This has been a hell of a week, great searches and lots of reflective moments. Before we delve into the funny, indulge “Thy x 4” for a few moments, please.
You might not like the stock you’re made of. I don’t. I used to. Before I got Graves’ disease and Graves’ Opthalmopathy and learned that within the loins of my predecessors, effervescently skipping generations, travels this heinous, unforgiving, exorbitantly overpriced disease.
When I sit for a moment and feel a scrap of gratitude for not infiltrating a teeny corner I can claim as my own, I realize that I am wrong. Without forewarning, like a rattlesnake, Graves’ slithers in and wraps itself around my neck or snaps its fangs, piercing through my skin, choking the life out of me, emotionally, financially and physically.
I hate, abhor and loathe this disease with every ounce of my being.
Pre-zease, I had an enviable vocabulary. Post-zease, if I can’t remember, even a simple adjective, the surprise rattles my brain into thymentia. Recalling a conversation or something I did, or said, is scandalicious, to the point of obsessing that I fucking actually recalled anything. Most days, it seems like my once formerly sharp, quick mind, is now mental porridge, incendiary prey for my; thyroid?!
Pre-zease, I had a kick ass, healthy sex drive. Okay, I was a slut. Slut, as I define it for me personally, is a feminist empowered by her sexuality and expressing that sexuality as she sees fit. Free of judging herself for the choices that she makes when in bed with (in my case) a man. She, me, was a whore. Whore and slut do not equate to quantity of sex partners, even if they did, that would be just fine in my book. In fact, I haven’t fucked half as many men as I wish I would have. I guess I’m really talking about a state of mind, fearlessness in one’s approach to sexual pleasure with their partner or independently. You feel me?
Post-zease, should I attempt to masturbate with a power tool (forget hands, they’ll whack any hope of reaching an orgasm), I can’t even concentrate long enough to spin a tempting sexual fantasy. In the off chance I do, I lose my train of thought so quickly; I forget that I’m trying to get myself off. Should I be lucky enough to achieve an actual orgasm, the majority of them fall flatter than a John getting his ass kicked by the pimp who stiffed his hooker. These days, I’m lucky if I can reach a sordagasm. Not to mention the fact that my sex drive is MIA. I think I was on a James Bond mission to find it, but I can’t remember.
Post-zease, being severely single, there is no way I would allow a man to come within 5-feet of my down there. As we’ve discussed (if you click, scroll down), the gift of Graves’ made my lady parts and inner thighs the color of chewing tobacco. I’m not a fortune teller, but if I were to speculate, I’d say that I’m looking at a bleak fuck-free-future.
You see, for me, this disease stole whatever self-esteem I had. Maybe it’s because of what it did to me physically, or mentally, or both, I don’t know. Interestingly enough, it’s the only thing I can’t seem to forget.
, This week’s searches were so WTF, a few left me, me speechless. Can you believe it?
- Can thyroid return to normal coffee: Thycanabilarella, are you spiking your blend with a butterfly gland that you scored on the black market? Question, do you percolate, or use a French Press? Just curious.
- Thyloset at drugs.com: Hey, this kicks tits, we created the word thyloset and someone searched for it on Drugs.com. I checked and they don’t have it in stock. Just an FYI, a “Thyloset” is a made up word, thyroid + closet = Thyloset, usually assigned the task of dragging one’s ass out of said “ThylosetÃ¢â‚¬. On an up note, you are more than welcome to use Dear Thyroid as a vehicle to do just that. Don’t be shy. Spill. ,
- Baking pinup: Okay, creeparella, you want to bake pin-up girls? It’s time for someone to go to, oh, I don’t know, to therapy, or prison. (Yes, I know I go from zero to 60 in seconds. We all know Katie skews dramatic. This is news?!)
- Graves eye disease scares the crap out of me: Honey, who you telling. My lady balls are so jacked from Graves’ Opthalmopathy, I want to crawl under the covers and hide. You’ll be happy to know, sick as this sounds, many Graves’ O patients feel the same way and have the same fears. Hang out on Dear Thyroid and meet a few other Graves’ girls and boys. Also, visit one of our favorite Graves’ eye disease blogs, Eyesee.
- Fat free thyroid: That’s an oxymoron, right?
- Every time I talk I feel like my brain is disintegrating Ã¢â‚¬” I see you’ve been inducted into the “Jacked Thyroid Club. Welcome aboard. Fear not, it gets worse. If you’re brain fog doesn’t drive you mad, you’re forgetfulness will. Even better, no matter what you do, you’ll always feel thytarded. This will be reinforced in a number of ways, losing your keys, leaving your keys in the freezer and asking the same question over and over and over again until you want to spit twice and die.
- Foods that go straight to the ass: For those of us with fucked thyroids, this would also include air.
- Bitchcraft: Fortunately, this applies to both sexes and is a byproduct of being Hyperthyroid and, or Hypothyroid. Yay.
- Thyroid granola: Thycanbilarella, I have decided that you should bypass therapy and check yourself into the nearest mental institution.
- Bad ass dessert recipes: Are you reading Liz’s column, How To Kick Your Thyroid’s Ass? If you’re not, you should. You’ll find some serious bad ass recipes. WORD.
- Structure of people with thyroid: What the fuck?! Like human beings, which we are, we come in all different colors, shapes and sizes, and socioeconomic backgrounds. , Thyroid disease and thyroid cancer doesn’t discriminate. If you’d like to discuss this further, BRING IT THE FUCK ON.
- Thyroids humiliate:I am putting this one out to our Dear Thyroid readers. Much like the first contest, submit your responses in comments. We’ll post them in a week and everyone will vote. The winner will receive a Dear Thyroid T-shirt!
Fan/Join the conversation at Save Natural Thyroid and get involved. Whether you take Natural Thyroid or not, we must ensure that thyroid patients who do, both present and future, receive this medication.
Our latest thyfella, Martin Bosworth has written another post that’s well worth the read “Is Stress Really Bullshit“. Anyone who opens with an infomercial wins my lady balls from beginning to end, a great read, to be sure.
If you haven’t downloaded our first Tales From Thyietnam podcast with Ms. Mary Shomon, please check it out. We’d love to know what you think.
Tags: Dear Thyroid, Dear Thyroid Search Results, graves opthalmopathy, graves' disease, Marco Thylo, Thyroid disease support, thyroid disease symptoms, thyroid humor, win a Dear Thyroid T-shirt contest