Update...sort of


  So. Here we are. A bit later than expected. A bit more tired. I have been struggling with exactly what to write next. Because a lot has happened. That being said, one thing stands out.

For most if not all of my childhood I grew up with an innate sense of wrongness. I was convinced and told in varying ways, if not directly, that I was wrong and needed to be fixed. Special classes, braces, doctors, tests, and specialists proved this. I became an expert at hiding my cracks and broken parts so I appeared “fixed”. I was still broken but in an acceptable way that could be understood. Coping mechanisms abound. Grinning and bearing it because it was probably this or that. I was “fixed” to an acceptable level.

I worked twice as hard in College. Twice as hard at masking. Twice as hard at finding remedies for the PTSD, depression, and anxiety that seem to influence my daily life. My family was convinced that I was okay and unbroken. Part of me, that niggling voice in the back of my head, knew better and reminded me every day. So, I proved it wrong repeatedly.

The pain got worse. The Advil intake growing more regular.

The coping and cutting things out grew. Less food that made me happy. More caution to not anger something.

The unexplainable “flare-ups” appeared.

I began to fight harder to appear fixed. Exhaustion set in. I brushed it off like I thought I needed to. Hell, my mom had it worse. Others had it worse. Even when I couldn’t get out of bed because my body hurt and felt like lead…I just needed to grin and bear it because it was nothing.  

Then, I went to therapy. A healthy relationship followed where I let the person see my cracks and my broken pieces. Finally, 2 months ago I went to a doctor. I described everything. Tests followed. The niggling started to come back. Today, I learned that there is actually something going on. I will need to see a specialist. I told my job. My parents. My partner. The relief of being seen came. Not having to grin and bear it for once. But…also came the voice niggling at me. 

The voice whispered, “I told you you were wrong and broken. I told you something needs to be fixed.” I nod and pat the ground for it to stay a while. So here we sit in silence. The girl wearing the special shoes, the woman coming to terms with her body, and the voice reconciling and reintroducing ourselves. 

Song of the day:
"Simply the Best" covered by Billianne

Resource:
https://www.plannedparenthood.org/

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