The blurry end.
All I want to do is sleep on my fucking couch and it's occupied by my roommate. My bed has Andy in it, and that's not a bad thing, but the room is so dark, I'm afraid I'll sleep all day and night.
I'm still up from last night. I worked all night, stayed up, went to the urologist, and then the pharmacy. And now I'm here. And I want my motherfucking couch.
Yes, I am going to be a whiny bitch about it.
Right now I'm coping with the fact that I not only get to enjoy Prozac or other crazy pills (most likely) for the rest of my adult life, I get to enjoy taking antibiotics EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. Also, presumably, for the rest of my fucking life.
And when the D-word comes into play, I'm done. Yeah, the brief mention of "dialysis" as something to look forward in the future made my skin crawl. I wanted to scream. I sort of felt like ripping the flesh off my arms.
Everyone is asleep now. I'm thankful for that much (but I want my couch, god damn it). However, I know I get to answer questions when they get up. Namely, from Andy.
"That's stupid. Are there other options? Why every day? This guy seems like an idiot. You should fight to see someone else. Tell him no. I don't trust doctors."
(So why did you push me to see the urologist?)
I don't really get options. I never have. I have the scar to remind me of that.
I'm going on 22 soon. I can think clearly, but it doesn't do me a damn bit of good because I'm angry at my body and feel the need to destroy it. I'm also already angry at those around me and the questions I will have to answer.
I don't want to sleep.
I don't want to do a goddamn thing.
Except lie on my fucking couch.
I'm still up from last night. I worked all night, stayed up, went to the urologist, and then the pharmacy. And now I'm here. And I want my motherfucking couch.
Yes, I am going to be a whiny bitch about it.
Right now I'm coping with the fact that I not only get to enjoy Prozac or other crazy pills (most likely) for the rest of my adult life, I get to enjoy taking antibiotics EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. Also, presumably, for the rest of my fucking life.
And when the D-word comes into play, I'm done. Yeah, the brief mention of "dialysis" as something to look forward in the future made my skin crawl. I wanted to scream. I sort of felt like ripping the flesh off my arms.
Everyone is asleep now. I'm thankful for that much (but I want my couch, god damn it). However, I know I get to answer questions when they get up. Namely, from Andy.
"That's stupid. Are there other options? Why every day? This guy seems like an idiot. You should fight to see someone else. Tell him no. I don't trust doctors."
(So why did you push me to see the urologist?)
I don't really get options. I never have. I have the scar to remind me of that.
I'm going on 22 soon. I can think clearly, but it doesn't do me a damn bit of good because I'm angry at my body and feel the need to destroy it. I'm also already angry at those around me and the questions I will have to answer.
I don't want to sleep.
I don't want to do a goddamn thing.
Except lie on my fucking couch.