A Vulva Update

Hello!  I haven't posted since February.  Here is my update.

I've started working part-time for the company my dad works for.  It involves sitting.  So far it is okay.  Long days aren't great but it varies depending on other circumstances.  I've tried a kneeling chair and I think it helps some.  Puts more weight directly on my hips.

I got to visit the steel plant as part of my company introduction.  It was so cool.  I got to watch them burn through the steel with giant torches and make perfect rings.  It's my new dream job.

I am still waiting tables.  It's a good job for the vulva, but I'm tired of talking to so many people all the time.  I wish we could do charades.

I'm trying to gain weight.  I don't eat when stressed anyhow, and I'm apparently always stressed.  Add to it Wellbutrin, which suppresses appetite, and I am too thin.  I'm not really aware of it until I step on the scale, which I don't have at home.  For a while I accuse the scales of needing calibration.  Then I put a 20 lbs weight on the scale at the gym and curse.  I'm truly not aware of losing weight.  My pants seem to fit the same.

Oh yeah.  I'm wearing pants, and it's okay most of the time.  I don't feel like talking about the pain right now, though.

Did you know a regular-size banana milkshake from Steak N Shake is 700 calories?  My psychiatrist says "drink milkshakes."  I say if they did to his body what they do to mine, he wouldn't think of it.  But I am drinking them anyway.  I am packing it in.  It is a short sacrifice.  After only a couple days I am thicker.

Which brings me to...I found a probiotic that kills my yeast cycle.  It's Saccharomyces boulardii, specifically by Jarrow Formulas.  I tried Florastor, which contains the same probiotic yeast only marketed with an air of exclusivity, but I didn't see much improvement.  After only a couple days on the Jarrow version, the evil yeast surrender to the good.  I will probably write a post about this later as I think it's an important development.

Catfish and I are hanging on by a thread.  I honestly don't know how (and maybe even why) we're still together.  Maybe we are deluded.  Maybe we like each other.  I can't tell anymore.  When things are good we see each other 3-4 times a week.  When things are bad we might spend a week apart, mad and doubtful.  This is not good for a couple who live 15 minutes away from each other.

Living away from each other after two years, it's old.  I am over it.  That's the main issue.  He says we have the kind of future I want, the kind where you actually build a life together, but I think that's what he wants in theory.  I think in reality he needs six years to get there, to get his head and his money straight, and I am exhausted.  I feel like I have no control over my life.

It doesn't help that my ovaries are at the wheel.  Dear lord.  I'm 32 and my mind sounds like this:

If you want to have babies when you’re thirty, then you probably want to be married when you’re twenty-eight. This is good news because if you marry very young you’re more likely to get divorced, but the statistics get much better if you wait until you’re twenty-five. For a healthy marriage, experts think people should be married two or three years before they consider having children. A reasonable expectation is to meet someone, date for a couple of years, and get engaged with almost a year’s time to pull off a wedding. So you need to meet the person at age twenty-four.

I never thought I would feel this way.

But here I am.  I know that if I had anything meaningful in my life, my relationship wouldn't be quite the issue it is.  It wouldn't take over.  But I can never relax.  I am endlessly anxious.  I have been since I was a baby.  It's hardwired.  It gives me a great memory, and I'm a good speller.

I have another reader story to post, but I will save that for this weekend.  My apologies to the wonderful woman who was willing to share her story.  I have been having computer and internet issues, and my little iPhone screen already feels antiquated!