Beware the ides of march and weeping MDs.

On march 23rd, I’m taking myself to be sterilized: I literally couldn’t be more excited about this, but I’m also bloody terrified because like most invasive surgeries, it means I’ll be put under. That fear is a small price to pay for not being made bat-shit nuts by hormonal birth control. It feels liberating to make that choice with minimal interference. Yesterday, I had an appointment with my GP to follow-up on blood work: It’s clear that I’d been previously misdiagnosed, which can happen when you have no insurance for all of your twenties and move all the time, leaving you with a broken chain of sporadic doctor visits for separate but inter-connected issues. That’s a clear perk of the American medical system, friendos. When I get to the office, She, a woman in her mid-to-late forties with a beautiful and grainy russian voice not trimmed by her 20 years in the US, (I know this because she gave me way more information about her than I wanted) tells my I don’t have RA, and long story short, have fibromyalgia. I have an MRI scheduled to rule out fractures in my spine, a possible result of my less-than-idyllic childhood. Here’s where think start to feel heavy and uncomfortable. She asks why No-one has done imaging of my spine. I tell her that I’ve spent ten years with no insurance. She asks why I had back pain as a child, and I briefly explain it was very abusive. I do this with my face made of stone, my tone the tone of someone who is used to this conversation and begging to have this over with. She begins to blubber. I know doctors have feelings, but this isn’t the first one who’s cried, and I am uncomfortable being put in a position to think about comforting someone whom I am paying for the time of. That horrible phase of my life, my childhood,has long passed. I left home more than 15 years ago. I rarely cried then, and I don’t often now. I don’t have the time. After what feels like 30 minutes of stilted convo about how badly women are treated and the #metoo movement, we move on to talking about my upcoming Tubal Ligation. She begs my rapidly angry-growing self to “think about it”. What if I realize I’ve mad a mistake after? Is this because of my childhood? I assure her that I have never wanted children. My life-plan involves travel and unencumbered fucking of the man I married for as long as possible without the risk of accidental procreation. She prescribes drugs. the conversation ends.

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It wasn’t until 3 hours later , sitting in my car after running a million errands and realizing how little goddamn time I have in a day, that I began crying out of frustration. Frustration at the American Medical System, at misdiagnosed illness, at the diagnosis itself, and most of all, another persons patronising gall . Frustration at how little time we have for life as adults, and how doctors visits eat up that precious time.

I have “thought about it”. I’m looking forward to not thinking about it. So, on march 23rd, I’m looking forward to starting the first day of the rest of my life unencumbered by the idea of childbirth and pregnancy. So save your tears, Doctor What’syerface, do your job, take my money, and STFU.

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Me too. 

Two days ago when so many people stood up and said “Me, too” on Facebook, I was one of them. And then 2 hours later I took that post down. The reason I took it down is because on some level I still feel some shame or some confusion regarding some  of the things that have happened to me. So instead of explaining  that shit anymore I’m going to say this.

I believe You. 

It doesn’t matter  what the circumstances were, I don’t care if you should have been more sober. I don’t care if you weren’t as in control of yourself as you wish you had been. I don’t care if you were a sex worker and you couldn’t talk to anybody else about it at the time, and you’re still confused about it. It doesn’t matter  the circumstances were that led to your sexual assault(s). 

Me. Too. I believe you and I love you. 

Fuck nuance, fuck what you should have done differently, It shouldn’t have happened, and I believe you.

Go write your message in the pavement

It’s taken me a while to come to terms with or even understand in any real way, who and what I am as a person. In the scant years that have passed since I’ve figured myself out, I’ve tried to be honest with the world about my being, to varying levels of success.

My background and my early personhood doesn’t lend itself to total revelation because it sits outside “the way things are usually done”, and tends to weird people out.  It was weird. We’ll leave it there. It’s also not really something I enjoy talking about and frankly, unimportant , other than how it informed me as a person. I could’ve been  far worse off, given what I had to work with and I’ve crafted myself into an attempt at a good person so that’s what ultimately matters.

The past few months I’ve been  low-key navel gazing and have decided to out myself in regards to a few things.

I’m gender-fluid. After years of trying to make excuses for the ways I feel/live/experience my existence, *I’m okay with saying that. I fluctuate day to day as far as the masculine and feminine go.  (I’m not going to  even get started on gendered language, gender in media or social enforcement of gender here, but trust, I have opinions, specifically that the gender binary is outmoded )The way I choose to perform my genders changes. I’m not going to throw a label at anything, because it feels unimportant to me. I’m two souls in one physical body. That’s the truth I know and have known since childhood. I don’t feel much need to look to die on the hilltop of forcing people to understand me right now and the world has more important things to think about than my definition. You can interpret me and how I appear to you in any way you like,That’s my superpower. People see in me what they need to see and I roll with it. #yolo.

I believe in something. I’m actively spiritual and I’ll call myself pagan with a little “p” for the lack of a better-fitted word. I’m also fascinated by transhumanism, but I’ll save that for another conversation. I was furious at the idea/construct of the Judeo-Christian god. That religious construct wrecked my mother, and therefore my early life. I called myself an Atheist for a long time, but what I really am is a person who believes that people created gods because we needed them, maybe some of them created all of us or some of us, and we have no fucking clue. I believe in universal consciousness, astral projection and that people have more power inside them than most acknowledge , and I believe in the reach of science soon explaining all that and de-mystifying it. It’s our lack of understanding that makes things mystical. We live in a time where science and tech are peeling away so much mystery and I’m so thrilled about that, aren’t you? FUCK YES YOU ARE.

 Religion is a tool of the oppressors.  The largest global religions are used by whoever’s power to oppress. I believe in your right to all the gods you need or don’t need to pray to to fill your life with meaning, joy and peace. I fucking hate religions and dogma and narrow-minded thought.

My own practice is my my business, so are the gods I send prayers out to. You do you. I’ll do this.

I believe in using what you want to free your mind, because it’s you goddamned mind. I believe I have a lot of beliefs and opinions jammed into my logical brain and I’ve not sorted everything I know out yet.

I Love You. Whoever you are in this moment, whatever you are, I love YOU. Close your eyes, and feel it.

 

*

I’ve said this in a handful of ways , for many years., but always sort of skirted around really saying it.

no, my husband isn’t weirded out by my gender stuff. Thanks for your concern.