So, it’s official. I left my gynecologist doctor and office because they couldn’t treat me correctly for my endometriosis since she wasn’t specified in that field–not to mention that they were always booked and busy. It sucks. I only went with them on the recommendation via my retiring male gynecologist, and the fact that they were near and had several offices–but they are way overbooked etc; to the point of frustration but I wouldn’t dare go back to this practice again for those reasons. Plus, I didn’t want to bother with therapy, pelvic therapy and wait three months instead of being referred to a specialist. Plus my moods have been tanking because of pain–pain from my endometriosis. It’s a trigger. Pain is always a trigger. Pain was always used against me by everyone I knew that took care of me and whatnot, so it’s sucky either way.
Work is fine. Work is work. Work is familiar. Work is fine. Despite not having made any real lasting friendships—save for a few people, but I doubt I’ll be at their houses or spending time with them and whatnot. I’m sad that I don’t think they have a favorable opinion of me save for things, but honestly? I have a favorable if not wonderful opinion and would love to hang out more with them but alas, it never happens. The nature of working with people and craving that friendship aspect despite being in a great relationship that is loving and compassionate with my husband Jose. I tell him all the time that he can’t check all of the boxes for me and he shouldn’t have to either; in fact I should be able to form connections with people but I often feel aloof or even awkward when with people and honestly? That’s my fragmented personality with BPD. People don’t seem to understand the difficulties and struggles of maintaining or even forming real connections with not only people or peers but myself, too. I wouldn’t wish anything that I currently go through on anyone, let alone my worst enemies, I mean if I have them. I probably do but to me, those people are small fry and their problems don’t concern me really. Who cares about fictional things when real things are occurring every day? When real life demands so much from you? When I want to do more than just chat on the internet like I used to when I was younger.
What’s the point when I have so much to start and finish? Whether it be video games, movies, shows etc; life is pretty demanding on its own and add illnesses and even physical ones and you have problems. I don’t understand these things very well and I don’t suppose I’ll ever understand anything either. I don’t think I have NYE Resolutions other than to finish writing not only my own story, but my many fanfictions that I have written. In the end, I think it’s doable but it requires a lot of effort from me that I am not so sure that I can give currently. I wish my anxiety was controlled better but it is what it is. I think that’s one aspect that I cannot fully control nor understand because it’s not only a facet of my personality, but it’s me that’s always anxious or assuming the worst. I’m still in survival mode– I don’t know safety thus self sabotaging but my husband is deeply devoted to me and I cannot explain why honestly. I don’t deserve it. Not after how I hurt him and hurt myself which in turn hurts him worst.
I guess that’s the hardest part of being loved is accepting it–I haven’t and can’t truly. I wish I could. Nor do I believe that a religious being such as God could cure things entirely—you’d have to undo the damage caused by years of CSA and regular abuse and manipulation from those that raised me and honestly? Impossible at this point. Oh well. I see my new endometriosis doctor on the 15th. Yay me!
I hope it goes well, other wise, I’m not sure of anything truly.
Leave a Reply