Teenage is the rainbow period of life, colorful and fleeting. Experiences of adolescence add joy and meaning to growing-up. PCOS stole all fun and frolic from my life. It was PCOS that left me depressed and friendless: I learned this only after having sacrificed my precious 30 years struggling with it.
Despite being robbed of my good looks and bubbly nature, my PCOS remained undiagnosed: Even though I had severe PMS, mood changes, headaches, heavy menstrual flow, and am obviously overweight with unabating acne and facial hair.
All this only because my ovaries do not show cysts of the size and in number that befits the diagnosis of polycystic ovaries, and my menstrual cycles are regular. Instead, I got labeled as a case of prolactin adenoma and schizophrenia, which cowered my parents in fear. Their darling daughter, at the prime of her life, was shattered.
The diagnosis and the treatment shook my confidence. I became a couch potato. The dark shadows of depression engulfed not only me but my entire family. The treatment offered to regress a doubtful micro-prolactinoma and to keep Insulin Resistance at bay had pushed me into a state of proper psychotic. I withdrew from all forms of social interactions. I began to doubt my communication skills. To look good, I started dieting but lapsed into binge eating - don’t know when and how.
Being lonely and friendless, the possibility of a relationship did not arise. But people did not stop matchmaking. When I would retort that I was not interested in sex, I was considered weird and rude. No one even imagined that it was not me, but my messed-up hormones that were speaking.
Yes, my libido dampened, and the idea of having a family gave me creeps. Life felt empty. Nothing seemed worth living with PCOS. The only thing that kept me going was my career aspirations, my determination to succeed, and the unwavering support of my parents.
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