Tag Archives: ovarian cyst

Wine O’Clock

15 Nov

Dear Diary,

I’m weak. There, I’ve admitted it and its now out in the open. I’m so fucking weak and I don’t care. I want to sleep tonight, I need to sleep and I know what I’m doing right now will help.

Don’t look at me like that when I’m doing what’s best for myself, okay?

Look, I tried to stay sober today, I truly did but it’s impossible. My mood is at a low and I’m struggling to find the positives in my life. I didn’t sleep well again last night and I blame myself. It’s always my fault and I can’t break away from the depression. Shit, it’s destroying me and I have nowhere to run. Wherever I go there is a black cloud hanging over me and I feel like I’m suffocating.

The pain in my heart hurts so badly, but it’s my friend. I’m used to it being there now and if I ever lost it I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.

A few years ago I remember I went through such a bad episode of depression I actually prayed. I don’t believe in God, but I lay there in bed, curled up and sobbing uncontrollably and begging for death, physical pain, anything but what I was going through. A month later I got my wish when I was rushed to hospital vomiting and in so much pain I thought I was dying. I was passed from pillar to post before the doctors discovered I had an ovarian cyst. I couldn’t lay down, I couldn’t walk and I could hardly move without leaking tears. That was the worst physical pain I had ever felt and it was all my fault. I’d asked for a different kind of pain and I had received just that.

The consultant said I was the strangest patient he had ever had… I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not but I took it as one. He told me most people wouldn’t have been walking around with a cyst my size and I had no answer to that. There had been short bursts of pain but I’d thought nothing of it, I’d been too consumed with my emotional pain to question anything else.

The man had said I would be in surgery for an hour and a half. They finally wheeled me out four and a half hours later. The team had drained five litres of fluid from my cyst and I was told I was lucky it hadn’t burst. I also lost a fallopian tube and an ovary to gangrene. The only thing I was thankful for at the time was the morphine. Sadly it was taken away from me the next day for apparent ‘misuse’.

I learnt my lesson after the surgery, even if I still bathe in the beauty of atheism. I’ll never ever beg for a different type of pain to what I hold close to my heart.

I now have half the chance of conceiving and I have yet to confront that fear. I don’t know if I want to have children because there is this worry I’ll damage my child’s mind and happiness with my gloomy moods. It would kill me to know I was responsible for causing a little boy or girl’s pain.

Now back to today…

Sleep is still foreign to me. It has been for the past two nights. I’m tired right now, I have been all day but I can’t sleep for longer than a couple of hours. I just feel exhausted and tearful, that’s why I’m drinking.


My wine beside a picture of me before I was destroyed by life.

More often than not I feel like I’m slowly dying inside and that’s why I drink. I know I shouldn’t be making excuses but I will until the day I die. This is just the frame of mind I’m in right now.

The drink is going to my head because I haven’t eaten since six o’clock this morning and my mind isn’t on food at the moment, not at all. You know it isn’t too, just take a look at the title of this entry.

I don’t like wine and I never have done. Why am I drinking it if I don’t like it you ask? Right now, as I sit alone in the house with a crippling darkness the focus of my thoughts, I need it. I need the pain to die for a little while until I can fight my corner again.

I raise a glass to you, my diary. I’ll toast you as I sip another drop of rose because you give me a place to vent without ever speaking a word.

– Raindrops

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