My body is scaring me
Everything’s been so incremental, I don’t know when it first was that I started hating my body.
I know that I first collapsed in 2005, but I couldn’t tell you at what point the various related things have appeared. I do know that once upon a time, I freaked the fuck out when my knees wobbled a bit in the shower and I fell over that one time. Now, I have perfected not only the art of showering with an all over tremor, but of cooking with a sharp knife in my badly trembling hand. Feeling exhausted for days on end no longer even blips my radar. Collapses are only noteworthy if they’re in some way unusual or they happen in a cluster.
On Thursday evening, for the first time, I lost consciousness when I collapsed. I also got no warning, and just went down out of nowhere.
In a way that I haven’t felt for a while now, I am actively scared of my body. The concern in my parents’ voices and the faces of my partners appears warranted, not an overreaction.
And one of the things that scares me the most about this is the medical response. I know I need to go and see my consultant again, but the last time I went in, they referred me to psychology. It makes me feel like I’m not being believed. I don’t deny that there may be a psychological element to what’s going on, and that some of the horrible situations I’ve found myself in might well have made matters worse than they would otherwise have been. But when I look back, there are so many instances where there are no stresses that I can identify that could possibly have made me collapse, and yet, down I go.
I don’t really have a good end or a good point to make here, and possibly this would have been better put into my journal, but fuck it, it’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to. And I do want to. Lots. Because I’m scared.