FoxgloveFaun

i intend to cease my medical pursuits.

unfortunately, the decision is very simple.

i cant do it.

i cant handle the inescapable physical torment of my iron maiden of a body, AND ALSO handle the psychological toll of repeatedly being confronted with The Realities of my condition. The Realities are also (unfortunately) stacked with empirical evidence:

- there is no medicine.

- there is no physiotherapy.

- there is no clinic.

- there is no treatment.

- there will be no investigation

- the people who want to help, cant.

- the people who can help, wont.

i was told the waitlist for the referred clinics would be approximately a year. now im approaching the two-year mark and i simply dont have the will to continue. my mind has dissolved. i am a shell.

6 months ago i may have been willing to tough it out. but im too far gone now. im a quitter now! i simply

cannot

mentally

handle

a 2 hour journey across the province thru pubtrans and otherwise at the crack of dawn, to then wait another hour in the waiting room surrounded by mothers, followed by rigorous questioning about my suffering, to then attend another appointment that will neither investigate nor provide, within a system that actively rejects the notion of acknowledging or treating my symptoms, and then take the train home.

i cant be treated. this is very simple. if there was treatment available they would have provided it by now, even to only shut me up and get me out. there werent answers last time, and it's likely better for everyone's outcome ig that i stop asking for the doctor's time. this way i can rest, and the doctor can actually do his job and take care of people that he can actually fix.

i have come to understand that i am an obstacle in the system. my needs gum up the works for patients that CAN be helped.

a devastating element of this is that i have a good doctor. i actually have three excellent doctors. but they cant do anything for me besides listen and gently adjust my dosages. they have no control over triage. they have no control over clinic patient intake.

i was horrified this morning to realize that i have accepted that the new, beautiful house we moved into is essentially my hospice. i have accepted that i will die here, much sooner than later. it will likely be from something preventable. likely from complications related to ovarian, uterine and cervical bullshit. it will be from a disease that i sought help for.

i have a GYN appointment tomorrow. im not going. they can call me if they want, but im not going. i still havent gotten the fucking ultrasound. i'll be paying the cancellation fee to spare myself the suffering. i am so sad and this is so fucking stupid.

i genuinely would rather mop and unpack boxes.

because i have value here. my value here at home is big! it is announced daily by my devoted spouse. at home i feel important and helpful and needed and wanted and beautiful. i no longer see value in exiting this space, and i definitely see no value in leaving the comfort of this structure in order to be told, again, that i am unfixable and that the system does not want to continue to explain that to me.

i would rather stay home.

i would rather do laundry, quietly develop a cancer and die than continue to beg for help and be denied. ive been begging for help with this since i was 15 years old.

im 36 now. 20 years of begging at the gate of the world is enough for me. that's enough.

i just wish i felt liberated though, and not like i just killed myself.

lol

anyway.

art soon. swatched the markers to replace my dried up ones.

i love you.