I'm 32, which means I am starting to feel twinges of guilt when I contemplate fucking 20 year olds...guilt, and a little bit like I'm over-reaching. Yes, I could attempt to "fix" the things about myself that bother me: dye my hair, tan, shave, diet and exercise, etc. There are some limitations on those "fixes" (such as the fact that we only have a shower and not a bathtub, and I can't see well enough to shave in the shower while bent double with water pouring in my face to accomplish much of anything other than razor burn...and it's not even worth the effort since I have freaking stubble by the time I get upstairs to my room)...but the real issue is my own stubbornness. I don't want to. I don't need to "fix" my-fucking-self. I don't need to, and by God, I'm not fucking going to.
Some people look at themselves and don't like what they see, so they make these insane or grandiose attempts to correct themselves, make themselves look like what society says they should look like. I look at myself, and when I don't like it, I just make myself deal with it. I'm not sure if that's any more mentally healthy, honestly.
And I'm back to bleeding like I'm fucking dying.
Awesome.
For about a year or so, my period was actually, by-God regular(-ish). It lasted a little over a week...and then went away. All on its own.
But now I'm back to bleeding/oozing scummy maroon mucus 27/7 for two and a half weeks, followed by a week and a half of holy shit, I think someone sheathed a cleaver in my crotch! level hemorrhaging. Seriously, my Diva cup holds an ounce, and for the last three days I've had to empty it about once every four hours else it overflows.
-_-
Honestly, the massive bloodloss and constant concern about overflow is not the part that bothers me the most. That's just a *sigh, eyeroll* level. The ongoing brown scum, on the other hand, enrages me. Even if I wanted to have sex with someone, my fucking crotch oozes disgusting biowaste ALL THE TIME. Oh, not a lot. Just enough to be a pain in the ass, stain my underwear unless I wear a pad/tampon/cup, and completely rule out even the possibility of being eaten out or fingered. THANKS, BODY. YOU ASSHOLE.
Yes, I could go on birth control, which stops all this. However, birth control also annihilates my libido and aggravates my depression. My emotional response feels Saran Wrapped in muted unhappiness, and I don't even want to masturbate. I used to tolerate it, because I appreciated Not Bleeding All the Time and Not Catching the Preg, but I'm finding it increasingly intolerable as I get older.
I did go to the doctor's once to investigate whether I have uterine fibroids. Two hours later, I was waiting for my bus and contemplating how I got so turned around in the office that they never did follow through with my original concerns about fibroids and instead ended up testing me for diabetes.
Yep, that went well.
Two of my bosses have a horrible flu virus. Here's to hoping I don't have to deal with that, too.
no subject
Date: 2013-03-28 09:16 pm (UTC)I have that same problem with doctors missing the original point and not realizing it until later. It blows.
Here's hoping your mood changes, your crotch calms down, and the flu gives you a bye.
no subject
Date: 2013-03-29 05:22 am (UTC)Interestingly, Jinya once went to the same clinic for something-- I disremember what exactly, maybe something with her ulcerative colitis-- and they also ended up ignoring her complaints and testing her for diabetes. I think there's something wrong with that clinic. -_-
I almost wish I do get the flu, in a fucked up way. Being sick is somewhat pleasant sometimes. At the same time, I don't really want to be actually sick. I just want to lay in bed, drink tea, watch movies, sleep too much, and skip work without feeling guilty.
no subject
Date: 2013-03-29 11:43 am (UTC)Lupusdiabetes!Sickness can be cozy like that. Depression too, sometimes, when it's mild to moderate. There's just zero pressure.
*plays with your sexy arctic wolf hair*