So my posting activity here has really picked up in the last couple of weeks, and it’s because I recently passed the 1-year mark of quitting Propecia – and it’s really ht me how much of my life has been and is being lost to this. I’ve been pretty aggressive in going after this, but besides getting the very brief restoration of my sexual health through TRT, nothing has really done anything.
What I’m combating now, more than anything, is my own …I dunno, pessimism, I guess. I see recovery stories here, but the protocols are random and often contradictory. I find old threads that seem hopeful, then I realize the date is from like 2009…and they end up being dead ends. I get excited that there’s a foundation and that they’re teaming with B&W for a study – then I remind myself that the study itself will take forever, and if it yields anything encouraging, they still have to come up with proposed treatments, do trials, etc. I’ll be 40 before anything is developed – but that’s IF anything is developed…and then I ask myself: When’s the last time you read about a disease just being solved and cured? The War on Cancer is 40 years old. Look how much they’ve thrown at AIDS, or Parkinson’s, or ALS. Our conditions gets a fraction of a fraction of the attention that those get – and whatever’s wrong with us is probably ridiculously complex. I think of Gulf War Syndrome – have they still not actually figured out what that is? I look at the calendar a lot and I try to remember: Where was I, what was I doing, 2 years ago today, 3 years, 4 years etc. I remember moments, just simple moments, from before this whole mess began, and I long to go back to them. I imagine somehow traveling back in time and confronting myself on the street outside the dermatologist’s office in March 2011, warning myself not to do it, not to go in there looking for a Propecia prescription, saving myself from this future. It’s a Saturday night right now. I get texts from my friends, but I don’t want to go out with them. It’s miserable sitting here alone, but it’s worse with them. They’re living like I used to live, like I can’t live anymore. I can’t describe the loneliness, the emptiness, the regret, the longing…I can’t describe it, but if you’re reading this, you probably know it too. I think of the ones who have recovered – read the posts about their positive attitudes, their determination, their commitment to some exact regimen of vitamins and kale and gluten-free products and cold baths and getting up at 4am. I start to try these regimens sometimes, but get no results and get discouraged quickly. I’m not capable of being single- mindedly optimistic. I doubt everything. I question everything. I can’t have faith in any random regimen I read on here. I fear I’ve locked myself in this trap – shut down my system through stress, anxiety, depression, obsession. But that would be even worse, because even in the happy moments over the last year, it’s not like it’s produced any improvement.
It’s torture to think back a couple of years ago. I was in a relationship, I hung out with friends, looked forward to weekends, thought a lot about the future, life was full of possibilities. It’s torture – but if I think back to those days and focus hard enough, pick a particular moment and really concentrate on it, I can almost feel like I’m back there for a second, that I’ll open my eyes and it will be Christmas 2010 and I’ll let out one big sigh of relief and then set out to make and live the life I should be living now. It’s torture to realize I can never do it, but in that brief instant, I find the only pleasure, the only comfort, the only relaxation I feel anymore.
There’s really no point to this post except that it’s Saturday night and I’m home alone and I’m feeling more desperate than really I’ve ever felt before. I just need an outlet. I want to believe the future is bright for us, but my mind keeps telling me: There’s a better chance they’ll figure out time travel before they figure this out. Sorry to be a downer.