Metformin and PCOS: Taking the Plunge... with Googly Eyes

"It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all." -- J.K. Rowling

I've been on every diet, I think. Every way of eating, or not eating, or thinking... or approaching. I've had the most success with intuitive eating, and with mindful control of carbohydrates, or lowered carbohydrate eating... and I stick to that.

People will say do this, do that, do the other... you're not doing it right, you ought to do x, y, and z... (while they ought to shut their pie holes.)

I've been on the chicken and lettuce diet, the LA diet, the beat juice diet, the LA Juice Fast diet... The 700 calorie a day, 36 grams of carbohydrate starvation diet... Weight Watchers, Doctor's Weight Loss, etc, etc...

You name it.

But with intuitive eating, and lower carb eating, I've lost the most weight and kept the most weight off long term -- AND, been happy.

Time passes by, however... and not in vain. I'm no longer 15.

Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome is taking it's toll on me, and while I've fought hard... with exercise, lowered carbs, birth control, and supplements for 20 YEARS.... I am now ready to admit that I need some help with it, and start a regular course of Metformin on top of my birth control regimen, and my Inositol.

A lot of people might see this as some sort of failure, or disappointment, but it's not. It's just a next step in management -- and in GOOD health. And my blood glucose numbers are fine, actually... But the hair that keeps camping on my face (while leaving my head), the continuous acne, darkening Acanthosis Nigricans around my neck, and the weight I've been putting on are NOT. I have MORE than paid my dues... and I'm quite happy to accept some help so that I don't spend more hours than I need to plucking hair. >:S

I don't feel bad about this decision; I actually feel quite relieved... I feel like maybe my ovaries won't get crushed under this weight, and I might have a chance (not that I want to, right now) to have a brat or two, one day. Who knows.

Or... maybe I might find a man who loves me and gets to see me while I actually still look like a woman -- and not, you know... like Homer Simpson. (Though there might be men out there who like the Homer Simpson look... Again, who knows.)

In any case, I am officially on Met... and no, my goal is not to get off of it, somehow. I will likely never get off of it. Even if my blood sugars are perfect; even if I weigh a 100 lbs. PCOS is a vicious disease... And in these 20 years, I've been so many different weights, it's not even funny. 170, 128, 190, 142, 248, 170... I know it's not going to go away, magically, with the next Dr. Douchebag's Book of Eat Green Raw Crap From the Ground, and Cure All Your Ailments with Monkey Poop.

So... why not do the NEXT best thing? Yes, I know you know...
PUT GOOGLY EYES ON THAT BIG ASS BOTTLE OF METFORMIN.

One should always put googly eyes on things one is hesitant to trust 

Take that, bitch. Ain't no one gonna make me feel like I'm downing horse pills. lol I will laugh at you... every time I see you. xD Bwahahahahahahaha.

What's in your pill and supplement arsenal? I'll show you mine, if you show me yours...

I Should Not Have Eaten SO MANY Carbs

The room is dark... though a few sprays of light come in through the windows; beams from the outdoor lamp posts invading my thoughts. The evening's navy watercolors wash the walls, and windows... and the sounds that would normally lull me to sleep, now keep me awake. The man's heavy breathing, the cat's snoring, the whistling of the wind through the glass panes, the neighbors upstairs finishing up whatever toiletry rituals.

The bed feels lumpy, unusually so, and I toss and turn. I toss on my left side, and I feel the burn shoot through my esophagus, damned acid reflux that never plays nice. I have to, somehow, find a way to straighten my arms, uncurl the wrists, unclutch the comforter. I never liked my thoughts, much, at this hour... Much like the acid reflux, they just never play nice. Irrational foreign invaders, like quixotic windmills, in my mind. I am scared, I admit. I am tired, and I'm scared.

I haven't exactly been taking the greatest care of myself, over the last month or so. Why can't I just find the will, the strength, and just keep going? Be perfect all the time? Why can't I just pick up, and do what mostly no other person (without a chronic illness) really does (but claims they do), and save my life? I see them eating crap all the time -- those skinny goody two shoes... I see them there. Living the chronic free life. Chronic. You'd think I was talking about pot. Save my life. I shouldn't have eaten so many carbs. I think of my dad. I think of kidneys. Gosh, I think I can feel my kidneys. Proteins, flushing, overpowering, disempowering. Would I even be able to know if there was something wrong with my kidneys? No. Not really. Not without insurance... though perhaps, though, through the Free Clinic.

But not my ovaries. No one cares about my ovaries. Ovaries are "luxuries." I think about what state mine must be in. My thoughts race, and travel, and warp, and twist... Planned Parenthood can't do anything about my ovaries... I think about women losing ovaries to cysts. Why the hell me? What the hell was so special about ME, in my family, that I had to be the one born with the woman-changing-into-a-man-disease. THIS IS SHIT. I think about that stupid woman from an old job... that woman who must've weighed about 400 lbs, yet she had no disease. No disease, but the obesity, of course. I don't blame her, one bit... I am jealous, I have to admit... But she'd sit there, and ask me dumb things. She'd ask me "Why is your scalp all shiny under the lights? It's so shiny!," and she'd giggle... Sigh... how the hell do you tell someone "Bitch, I am losing my hair, can't you get some manners, tact, and a sense of self??" I don't want to lose my hair... I don't. I am NOT my hair. Hair. I have waaaaaay too much facial hair. Goddamned PCOS. I am tired of plucking away the hair... I can't handle waxing, can't afford electrolysis, much less laser hair removal... So pluck, pluck, I must... What to do about all this crappy hair??? Every day... I am more and more a shadow of who I used to be... a woman with no hair on her head, and all the hair on her face. I constantly forget to take my medicine. Stupid Hypothyroidism, stupid PCOS. I. should. not. have. eaten. so. many. carbs.

I must toss onto my right side. I wonder if I'm losing my mind; a person without a proper job... ends up losing their mind. My back hurts, my breathing is hard. Anxiety builds, and I think about my current job. One to two days a week... Unloading trucks. I start to cry. I don't want a job, I tell myself. Employers are mean people, they persecute you, people want to run you over for their own fortune. Still, I must get a better job, another job, some kind of job... I wonder if I can have a job just ranting and raving craziness, like I do now... I think not. Those are reserved for people with more glamorous, yet crappier diseases. Diseases where people aren't to blame for their crap. There are crappier diseases? I don't know... I think about the new yogurt place, downtown. All the same yogurt, all a different flavor, all the same stuff. All the same crap.

Stuff. Too much overwhelming stuff. If I fall asleep, for just long enough, I can forget about some of this stuff. I can put depression back inside that box, and busy myself with life... but just for long enough.

I should not. have eaten. SO MANY CARBS.

Carbs, by basalt