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It’s midmorning on a Thursday and I’m wishing for death. Not in the “kill me now, this year won’t end” type of way. I want to fling myself off a high bridge to ensure that, when I hit the ground, my innards will splatter and I’ll die instantly.
I wish I could crawl into a retail shop and buy a shotgun like the Americans do, write a letter so my loved ones don’t blame themselves for my demise and then paint the ceiling with my brains.
I want my death to be quick and painless. At least then I wouldn’t suffer the pain of endometriosis ever again.
Millions of women and girls suffer “severe, life-affecting pain during periods, sexual intercourse, bowel movements and/or urination; chronic pelvic pain; abdominal bloating; nausea; fatigue; and, sometimes, depression, anxiety and infertility”.
For a while I felt empowered. I knew why I was in agony, why for three days every month I could barely function. That is 36 days in a year that I spend in excruciating pain.
It’s a month and some change. There are days during which I am still expected to meet my work deadlines. Women leaders with endometriosis must still steer their organisational machinery and girls must still show up for school. Motherhood and other life commitments do not halt so that you have time to climb into bed and heal.
You grit your teeth, pop a pill and forge ahead.
My suicidal ideation may come off as callous, but the sweet, sweet promise of a quick death is enticing when one considers that the condition is chronic and a repeat performance is guaranteed – month after month after month.
In the moment, the brain narrows down your focus to that dark promise of perpetual suffering.
READ: Obesity linked to higher risk of female reproductive disorders
The feeling of empowerment from my diagnosis didn’t last long. See, I now know why my body is actively trying to murder me, but I just can’t stop it.
There is no cure, only pain management for as long as I am not pregnant or menopausal. I am 27 years old. Conservative estimates put menopause at age 45. That’s 18 more years of pain; 684 days during which I will fantasize about dying as a way out.
READ: Infertility in South Africa | A Parent24 Series
My plea to doctors, scientists and researchers is that we need innovative breakthroughs to help us tackle this excruciating pain. We need life-altering innovation fast to deal with endometriosis, uterine fibroids, polycystic ovary syndrome and other reproductive disorders that leave women like me barely able to function each month.
