On The Illusion of Epiphanies

I have this recurring pain in my right leg. Electric jolts of nerve pain shoot back and forth between my lower back and the arch of my foot and my knees will buckle beneath me. It's really, really, awful.

For a long time I thought the pain might be the symptom of a tumor. I tried really hard not to breathe life into that fear, but still it burrowed deep in my brain. When I found a lump in the back of my leg, I freaked the hell out until Ian finally made me an appointment to get it checked out. I was both terrified and hopeful that my doctor would find something. Terrified because, OMG tumor. Please, please, don't let it be a tumor. Hopeful because please, please, let there be some reason for all of this pain.

So This Is Depression

Oh man, I wish it was just sadness.

I mean, there is sadness, but it's not just sadness. It is ache, but it's not just ache. It is restlessness and anxiousness and lack of appetite and fatigue and pain. Everywhere, everything, pain.

It just hurts right now, to be awake. It feels like sickness. Like influenza, only not.

I have no fever, no cough, no running nose. No mucous to expel as a sign of my sickness. No proof of what's going on inside of me.

Milestones, Etc

Originally posted to Livejournal February 1, 2010

Dear Christopher Robin,

I know that you probably wouldn't have been born on your due date even if I had carried you to term, but it didn't make Saturday any easier. Your dad was home from Dallas this weekend, which made it a lot more bearable, but that's only saying so much.

It's Such A Bummer About Body Hair

"If you don't shave your armpits," she beamed, "it gets all wavy like a man's."

We all turned to the back of the room and laughed at the strangeness of our classmate's statement. We'd been getting A Talk about personal hygiene - specifically, how to not smell awful after our eighth grade PE class. Mrs. Loo had just finished extolling the virtues of baby powder.

There Will Be No More Babies

She seemed to be looking for something, as we stomped our way to the park. She'd pound her red-headed hammer against a telephone pole or a rock (don't bam bam the tree, sweet girl, it's alive) then peer into the grass; the rustling branches of a rosemary bush.

"What do you see?" I asked.
Instead of answering, she muttered into her dirt covered hand.

For a really, really long time I felt like the ugliest person ever to walk the Earth. Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration, but only by a little.

I felt...ugly. Like a ridiculous blob. I felt as if every photograph of me had the insidious determination of cataloging weight gain and skin blemishes. Whenever a camera came out, I hid behind my hands or pulled a ridiculous face. Anything, I thought, would be better than displaying the atrocity that was my double chin.

And so, for a few years, all evidence of me disappeared.

A friend of mine recently had a baby. Okay, so she didn't just have a baby. She had the most bad-ass, hippy crunchy Earth mother birth experience and is rightfully buzzing with joy and empowerment. I am so happy for her. Like, elated. I think. Actually, I don't know. It's hard to tell because I am too busy feeling so pathetically sorry for myself.

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