Two. Two is not my favorite number but three is. Yesterday I had the lovely misfortune of getting perched on some 5 thousand dollar chair so I could have some dysplasia removed via colposcopy from my cervix. Go team uterus, I uttered, pissed at my body’s inherent ability to fail me over and over and over again. I wish it would stop, not ticking of course, but screwing with my head by messing with its health. Of course, this is even more encouraging given that I cannot have my own kids anyways, and would be forced to abort if for some miraculous reason anything found reason to latch on in there. Of course this would be something I would be morally fixated on, its removal, because the very act of anything sticking to my uterine wall would be nothing short of a miracle..given that I am on an anti-coagulant (to prevent the clotting of blood) and another medication that injures the development of said embryo. This would have to be a future occurrence if anything. But anyways, I really think all of my self-loathing is a result of that, my mind’s flip control over my body, a place I have less control of than I would like to admit. I believe in bio-feedback and think it’s presence is one of the only things to keep me good in conditions where I am not so well inside. The main point is it really is ironic that a person who cannot have kids at all has to have fucking issues with its function inside my body. Like my period and the thing that hurts me the most during 75% of my days alive are completely pointless anyways, because their uses will never be seen.
I grew up with a control freak I was always trying to escape. Someone who aided in my keeping my mouth shut for a majority of my years privately publicly socially. Control freaks like this are dangerous because they have the ability to stamp the lights out of any situation. And kill any good spirit you have left by exploiting it, pulling it out of its shell, stabbing it, then lithely pretending they didn’t stab the fucking thing in the first place. I promise myself I will never let myself get so disillusioned with life that I just give up completely. I took responsibility for less and more than my share. After a while, that questioning of authority figures came from a good understanding and knowledge of who I was as a person. I questioned them because they were wrong. And nothing can ever take that away from me…anyone even pretending that that emotional and physical manipulation formed someone capable of seeing themselves in a position of power.
I wish I could control my body. No similar efforts exhausted into any other direction have proven too bountiful. It’s about me seeing me, understanding me, and picturing myself while simultaneously working my butt off to succeed at my chosen endeavors. And I suppose I somehow have to forgive my body for being a little bitch and not as strong as my mind. It’s as if my body chose to have its story etched on for all to see.
The Tarot Card reader in George Bush National Airport in 1997 said that. Your mother broke your heart, that is why your heart is busted. It’s just hard to say if it’s one or both. I have my adoptive. I have my birth.
February 8, 2005 at 4:03 pm
yea, so today is my birthday but they don’t know/care and then guess who calls me up for some news but my fem doctor and he says lets get you in for a test sometime soon as we see some dysplasia and you need further testing so let’s do a colposcopy … fine, I’m going tomorrow for that torture … because I know if deaa can handle it then so can I! So how is that for timing anyway and what is this @#%&! all about?
anyway, I am sorry for breaking your heart so much, and I feel your pain in some deep essense of my being and know that I must have been the carrier of much more than I’d planned to deliver.
take care beautiful girl ~ you know I will love you for always and forever ~ BB
February 9, 2005 at 3:25 am
Yesterday I had the lovely misfortune of getting perched on some 5 thousand dollar chair so I could have some dysplasia removed via colposcopy from my cervix.
What’s a dysplasia?
and much more importantly: are you ok, Francis? XOXO
February 9, 2005 at 8:40 am
dysplasia
http://my.webmd.com/content/Article/85/98738.htm?pagenumber=3
February 9, 2005 at 4:39 pm
Yes yes yes
My cervix has been shedding unhappiness and wounded flesh, so if you can consider that okay, I guess I am okay.
To Barbara, who unwantingly gave birth to me and was forced to give me up some 28 years ago at the age of 17, I never hated you. Nor do I hold you to some insane standard of blame which would be ridiculous to even imply.
All of this refleshing of my childhood is more of my formal acknowledgement of “it happened” than some horrible torture I put myself through just by restating it.
Because, as I have said so many times before, once you reach the age of accountability and understand it, you cannot continue to hold people as factors responsible in your own singular decision making.
I just wish I was a better daughter. Wish I sent you a birthday card or could pick the phone up to call you. Some of it is still difficult for me, the acceptance, and until I feel completely as if I am safe in assuming that my place in your life is still not the hidden deep secret that it was for 27 years to most people around you will I make myself come out to breathe.
I hide under the blankets in my sleep. Maybe I hide under the blankets of my be.