Tuesday 10 August 2010

A nice lady, me and a cup of tea.

The lady I saw was very nice. She was kind, and understanding. I looked up at the HUGE red pod (a.k.a. the lecture theatre) and knew it wouldn't collapse and crush me, but still thought it might. Over my left shoulder, I saw equally strange but quite brilliant structures (possibly part of the eating are), like a cross between The Jetsons' intergalactic city and a water tower.

There were very few people about, compared to how many people would usually be there. I imagined it bustling with hundreds of people, and the echoing sounds their feet and voices and movements would create. Could I be one of them? Could that happen? Soon? Maybe. The nice lady and I chatted for fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes, above the slightly distracting noise, about me, and my depression and endometriosis, and how they affect me.
"I don't self-harm... I have been suicidal, but that was many years ago... I don't/can't work, live *grimace* with parents. Still."
My body was trying to shut down, and I was aware my face was pale, my eyes heavy, and my voice croaky. I was not what anyone wanted see on a Tuesday morning. Or any morning.

Rough. as. a. badger's. bottom.

I realised, mere minutes into our chat, that despite my enthusiasm and passion, this is (like me) not going work. Pessimism is not part of the equation; realism is the thing. I can be positive and optimistic, and hope I will be well. "Oh, it's OK. By then, I'll have made "progress"" and "It'll be easier for me, then, because I'll be feeling better" don't work any more. Not for other people; for me. I know I shan't feel "better" in a few months. If anything, I shall feel worse, while my ovaries fully wake from their sleep. I shall still be tired. I shall still have aches, and heaviness in my bones, and headaches every day.

After I had discussed my thoughts with an advisor, I was thrown in to that unpleasant reality of me. The depression which is always there, in the background. The pain in my pelvis from my aching womb and spasmodically-pained right ovary. My constantly heavy legs and the invisible strain on my lower back. The burning headaches which aren't extinguished with 30/500mg co-codamol tablets.

None of the things has been absent for over fifteen years; none has vacated the Lucytron, to let me "get on with things".
I am not a pessimist, but I see no way I can possibly become a mature student at this very good college, when each of these things affects me so much. How can that happen when each prevents me from being fully awake and alert [restrain from joke about the world needing more lerts. Damn.], and so completely unrefreshed from at least eight hours' sleep?
I miss learning, and being with people. I crave being around and using the Art materials and studios, and each of their smells, and the feel and atmosphere of them. And the potential each of them has to be an integral part of something new, and exciting, and evocative. (We all know not all Art is good, don't we?)

And while I'm not being a pessimist, I can not see how, after this injection treatment ends, I will be pain-free; I still have pain now, when I'm not "meant" to. Not to mention my emotional state and moods. Oh. I mentioned them. Damn. Again. Lack of concentration is another thing that ooh, a butterfly! Prettyyyy...

So often, I have tried to "move on" in my life and do "things", but each time, the previously undiagnosed endometriosis has pulled me back, with such violently agonising force that the time and effort to get me back to where I had got to, seems like the impossible, once again. I want you to understand, dear reader, if you don't have endometriosis, you are a thoroughly lucky bastard. Too many people are under the illusion that endo is something which hurts only when a period happens. Even some women with endo don't understand it can hurt all the time! Crueller, is for those women to say so.
Basically... er, no, I've forgotten what I was going to say... bloody menopause.

I shall look again at what courses the OU has to offer. I can't do this every day, until October, waking up nearly exhausted, with a headache, feeling sick, wondering how I am going to wrench myself out of bed knowing when I do, the aching in my bones takes its strength from me. I have to psyche myself up to iron a few items of clothing, or clean the (tiny) bathroom, or use the Vax beast to vacuum the house. At least with a (short) OU course, I could do the work when I feel well enough. But will I feel well enough? I don't know! It's all so uncertain. Or is it? Have I already become aware of how it will be for the foreseeable future, at least? I don't know!

*Big sigh.* I just don't know what to do. Apart from whether or not have a cup of tea - I always know when to have a cup of tea. *Slurp.*