… Dentist

… Dentist

Lost my first adult tooth!
 baby's first tooth

I hadn’t been planning a trip to the dentist, but I had searing face pain when eating/drinking cold things, then biting down on a sandwich, then a constant & growing pain no matter what else was happening.
 post-op

And now I have a massive hole in my jaw, after the offending tooth (now just an enamel shell) was prised out.

… Intimacies

Today I held my wet washing over my face while I wept, trying to block the noise. It just all came together badly this week.

I started thinking about relationships, and here’s the gut-crunchingly honest timeline:

  • 1980: first kiss, age 8 – rapidly followed by…
  • 1980: first simulated sex – a family friend, 2 years older than me.
  • 1980: first oral sex.
  • 1981: at this point so hyper-sexualised that everything was fair game – made to be the Sex Doll that laid on its back while allowing eight 12yo boys to take turns to “rub up against [me]”. I was reading comic books while this was happening.
  • 1982: first gossiped about – by 13yo boys who couldn’t have known, but…
  • 1982: first labelled a [fat, ugly, nasty] lesbian/cunt for declining a boy’s invitation.
  • 1984: first raped.
  • 1985: first & last anyone labelled “boyfriend”; it was a classmate in Grade 9, when I was 13, and it only lasted 6 weeks. He told me he wanted to spend more time with his friends, and I was bored (because he was timid about holding hands!).
  • 1986: last raped
  • 1999: last Tender Caress
  • 2003: last time I was assaulted/labelled a “fat lesbian” for declining an offer to “come back to mine”
  • 2005: last shag
  • 2005: last kiss (different guy)

After eleven years without (at the very least) physical contact with a non-relative/-medical professional, my soul is craving intimacy.

44 years of abject loneliness. 

So glad it’s going to be over. 


(©  Tender Caress, Wayfair)

… Pathetic “cry for help”

… Pathetic “cry for help”

 Months ago, I started to cache knockout doses (Relpax 40&80mg x2, codeine 15mg/paracetamol 500mg x4, Phenergan 25mg x4, Dozile x4, 200mg ibuprofen x4, Tramol x4, Lyrica 300mg x2, Endep 25&50mg x3, melatonin x3) of meds around my room & my outside smoking area, in preparation (how mortified I would be, to get to the appointed date but be too broke to fill scripts!).

Two days ago I combined all of them & stared at the pile for a long time before I put it away. Since then I’ve been existing in my usual pointlessness, interspersed with staring at the bottle in front of me. 
Last night I poured them all out & thought about taking them. I eventually put them away, but right now I’ve been awake for 10 minutes & I have the bottle in hand & I’m simultaneously wanting to take them & wanting to be talked out of taking them.

It’s way ahead of time, but it’s starting to feel like I’m going to bail early. 

So tired

I’m tired of being tired.
I’m sick of being sick.
All but my inner circle
Seem to think I’m thick.

I’m tired of futile input.
I’m sick of doctors, all.
Even the inner circle
Seem to think I’m weak.

I’m tired of watching life
go by, of sickness being all.
Who are we, really, when
Hope has left the ball?

I’m tired of being tired;
Sick of being sick.
I thought I used to be someone,
But even I now know I’m not.

Tired.
Sick.
Existential agonies.
Futility.
Resignation.

I’m done.

… Black Eye (with any luck)

I’d never had a black eye in my life, until 6 months ago. Suddenly I’m falling asleep all the time (literally collapsing) and waking up in truly odd places: the floor of the shower, the kitchen, the floor next to my bed, facedown in the flower garden (that was more of an 18-hour blackout, I woke up in the ER), sideways off the toilet into the shower or off the other side into the vanity, etc.

So, one day, I tripped over the bathmat. I came to, wedged into the corner between the toilet and vanity, blood everywhere. (Secret squirrel link to blood pic, skip if you prefer not to see it.) Split my forehead from hairline to eyebrow.

Massively bodged stitching job from the ER nurse, went to a plastics guy the next day:

Two (“count them! Two! Ah! Ah! Ah!”) black eyes.Didn’t take any pictures of the next one, but then two days ago, I pulled off this nifty trick:

On the plus side, you can hardly see the scar!

I could happily go these last 10 months without another one.