- Joined
- Nov 22, 2012
- Messages
- 76
I have PSC and I've known for a couple of months now. Basically, about a decade from now my liver's gonna be pooped. If I'm lucky enough to get a transplant, I'll be lucky to get another decade out of it.
I'm finding it harder and harder and ever harder to fucking deal with it and I can't vent to anyone about this because nobody else knows about this. I don't even know what to say to you guys, just rage posting. Beats punching a wall.
I though I was okay with it at first... shorter life span. So what, right? Life's not a contest to see who can live the longest, I told myself as long as I packed those years full of living life to the limit then the chronology of it would mean balls all.
Slowly coming to realise I simply can't. Most of it's monetary; I want to see places and do things but I just can't afford to. I'll never be able to. It'll take years of saving up just to spend a year traveling and exploring.
But I'll also never be able to get myself into a relationship out of guilt. I can't bring myself to misrepresent myself as someone who's going to be there as long as they will, but neither will I walk around with a shirt telling everyone my life's story. Who the hell's going to want someone who probably won't be there in their forties? Not to mention someone who'll refuse to damn a child with their probably faulty genes?
Then there's the feeling of uselessness... wasted potential. I wasted away so much of my time at school as a kid when I was always being told I had all I needed to contribute back to the world but I just never did anything. My life's a story of short-lived ideas and abandoned projects. It's a sodding cliche, but I can't go as silently as I arrived.
I'm finding it harder and harder and ever harder to fucking deal with it and I can't vent to anyone about this because nobody else knows about this. I don't even know what to say to you guys, just rage posting. Beats punching a wall.
I though I was okay with it at first... shorter life span. So what, right? Life's not a contest to see who can live the longest, I told myself as long as I packed those years full of living life to the limit then the chronology of it would mean balls all.
Slowly coming to realise I simply can't. Most of it's monetary; I want to see places and do things but I just can't afford to. I'll never be able to. It'll take years of saving up just to spend a year traveling and exploring.
But I'll also never be able to get myself into a relationship out of guilt. I can't bring myself to misrepresent myself as someone who's going to be there as long as they will, but neither will I walk around with a shirt telling everyone my life's story. Who the hell's going to want someone who probably won't be there in their forties? Not to mention someone who'll refuse to damn a child with their probably faulty genes?
Then there's the feeling of uselessness... wasted potential. I wasted away so much of my time at school as a kid when I was always being told I had all I needed to contribute back to the world but I just never did anything. My life's a story of short-lived ideas and abandoned projects. It's a sodding cliche, but I can't go as silently as I arrived.