Upon waking up this morning, I instantly felt like shit physically. It only took a few minutes afterwards to feel shit emotionally and mentally. Now, usually, my bad days have been few and far between as of late. And that's good. Today, a bad day became to be.
One of my biggest problems with hypersexuality is my hormones, or what I refer to them as "whoremoans." Whenever I feel aroused, and I don't have someone to physically express my sentiments with, it eats me up inside. I have been fortunate enough to not take drastic measures to resolve my whoremoans. Meanwhile, whenever I see a couple in love, either in person or on social media, as much as I am happy for them, I'm jealous as fuck because this greedy brat doesn't have a partner.
This whoremoans phenomenon is about to get exponentially worse.
I now have a new OB/GYN, after making the decision to request a second opinion. I went to the doctor's office for a biopsy of my uterus. They needed a sample to make sure there's no precancerous or cancerous anything in there. This comes about after reading the results from the ultrasound and the CT scan the old OB/GYN provided, the new OB/GYN couldn't make heads or tails of what the fuck was written.
In short, this is what the new OB/GYN had to say about what's wrong:
With the punchsucker in my body, it's not attached to the right ovary at all. It's in the space where the left ovary used to be. The right ovary is cystic, but there is no indication of polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). The punchsucker is not cockblocking the right ovary from releasing ouvm, because the punchsucker, again, is nowhere near the right ovary. And the punchsucker is being a prick by pushing the uterus to the right, effectively displacing the baby machine.
And let me tell you how that feels.
When the uterus is not aligned, the vagina is not a happy camper.
And that bitch told this brat exactly how unhappy she was when the new OB/GYN inserted a speculum into the inner chambers, propping the walls up to seek some tissue samples.
I have had my fair share of devices investigate my pleasure principle over many years. None of them gave me such excruciating pain and agony as this heavily lubricated plastic prop did this morning. I was almost in tears; the biopsy didn't hurt as much as the Vagina Packer 9000 did. I mean, holy fuckamole that shit hurt.
The biopsy results won't be available for two weeks. In the meantime, I get to ask myself this question:
HOW IN THE GOT DAMN FUCK CAN I GET SOME PIPE IF IT HURTS TO FUCK IN THE FIRST PLACE?!
I mean, I can't even insert a dildo, a vibrator, a cucumber; not even a few fingers in there without breaking down in sad sobs.
Talk about giving "damaged goods" a new meaning.
If the biopsy is clear, I will request the surgeon (who is neither the old or the new OB/GYN) perform a hysterectomy. I have no desire to bear children (unless the baby daddy is Henry Rollins, heh), don't want to have to deal with periods anymore, and with more remnants of The Evil Twin causing all types of clusterfucks, I don't want that type of drama in my life; I already have enough to deal with as it is.
I just better be ready for less whoremoans and more jealousy when it comes.
Less drive and libido, less desire, and decreased performance (unless given epic amounts of progesterone and estrogen for whoremoan replacement therapy).
More sadness as I see other couples be incredibly happy with one another, while I go, night and after dark night, afraid and alone. More stigma of being "damaged goods" to a potential suitor because of experiences out of my control and therefore not my fault.
It's time for me to accept a new challenge in my life.
Who's with me?