I had started to journal write again- separate from blogging. I could say it was for privacy or something but truly, it’s because I HATE being vulnerable. But that’s what all this is about isn’t it; to cry in wide open spaces, not just the shower. It occurs to me that even the entries I’ve posted here are generally not about me, not really. I haven’t talked about my relationships, my insecurities: I haven’t bared my soul. Well, one of my new year’s resolutions- right next to the everpresent weight loss and just before reading the whole bible ( I’m stil skipping ___ begat _____ begat ____…)- is to open myself. And now that I’ve written it on paper I’m accountable to you all, and myself.
All of this started- ok I can’t even finish that sentence because God knows when I started this but suffice it to say I have very highly developed defense mechanisms. My sister is fervently praying that I shyt my pants in public so that I will be forced into a position where I cannot possibly save face. She thinks, after that, after reaching a point where there is no come back, that I’ll be more comfortable with mistakes, with failure, with embarassments, with myself- open.
I, on the other hand, would rather not shyt my pants ( in public or otherwise) I never even farted in front of my ex of 5 1/2 years. And I’m totally comfortable with bodily functions. I’m about to be a frikin doctor. I rub my hands in anticipation of lancing abcesses. I revel in pushing pus and dead tissue out of almost anywhere. The first time I swabbed cervical discharge doing a pap smear I high-fived my supervising physician. I was the kid who cut off my own toenail when I had a fundal infection. So it’s not my reaction to my own body, or anyone else’s. It’s other people’s reactions I hide from.
Tell me someone that I am not the only one who’s had boys freak out when you ask them to buy tampons and Hello that does not inspire confidence. If you can’t take something perfectly normal that happens every month without pouting or disgust I’m not inclined to tell you that “actually I don’t have a headache, I have a yeast infection”. “I don’t have a random craving for cranberry juice I have a UTI”. Try explaining to anyone that anything ending with infection and starting with vaginal isn’t contagious and is perfectly normal. It’s like explaining a tumor is only benign, or getting a mother to accept that her sick child probably doesn’t need antibiotics: no bueno. ( I’m saying all these examples as things that some people have no problem telling and shyt I’m just gonna keep to my damn self) “So I creep yeah… cuz if [you] knew the things I did [you] couldn’t handle it, so I choose to keep [you] protected, yea…” -TLC style. And I learned that in like, the 3rd grade.
It follows, that if I’m not asking you to rub my belly when I’m cramping, or the mother of all husbandly gestures= massage my lower back, or the grandmother and rub my feet after working all day in pumps with no socks or baby powder, or the grand pooba and kiss me in the morning before brushing my teeth…then I’m light years away from crying in front of you. I’m light years awa from crying in front of anyone who isn’t a) a fatty b) the scarlet triangle c) the immediate family or d) my showerhead. Even pillows leave evidence so you have to flip them over in the morning if you live with anyone.
My freaking out came to a head twice in december, thus prompting the New Years resolution of openness, eating better, going to the gym, me praying for guidance, and Jams praying I shyt myself.
Ha! Did you really think I was going to share said freak out moments with the world? That would be like moving my issues into the past medical history (PMHx) when they are very much still active conditions. I’m moving in baby steps people. Give me Chantix, bring on the methadone. I am NOT a cold turkey kinda gurl. Ok well that’s a lie- I always jump straight into the deep end. I’m basically punking out. Who knows? I might tell you next week, or next month. or maybe Jamilah’s prayers will be answered and I’ll tell you tomorrow.
Here’s to New Year’s resolutions; losing this small infant I’m carrying around, reading my bible, working out, , playing my violin, budgetting aka that which will not be named (TWWNBM), keeping in touch with my friends better, and, apparently, shytting my pants.