aksiokersa

It's my journal (if you already read the intro about IC, check out today's thoughts underneath the row of pretty pretty stars)

I thought it would be cool to document teh life of a chick who's got the girlie-disease "interstitial cystitis."
A lotta people don't know what I.C. is so here goes: incurable tiny ulcers inside the wall of your bladder make it hard to walk, exercise, eat, drink, fuck, dance, breathe, smell flowers, blah blah blah.

The thing is? I have this disease and i'm still kickin' ass.
And other for-real chicks that have bullshit going on with their bodies can relate.

No matter what our mutherfucking misogynistic doctors, sadistic nurses, well-meaning family members, and uninformed aquaintances say, we are awesome, and we can do a good job of taking care of ourselves, thankyouverymuch.
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I just figured out what my problem was with abstract art.

If I groove on the same vibe I get from dancing, my abstract pieces come out fine. How amazing. To my brain, drawing = dancing. Beautiful.

I have had a migraine a week for the past 3 weeks. Unbearable.

My doc switched me from one painkiller to another, stronger one. The stronger one doesn't do shit. I want to switch back. Switching back is not allowed without an appointment. The only appointment I can get is a month away.

Sadness.
Anger.
Apathy.
Self-loathing.
Body-hatred.
Stubborn insistency.
Acceptance.
Sadness.
Alone-ity.
More pain.

But school has been going well. Happened to do a couple of things right and things with my thesis are rolling.

And someone is releasing a study: application of stem-cells to ulcerated bladders has helped a few people.

I am not getting my hopes up. I don't think they go up anymore, actually.