My husband is concerned (did I see disgust?) at the changes of my nipples as I lay in bed today. The skin is changing colour. Most women know that is of concern. I have repeatedly ignored the issue. I saw my GP some time ago and she told me it could be a number of things, to eliminate one possibility she gave me a cream. There were also a couple of moles, one on my arm, one on my back – both noted concern but I was not concerned. I was not interested.
I have not been back.
It’s become an issue at home. My husband will bring it up and I’ll shut it down. I’m sure he thinks I’m being awkward or sticking my head in the sand. I’m not.
When i lost control of my mind, literally couldn’t handle my mood swings and lost periods of time, couldn’t control my behaviour, sat mortified when I was told of the things I’d done, was told I’d need to take medication for the rest of my life – I was devastated. I fought it, I denied it, but then I accepted it. I managed it. But at times I’m angry that my mind has let me down. That I’m weak.
Every time I need to see a dr I am angry with myself and terrified. I suffer often with kidney infections because of UTIs because of the brutality of the sexual assaults I was forced to endure.
Every intimate examination brings a new kind of horror for me.
Once all I wanted was to get the IUD fitted, I became so terrified the gynaecologist thought it best I was put under. The lead up was horrific, and when I came around I went straight into a panic attack. The whole thing was awful. It didn’t work anyway, my body spent the next year trying to expel the thing out of me.
I don’t like my body much. I don’t trust it. I don’t like to look in mirrors and I can’t remember the last time I saw myself naked. There is a mirror in the bathroom but I avoid looking at it when I’m going for a shower.
Every month I have my cycle and it causes nightmares and pain and triggers.
I suffer migraines constantly. But I’d never seek alternative therapies. I don’t want to talk about where I feel tensions, I don’t want to be touched. I don’t want anyone getting close to me in any context.
I have been admitted to medical hospitals and I always discharge myself. God forbid they attach me to a drip, I yank it out myself. Mental hospitals I will only stay on the proviso some conditions are met – like being allowed to leave on my terms – my husband is good for negotiations on my behalf and I always have my cell.
I have had to survive so many things. And I’ve been let down so many times. I’ve been on my own so many times. I’ve been beaten and abused and people have stood by and done nothing.
I fear being vulnerable and I fear being exposed in every context.
So when I feel pressured to get something checked out, my protective instinct kicks in. I won’t be pushed, bullied, made to feel like I need to expose a part of myself.
I realise that it is well intentioned.
But I will only do things in my time. And there are some things I faced and have done despite its enormous impact. Cervical smears to name but one. But that’s in my time, my space.
I hate my body. I hate what has been done to me. I hate what’s been taken from me.
I hate that things must be so difficult.
I just feel in a place where no one understands, where the damage can never be undone.
Who cares about my fucking nipples? My whole body is WRONG