Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….

HIS NAME IS DR FEELGOOD IN THE MORNING

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OK <deep breath>, this is where I stop skirting around the subject and get down to brass tacks.

I think, well, I know I’m going through the menopause.

(Men you are permitted to leg it if this is all too much for you.)

I’m not sure what the stages are, I know it starts with peri, then you’re then smack bang in the middle of it, and you’re only done when your periods totally stop.

Mine haven’t yet. That said, I went on HRT the minute I thought it was happening, so I haven’t had that much in the way of hot flushes (flashes?) or night sweats, mood swings are par for the course for me, as for vaginal dryness I haven’t test driven her for a couple of years so not sure really, but I don’t think so….

There’s a well know adage that says ‘move it or lose it’, well clearly I haven’t moved it enough because I went into this quite young, and now I’m being deprived of something that has been seriously important to me all of my adult life.

So what’s actually bugging me apart from the pending loss of my periods, which have incidentally been the bane of my life?

Well, apart from the message from the gods to tell me that I might as well kiss my sexual attractiveness to men goodbye (for what its worth), along with my waistline, skin quality and libido, my orgasms are, well, fucked.

One minute they were still earth shattering, the next, barely worth the bother.  From a bang to a whimper.  A massive earth shattering expulsion to a tiny mouse like nearly-sneeze, you know, one of those ones that is all ‘Ah-ah-ah-ah…’ and no ‘Tishoooo!’.

No one tells us about this part, do they ladies?

This was and is a big deal; whilst I don’t date that much and I haven’t had a lasting relationship for a number of years, I do masturbate, I’m very good at it, and it was very good for me.

Concerned, I went to see my gynaecologist who hummed and haa-ed and eventually came up with ‘Well sometimes that’s what happens, it’s part of life.’

WHAT?  I was incensed.

‘Would you say that to me if I was a man?! Would you forgo yours just because ‘it’s part of life?’’

He swallowed and fiddled with his specs, clearly flustered.

‘Would you say that to your wife?  Or is it not a problem to her?’

Clearly stung by my implication that his missus didn’t get off, he just upped my progesterone prescription and wished me luck.  Twat.

I went back to my GP decrying this misogynistic quack, and she, equally outraged, sent me to a new one, whom I saw for the first time (oh the irony) on Valentines Day morning.

Whilst I suppose a lot of women might be intimidated about talking about the quality of their climax with strange men, I went in feisty, belligerent and determined to be taken seriously, but I did not have to worry; Dr FG was a very different fish indeed.

Rather suave and dapper with a little smile ever hovering around his lips, Dr FG had the air of someone who held a woman’s gratification in the palm of his hand like a glowing little pearl that he may or may not hand over to you.

‘You do know that your anti depressants are likely to be having an adverse effect on your libido don’t you?’

‘Ye-es, but this isn’t my libido, this is what happens or rather doesn’t happen when I actually masturbate.’

‘So, what happens when you try?’

‘Well…it’s like being on an ancient roller coaster creaking to the top of it, then the car breaks down, you’re stuck, agitated and disappointed, and you wish you’d gone on the big wheel instead.’

He smiled a world weary smile of a man that has heard far too many ‘women’s problems’ jokes, then took out a box and handed me a small tube.

‘I suspect your testosterone levels are low, so let’s put you on this for a while and see what happens  I’ll write you a prescription.’

Testosterone?  I look at the instructions and read aloud ‘Apply one tube daily’.

‘Ignore that; this isn’t normally prescribed to women so they are the instructions for a man.’

Huh?  What am I, a fucking guinea pig?

‘You just need to apply a pea sized blob every day and one tube should last you a week.’

I try to sound casual ‘So this is the, erm, only solution?’

Dr FG breaks out his best reassuring, urbane smile, and tilts his head ‘What is it that concerns you Ms Sertraline?’

Facial hair.

‘Erm, are there any side effects?’

A big, sticky out Adams apple.

‘There shouldn’t be as long as you use the prescribed dose, but any that materialise are totally reversible.’

A huge clitoris like those steroid fuelled female bodybuilders get.

‘OK, I’ll, well I’ll give it a go!’

He smiled and shook my hand, holding it a couple of seconds too long, leaving me in no doubt that Mrs FG undoubtably gets off as regular as clockwork.

So that is that, I have to apply this stuff every day and risk ending up looking like a pre-op trannie, and for what? Vanity?  Sex appeal?  Physical gratification?

Whilst I would never admit this to anyone in real life, I think it’s about hope.

Because right now I feel like a battered little rowing boat stranded out in the middle of the lake, trying to ignore God on the megaphone shouting ‘Come in No. 6, your time is up!’ because I’ve blown all my chances of a happy loving relationship he has given me so I need to come back to shore and hang up my oars so to speak.  Any sexual powers I ever had are rapidly diminishing, the market is narrowing and I still haven’t met someone with whom I can share my life.

I know I’m being a bit hypocritical here as the whole premise of my doing this is to rise like said Phoenix from the ashes of my old life and embrace and develop the new, but in reality the thought of losing my womanhood makes me feel like a wizened old air dried duck.

Questions fill my head at night; will I ever snog anyone again? Will anyone need me again?  Will I ever have sex again without the aid of lube?

That said, a friend wanted to fix me up with a friend of her lover (who demands and gets sex from her up to five times a day) and instead of jumping at it, or at least being open to it, I was horrified!  What if he’s like U (her man) and paws at me morning, noon and night like a whining toddler?

I know, I know, I’m very, very confused…..

I know being single isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I know I’ll never be a mum now, and I’m OK with that but I don’t want to be on my death bed not having had another significant love in my life thinking ‘Was that it? What was it all for?’

I have so much love inside I just need someone to give it to in some way, shape or form.  But I guess I need to fix myself before releasing it upon an unsuspecting world.

In the meantime, I’ll keep you posted on my man juice medication and the hopefully imminent return of my mojo.

Look out world, ‘cos one day this is gonna blow…..

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