my confessional
I might have to go on birth control. Unfortunately it's not because of all the university orgies I've been going to.
Two years ago I lost too much weight, was under too much stress, and my periods ceased to pay me a visit every month. I wish I could enjoy this as a gift, but nature doesn't like to go that easy on women.
An older woman looked me in the eyes today and said "Not to scare you, but you will be at risk for osteoporosis and cancer of the uterus when you're older if you don't do something."
Unfortunately there was so immediate action or help, and as usual I'm being sent yet somewhere else. I hate doctors offices, I hate drugs, and I hate being analyzed. I don't like keeping a food diary. I don't like the paper that rustles underneath my skin when asked to sit up on the bed. I hated one doctor who asked me repeatedly whether I was bulimic or not. For the record, I'm not.
"Sorry we can't be of help to you," they tell me with sympathetic eyes...yeah me too.
It's never easy. Everyday there is something to remind me of the mistakes I've made.
When my room mate asked me why I was going to the doctor I replied, "For personal reasons."
And now I'm telling the world online. I guess it's easier to write something out than it is to say it out loud.
***
My mother called concerned after reading this entry, and I feel the need to say that writing it was very therapeutic. I am feeling lighter. I have hung out my dirty laundry for everyone to see and feel no shame.
(A proud face, and if you look closely, the Irish eyes discreetly smiling)
Two years ago I lost too much weight, was under too much stress, and my periods ceased to pay me a visit every month. I wish I could enjoy this as a gift, but nature doesn't like to go that easy on women.
An older woman looked me in the eyes today and said "Not to scare you, but you will be at risk for osteoporosis and cancer of the uterus when you're older if you don't do something."
Unfortunately there was so immediate action or help, and as usual I'm being sent yet somewhere else. I hate doctors offices, I hate drugs, and I hate being analyzed. I don't like keeping a food diary. I don't like the paper that rustles underneath my skin when asked to sit up on the bed. I hated one doctor who asked me repeatedly whether I was bulimic or not. For the record, I'm not.
"Sorry we can't be of help to you," they tell me with sympathetic eyes...yeah me too.
It's never easy. Everyday there is something to remind me of the mistakes I've made.
When my room mate asked me why I was going to the doctor I replied, "For personal reasons."
And now I'm telling the world online. I guess it's easier to write something out than it is to say it out loud.
***
My mother called concerned after reading this entry, and I feel the need to say that writing it was very therapeutic. I am feeling lighter. I have hung out my dirty laundry for everyone to see and feel no shame.
(A proud face, and if you look closely, the Irish eyes discreetly smiling)
posted by Gillian Young at 4:57 PM
2 Comments:
So, your body's clock needs a hormonal re-set button?
I've been taking an herb called "monk's pepper" for the past month to even my cycle out. Although that name is a translation from German, I am not sure if it's called that in English or not.
We've all been there, for one reason or another and its good to get your body back on track regardless of what pill gets you over the hump -- is that a bad word choice?
Eating disorders, body image disorders, all the other crap that conspires to make women waste our time on this earth. I want to show my disgust, but saying I may never have another pedicure in protest seems so trivial.
Yesterday, my mother told me how liberating she finds post-menopause.
Today, I want to tell you that womanhood is not a hormone, not blood once a month, not cramps and not a uterus, but that doesn't mean I know what it is. Do you?
Love,
Kate
It's...knowing you're a woman. Knowing you are and accepting all the painful realities that come with it, whether it's cramps and periods or lack thereof. It's accepting every curve and crevice of your body. It's feeling soft and at the same time strong. It's awareness. Tenderness. Beauty. It's knowing you are a woman, but feeling like one as well.
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