When I think critically about why I decided to visit the doctors a few years ago, if I really am honest with myself, I realize I was seeking sympathy more then a cure. That’s not to say I wasn’t looking for a solution. I just wanted someone to reassure me that I would be okay and tell me there was some sort of several-step program that could “fix” my body effortlessly. This was not the case (could you guess?).
health
I was invisible, but I am not that girl anymore
I have to write once more for this blog for my grade. I’m highly motivated by grades, so despite feeling as though I have nothing to say, here I am, typing. I thought maybe I’d write about how we adjust to our unique bodily abnormalities (I don’t love this word, but I’m at a loss for another). I thought about sharing my husband’s experience of processing the bodies of fallen soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan, the forced emotional detachment he took on as body after body found its way on a table before him, waiting to be readied to head home in a plain wooden box, back to the states and no doubt a family that would never recover their loss. I thought about sharing the moment my friend, whose son died an hour after birth, told me she can’t bear to hold sleeping babies because it feels too much like holding a dead baby, and how that statement, so matter-of-fact for her, knocked the wind out of me and ripped a hole in my heart for her, right beside the one that grew as her belly swelled with the baby we both knew wouldn’t survive. Somehow, none of these felt like things I wanted to share. And as I stared at the screen, thinking, “I have nothing to say,” I recalled (with the help of some online diary entries) a time in my life when I had the reverse problem: so, so much to say, and no one to listen. And I knew. Despite how very little (very, very little) I want to share this story about myself, I need to. I owe it to my own slow recovery, the future of my children, and the potential readers who’ve maybe been here too. So, here we go.
*Deep breath* *Deep breath*
I don’t generally ascribe labels to myself (they are relentlessly negative), but most people who know feel comfortable placing “emotional” over my picture. It’s a fair assessment. As long as I can remember, I’ve been an emotional girl/woman. I cry a lot, sometimes for justified reasons (see above), sometimes because I’m easily overwhelmed by emotions. I hurt a lot, and for me, emotional pain is easily manifested physically. In times I’ve had my heart broken, I have felt an ache in my chest that made it hard to breathe. It is this essential truth about me that led me down the path of self-injury. And this truth that kept me under its weight for over 10 years. If you need a trigger warning, consider yourself warned. There won’t be images, but this will probably hurt. Continue reading
Peace?
(Possible trigger warning for rape subject/sexual assault)
Over the past few years I’ve been toying with the idea of joining the Peace Corps. So far I’ve received mixed reviews on whether or not it’s the right thing to do. Some say it’s a government funded semester abroad-a vacation for privileged white kids to fulfill whatever fascination or desire they have to dig wells and live in poverty for 27 months. Continue reading
My Headaches.
I get really bad headaches. Constant, enduring, painful headaches. Continue reading
Your Body Is A Wonderland
It’s the end of term and I’m doing a lot of reflection essays and papers and responses.
So I’m going to use this time to take a break from doing formal reflections and I’m going to informally look back on the body and the assignment and put my thought stream into a post (thought streams are actually really interesting, when you think about it). It’s going to be disjointed and fairly random, but that’s my mind for you.
Fair warning.
Trust your body
About a month ago I went to visit my Doctor for the first time in about 5 years. I found after a certain age my primary physician was replaced by my gynecologist.
In general I think I’m healthy other than once a year getting the common cold or flu. Since the beginning of this semester I hadn’t been feeling my normal self. I had been suffering from stomachaches constantly, feeling exhausted even after a full night rest and suffering from headaches daily.
A Thanksgiving Reflection.
Not too long ago, I became extremely aware of the food I put into my body. This isn’t to say I started a diet, or that I am eating healthier as a result of this awareness — or that my eating habits have changed at all. But maybe a year ago, I realized that I eat animals and other things that come from their bodies, and it started to make me sick.
shield your eyes
Someone told me once that lighter colored eyes–the blues and greens and greys–are more sensitive to the sun than darker eyes, and the reason for this is the way that irises scatter and transmit light into the retina. For me, stepping out into the sun each day is so rough. I groan and gripe to myself every morning while attempting to shield my eyes until they’ve adjusted to what always seems like the most brutal brightness. Continue reading
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
Come along friends and allow me to tell you about the time that my body was invaded by an alien…
(No aliens have been harmed in the making of this post)
Save Your Tits
Earlier this week, my boyfriend sent me a link to an article about boobies!
Unruly Bodies 