A Surprisingly Sane Blog

I’m gonna do that cheesy thing where I copy and paste the song lyrics stuck in my head for all my readers to pretend to skim through.

“Every Day Is Exactly The Same” by Nine Inch Nails

I believe I can see the future
Cause I repeat the same routine
I think I used to have a purpose
But then again
That might have been a dream
I think I used to have a voice
Now I never make a sound
I just do what I’ve been told
I really don’t want them to come around

Oh, no

[Chorus:]
Every day is exactly the same
Every day is exactly the same
There is no love here and there is no pain
Every day is exactly the same

I can feel their eyes are watching
In case I lose myself again
Sometimes I think I’m happy here
Sometimes, yet I still pretend
I can’t remember how this got started
But I can tell you exactly how it will end

[Chorus]

I’m writing on a little piece of paper
I’m hoping someday you might find
Well I’ll hide it behind something
They won’t look behind
I’m still inside here
A little bit comes bleeding through
I wish this could have been any other way
But I just don’t know, I don’t know what else I can do

[Chorus x2]

………………………………….

Another week of this, and I’m calling my psychiatrist to get my dosage upped again. Maybe bumping it down was a bad idea.

Current Mood: Sad

I thought my hatred and shame toward my woman-parts was pretty much gone, but I was wrong.

I am so devastated to admit that regardless of what I do to try to accept my vagina and everything it’s been through, I will most likely never, ever, ever find a way to love it or not be ashamed of it.

The only thing I like about that area is my piercing.  It’s so beautiful that the sparkle would be better placed on a not-so-hideous hoo-haw.  But I’m glad it’s there.  It’s lived up to its expectations in the orgasm department, and seeing it always makes me smile.  Plus, the thing was healed just one week after having a 14-gauge needle shoved through my delicate skin, so you can’t go wrong with that kind of speedy recovery.  And YES, I’ve had sex with it in there, for those of you wondering.  It’s wonderful.  I’d recommend it to anyone.

But back to the point.

So what brings this reoccurring thought of self-hatred back into my thoughts today, you ask?  I had to show my breasts and cootch to a stranger to get swabbed, poked, prodded, examined, and otherwise scrutinized for my annual pap smear and check-up this morning. Don’t get me wrong, the Doctor/Midwife who saw me was fantastic, very warm and accepting, and made me feel as comfortable as one could possibly feel with her feet awkwardly placed in a pair of stirrups.  She said my prolapse is doing as well as can be expected, my cervix was sitting higher up than it was several months ago (thank God…. the damn thing was near falling out before…), and everything looks healthy… with the exception of the fact that I have yet another fucking yeast infection.

But the whole principle of having to show another person the mess that childbirth has imposed upon my body breaks my heart.  I feel nothing but embarrassment and disgust for that region of my body, thanks to everything I’ve been through.  And this is the moment at which I’d like to issue a huge FUCK YOU to both the assholes who abused me and to nature for furthering my shame.

If I could sew that area up and never show it to another human being or ever see or have to use it again, I would probably be a much happier person.

Today, I hate myself.

And I feel so sick that I can’t stop the tears.

Current Mood: Sad