Hey all. Just thought I would take a minute to say that we all arrived safely and that it was possibly the smoothest and most comfortable flight I have ever had. Coming from someone who is shit scared of flying, that's saying something.
Not comfortable in the physical sense... because anyone flying 14 hours in Economy Class who says they were comfy is lying through their teeth! But it was comfortable in the smooth no turbulence sense.
It almost cured my phobia. Almost.
Okay it didn't even.
:)
We're alive, we're here in the US and we're trying to adjust to the timezone and the food.
I'm So Disappointed That I Don't Have A Clever Pun.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
This presidential election affected so many people in so many ways. This one was a big one for America.
I don't want to go into how awesome it is that Obama was voted in as the 44th president of the USA. Yes, he's black. Yes, they've come a long way. Yes, the world was ready for the USA to go back to being democrats.
What I didn't expect, however, was to be ripped apart by the voters of California.
Emily and I had planned to get married when we go over in a week and a half.
It was something I had been looking forward to more than anything else. More than Disneyland even. THAT'S how important it is. Was.
To stand up in the eyes of my people, my friends... her family, and be married. A proper, sealed in law, married couple... it was something that meant the world to me.
I know, I shouldn't need something legal to tell her family we're together, as they know that... but it's important to me to be... equal.
Last night I was just fucking shattered.
California voted against the rights of Gays and Lesbians to marry... and, stay married if they already were.
Every single gay person who has gotten married has now lost the right to stay as such.
Imagine getting married and then a bunch of people who don't understand what it's like to be gay, they come along and then tell you that it's now null and void and is no longer recognised.
How can this be?
How did California let this happen?
I seriously thought that we would get this. I felt secure in it even.
So thank you, California voters...
... thank you for shattering my dreams; thank you for taking away the rights of people who you think "choose" this lifestyle; thank you for telling me that my relationship is not important enough to be recognised; thank you for telling my son that his two parents who love him and each other more than life itself, do not count and should be kept in the dark.
Thank you for telling me I am wrong. I am odd. I am not normal.
Thank you for letting us queer people know that you'd rather kick our fucking teeth in than give us a god damn fucking chance at normality.
We were voting on basic human rights... not gay rights.
I poke fun at Americans quite regularly. It's probably because I have my very own one living with me and it's easy to do so. Anything silly she does or thinks I end up blaming it on her being American.
So when Emily started talking about Halloween a couple of weeks ago... my instinct was to roll my eyes at her. Yet another silly little holiday they have where people spend more money on tiny things for seemingly no reason at all.
We don't do Halloween here in Australia. Up until around two years ago I never even saw a costume for sale around this time of year. It's just not celebrated. If you were to knock on someone's door and say "Trick or Treat?" they would probably roll their eyes at you, shut the door and not say anything.
You'd be laughed at.
Don't get me wrong... I understand it. I totally understand it. And if I were an American it would probably be MY favourite holiday. But I just never grew up around it.
And until this afternoon I had NEVER seen an orange pumpkin. We just don't sell them like that... they're SO rare. Not to mention, we usually sell pumpkin in halves or quarters because we eat them as a normal vegetable. Americans use them for sweet stuff. We roast them and mash them and eat them like anything else (we don't have pumpkin pie over here).
My mum, who is awesome and loves Emily to death, found a whole ORANGE pumpkin at the supermarket this arvo. It cost her like $35 or something but she bought it for Emily.
I've never seen her so excited before. Like a dog with two dicks looking at seventeen human legs.
The only thing she wanted was for me to experience a Halloween. Pumpkin carving is the closest we can get to it over here.
So tonight. She set me up and made me carve my very own pumpkin.
Inside, I'm TOTALLY making fun of the entire thing...
... but then the night progressed.
Here is my pumpkin before I began. Stabbing him felt pretty awesome.
Emily and I looking all excited!
Me scooping out the insides! Toughing pumpkin guts for the very first time! It was pretty fucking awesome! Totally not how I thought the inside of a pumpkin would feel....
After scooping it all out so nothing would set fire inside.
Then, you have to take a stencil of the face you wanna carve into it and stick it onto the pumpkin. I'm explaining this for my Australian readers by the way, Americans, so go easy on me if I explain something wrongly.
Then, you have to get something pointy and sharp, like a nail, and go along the lines of the shapes so that on the surface of the pumpkin you have an outline to follow.
Which ends up looking like this...
Then, you get to do the good stuff! Carve the shit out of the thing! Attack! Attack! Hahahahahahahahaha!
Whooh! After finishing the carving!
Then, I was looking at it all carved out and stuff. And I admit it, I thought it was pretty cool. But not something I'd wanna do again.
But then Emily told me I had to come outside and do the unveiling!
So she lit a tealight candle and dropped it in, and put the top of his head on and I stood back...
... and had a little tear in my eye, I was THAT PROUD of my pumpkin.
And I still don't know why. I'm so proud of my fucking pumpkin!
LOOK AT HIM! HE'S PERFECT!
And then my mum put her cigarette in his mouth and made him all Halloween Hardcore!
I have to admit it, even without costumes and door knocking...
... I'm now converted!
I love my American Woman. I'm so happy she's American too.
i have wasted so much of my life on trying to die without ever having the courage to pull my own trigger and hear the bang bang bang
sadness was welcomed, even faked i don't think i ever needed the medication i swallowed but it made me feel like maybe i wasn't just another abused kid
i just wanted to be anything anyone anyhow anyway i would lie to be seen as interesting and interestingly enough no longer wanted to see myself
i fucked up so amazingly like blowing up an entire city with napalm and drugs and mindless fucks screaming so loudly i could swear my own mother's womb regretted me
a clicking in my skull reminds me every single second of the tick tick tick that time was lost at an extraordinary cost and i can never make amends with it all
-My dog's picked up this habit of walking underneath the coffee table and making sure the top of her arse scratches along the wood on the way in and out.
Once she's ALMOST all the way out, she will stand there and rub her arse back and forward along the wood.
It looks like she's humping or being humped.
-Kylan's growing up way too fast. I'm loving every goo and gah but it's frightening to see just how quickly months can fly past.
He's started doing those shrill intakes of breath when he smiles and laughs. It's gorgeous and adorable and so worth getting up at 3am and then 5am.
-I've started standing up for myself more lately. Like, when I know I am being mistreated or used whether at work or in civilian life.
Not sure it's working to my advantage yet but it feels better than being a doormat.
Except when you're mad at your partner, SO MAD, and you go to sleep making sure not to touch her to drive home your point.
And you stay strong all night. Even when she asks you what was wrong with your son at 3am and you're tired and nearly reply and then snuggle back into her! You reply with one word answers and make sure you're on YOUR SIDE OF THE BED!
(Oh come on, you've all done it before!)
But then she wakes you up in the morning with French Toast, diced fresh strawberries and a powder sugar heart dusted on top of the toast.
Completely makes me want to drop my walls of righteousness down.
Grrr!
-I've also started looking at my mother in a whole new light. I totally understand the attached parenting thing. I no longer blame her for having such a hard time letting me go.
Because really, I look down at Kylan and just think "No man/woman is EVER going to be good enough for you!"
Muahahaha! It's such an all comsuming thing. I understand it only after 11 weeks.
-This one's for Iris-Lee who reads my blog but NEVER comments. She's been going through a hell of a rough fucking time and was pushing me to update.
So here's your update, toe-rag.
-I'm going to end this one in regards to paying bills, getting loans and having enough money afterwards to save for your dreams:
Adulthood And Responsibility Fucking Sucks!
But Motherhood and this little guy?
Completely amazing.
Peace, love and that chalky feeling when you haven't brushes your teeth this morning,
So... a patient at work recently went on a little rant to me when she sat down to have her blood taken and berated me because she thought my shoes were leather.
What the fuck?
I get it, you're a vegan. Good for you and all the good you're doing in the world.
But back the fuck off and let me live my fucking life.
Seriously. I totally understand people not wanting cruelty toward animals. It's a noble thing and I appreciate it.
I like meat. Chicken, beef, pork, duck and lamb. I love it. I frequently eat it and at the end of the meal, I feel totally satisfied.
I don't, however, feel guilty.
I know what goes on in animal factories. I know that animals are not often slayed humanely.
I also know that not every product exclaiming to be 'Cruelty Free' is actually that.
This patient also had a bunch of keys in her hand. So I asked her if she drove a car. She said yes.
I then asked her if she realised she was attributing to the war over oil. That she was polluting the environment every time she drove the car. That the seats and some of the interior was probably made out of an animal along the way.
And did she know that by voting for Liberals (Australian for Republican over here) she was sentencing me to a life where gays are not equal and we get discriminated against.
And did she know that earlier on in the day I took blood from a girl who was 15 and getting an abortion. And another who was 28 and dying from AIDS. And another older man who has severe stomach cancer.
And that in my line of work when I do pap smears on women who are booked into hospital to get radical surgery on their cervix because they have advanced cervical cancer...
... the thought of a cow on a conveyor belt seems to be quite petty to me.
Do I believe that humans are superior to animals? Yes. I guess I do.
I believe cruelty should not exist, I have been a victim of inhumane cruelty myself, but it does. And it always will. And people kill people. And animals kill animals. And animals kill people too.
Yes. Animals have killed people too.
And I am sure, if not a thousand percent sure, that if they had the chance crocodiles would eat me for dinner every single night.
But I have more than they do. And I can protect myself from them.
Is it so wrong that my viewpoint right now is that I just don't care?
My Uncle has been a vegetarian for so many years I don't ever remember him eating meat and he NEVER tries to convert anyone to his way of life.
I don't want to not eat meat. I don't want to be a Christian or a Muslim or a Catholic. I don't want to ride a bike because it's nicer to the environment. Sometimes I even forget to recycle.
It doesn't mean, however, that I am ignorant. I'm a realist. I know what goes on, I know what I could do to stop it.
I don't put my head up my arse and believe it doesn't affect others and ourselves.
What does this make me?
Peace, love and hoping others keep their preaching for those who want to be converted.
So I had this bright idea planned out for Tuesday morning. I'd decided after my last post that it was time to just get off my arse and do something.
So I got prepared and got dressed and was amost headed to my very first Weight Watchers meeting when I noticed that my free registration card had expired. So by the time I sat down to look up how much it was going to cost me on the internet the meeting would have been well underway.
There was a split second when I said to Emily "$60 a month?! Fuck that! No way! It's not worth it!"
I must have said that about 10 times over before something clicked in my head and I decided to just fucking grow up and take responsibility.
As I stated it for the last time I was already filling out the credit card form online to join the unlimited version.
So I joined Weight Watchers and my very first meeting is this coming Tuesday morning. I'm not sure how I feel about it, in the sense that I joined and I may go to a meeting and then decide this shit is just not for me. But already the online stuff has motivated me and the recipes alone are worth it for the moment.
Little hints and tricks that I never knew can hinder your weight loss have stuck in my head and where I thought I was making healthier choices, I in fact, was not.
Still... I'm intrigued to find out what awaits me at this meeting.
Not only is my health worth it, but I'm all of a sudden having images of vanity flicker through my head and I find it's spurring me on a little.
I never thought I would be that kind of person.
In all honesty, I still don't believe that I can do this. I know, but give me some credit, I only just plucked up the courage to do something about this... the confidence will follow, I'm sure.
There's a part of you, when you get this big and your whole life you've battled with your weight, where you realise that once upon a time when you were younger you were a size 12 (in Australia a size 12 is quite slim indeed) and all you did was berate yourself in the mirror because all your friends were still skinnier than you.
I wish I could have told myself back then that it's all okay. That it doesn't matter what anyone else is, it matters what you are. And you cannot exist unless you are healthy enough to let yourself believe.
Anyway, I was just thinking about that this morning and it pissed me off because I would give anything to be that girl again.
I'm now squeezing myself (albeit comfortably after a few hours of wear) into size 22 jeans. Which I don't put into the dryer because then it's like shoving an elephant into an ankle sock.
Sometimes I think I look okay. I look in the mirror and I think "these jeans are nice! I look quite good!"
But then those dreaded shop windows keep showing you up at each and every turn. Or those fucking change room mirrors with their bright lights which show up every single line on your body and each and every dimple on your thigh.
And I realise, I'm TRYING to convince myself that I look good. Which to some people I might... but the point is, I could look healthier.
I shouldn't have to settle for complaining that there aren't enough shops that cater for larger young girls.
I'm not saying I feel pressured to fit into smaller things... but I would be lying if I said it didn't break my heart every time I go shopping with Emily.
Half the time when she asks me if I like something she's tried on I'll tell her no, I hate it... because I'm jealous and I don't want her to walk arouund in the same thing I covet and would give anything to fit into.
How horrible am I?
So... in order to motivate my fat arse into gear and feel better about going to this meeting on Tuesday, I've decided to compose a list of things that I want to do when I get *smaller.
1) Buy a belt and belt buckle and be able to wear it without feeling like a weight lifter trying to dodge a hernia.
2) Buy a pair of knee-high boots without looking like a trussed up leg of ham.
3) Ride a horse (something I've ALWAYS wanted to do but never got around to out of fear that someone would reject me for being too heavy for the horse to hold). I have delusions of being a cowgirl someday (oh hey, I think I just said the most lesbian sentence of my life).
4) Have someone give ME a piggyback ride. When I was in kindergarten I would get in trouble off the teachers for giving the Grade 6 boys piggybacks around the playground- I was a solid little girl! I want someone to be able to laughingly pick me up and wrestle me. I'm tired of being the packhorse.
5) Show off my arm muscles. Don't let this fat fool you, underneath this blubber is a very strong fit woman. I'm serious. I may be overweight but I am fit. And I used to have biceps from hell. You can still feel them underneath when I flex, but I want people to be able to see them.
6) Take my clothes off without having clothing creases all over from things digging into my skin. That would be nice.
7) Not make any more fat jokes because they no longer apply.
So there you have it... there IS a little vanity within me after all. I don't mind being shallow for the moment if it gets me started. I'm fine with that.
There's still this insanely angry, bitter, fat girl inside that says 'Do this and do this right and then you can go back to those horrible clothing stores that are rude to you when you ask if they carry Extra Large and try everything on and leave it all over the change room floors and then be rude back and boycot them for the rest of your life!'
And you know what?
I really will do that. :)
Peace, love and window shopping for now until I can make my dreams come true.
~Melyssa xxx
*I am refusing to use the following words due to their amazingly negative connotations in my mind: Thin. Thinner. Thinnest. Diet. Starving. Skinny.
I'm a hero, right? I posted my weight, the heaviest I have ever been, and admitted defeat in the battle against my weight.
I've had people email me telling me they could never be so brave.
I'm not brave. Far from it.
In fact, since I posted that, I have never felt more unmotivated in my life.
This is the way it goes.
I feel this overwhelming sense of power over my weight. I feel proactive, I feel healthy minded and I feel... ready.
Since that post, which was designed to be written so that I could publicly admit my problem and then have to face it... I have binged on so much food. I have not done any form of exercise apart from walking around the shopping centres. I have gone out of my way to make sure that anything healthy I eat or do, I make sure I compensate by eating something I "shouldn't" just because I can.
What is wrong with me?
Mindy sent me a thing in the mail for free registration for Weight Watchers. She offered it to me at dinner just after that last post and about a week ago I asked her if she could please send it to me. I felt ready.
When it came in the mail, I found myself opening it in secret from Emily. Once I looked at it, I put it in a cupboard where Emily wouldn't see that I had it.
That cupboard haunts me. It's like it shoots daggers into my back.
Emily asked me if I received it a few days ago and I flippantly stated that I did and tried to change the subject.
When she asked me if I had thought anymore about Weight Watchers, I was just about ready to yell on the top of my lungs "GET OFF MY BACK!"
Emily has never pushed me in any direction to lose weight. Why am I taking it all so personally?
I feel, honestly, like I am way out of my depth with this. I don't understand it at all. I just don't.
I find myself searching for an excuse, any excuse, as to why I'm not starting anything today or tomorrow.
I'm running out of excuses.
Is it shame? Is it lack of confidence? Is it fear to fail?
I'm fat. I am so fucking overweight that I'm starting to lose all manner of self-respect.
And right now, all I can think about is locking myself away with a bunch of food and eating until I feel like I'm going to pass out.
Admitting all of this, writing this down, is making me feel ill.
I walk into the room and I know, I just know, that yet again I am the fattest person in the room. I'm the biggest one at the party who has to listen to size 8 women talk about their love handles and want to just die on the spot.
The more I eat, the fatter I get. The fatter I get, the more depressed I get. The sadder I get, the more I eat. The more I eat, the fatter I get. The fatter I get... you get the picture.
It's a common and very insane loop of discomfort.
I am shadowed by being buried under all of this blubber.
It's not that I stand in front of the mirror and shout hatred at each fat body part and call myself a wreck. I don't massacre myself with those thoughts...
But...
I know someone who suffered pretty badly with an eating disorder and when in the midst of it I would yell at her "Don't you realise you're killing yourself with a slow death? It's suicide!".
It's only today that I realised how horribly hypocritical that sounds.
I too am slowly killing myself by being obese.
I don't blame anyone but myself. No one forced food down my throat and told me not to exercise it off. I did all of that.
Yes, I believe there were circumstances that lead to me wanting to self destruct and taking it out on food after food after food. But in the end, I pulled the trigger.
I did this to myself.
And only I can undo this.
Inspired by Mindy and her public airing of her weight, after much discussion with Emily about how brave she is for doing that, I have decided to air my own dirty laundry.
I'd like to start taking responsibility for myself.
I don't want to make this into a weight battle blog. A fat story and its details, because the truth is, I don't KNOW what I'm going to do yet. I don't know HOW I'm going to do it.
I just know that I Need to.
I'm not inspired by skinny jeans and pretty tops in shops that I cannot fit into...
I'm inspired by my son and my desire to try to carry a child one day too.
I don't want to be a walking heart attack waiting to happen.
So here's the beginning of something massive.
Current Weight: 123kg.
Goal Weight For The Moment Because I Like To Conquer Small Steps At A Time Without Too Much Pressure So I Feel Inclined To Fail: 100kg.
This is the heaviest I have ever been and the worst I have ever felt for it.
I don't want to post this because I am so ashamed.
But I have to.
Nay.
I Need To.
Peace, love and no longer hiding behind something you hate just because you're scared to fail,
Emily has already told you all her labor story and she did quite a good job of it at that. She has way more concentration than I do right now so her timeline worked quite amazingly...
... I, however, am not so hung up on particulars.
I did want to write my version of Kylan's birth though. As Emily stated to me, and if you look into it you'll find it quite true, there aren't a lot of posts made by a partner telling their side of the story. And it's just as amazing a journey for us partners as it is the birth mother.
My version (well, not really a version, more like some notes) in timeline-less point formation is as such:
-You will NEVER, EVER feel as much of an overwhelming urge to take the pain away from your partner as when she's screaming her heart out from the pain. It brought tears to my eyes in a way that I was not used to. You will also find your respect for her triples (I say triples because saying 'multiplies by a zillion' sounds false) and you make a mental note to NEVER let her forget how amazing she was during birth.
-Seeing your child being born is just... wow. I'm not going to lie, it's pretty horrific. Seriously, it's gore and blood and smells kinda strange in a way no one ever tells you about. It's... kinda scarring.
And don't forget, I'm in a nursing occupation and I chase gore and blood and wounds and guts all the time for a look. All that stuff makes me feel happy inside, productive, because you can patch up wounds and make them better again.
So for me to tell you that it did scar me a little is telling you something. It's beautiful, it is, but at the same time it's kind of like a car wreck you don't want to look at again but can't help yourself.
-Midwives in birthing units are amazing. Not just because if I could be bothered to get off my arse and go back to studying, I would become one... they're just amazing at what they do. They have this unexplainable presence about them.
-If you're going to do anything, just one thing, to help your partner... I recommend shutting the fuck up and taking your cue from her. No matter how many times you coach her through something and tell her the words people tell you to repeat to her... you're both much too close to one another to not show your true pain.
She WILL scream at you. She will scream things directed at you, she will project and she will insult you.
Let. Her.
Trust me on this one. Just let her.
Because the midwives will come in and they will repeat the same mantras you spoke to her and she won't yell at them. She will do exactly as they say and yes, you'll get the shits because it's the same thing you were trying to tell her but...
... please. Shut the fuck up and let her guide you.
-Apparently, if she didn't already know it... don't tell her she's defecating while she's pushing. It's not something she wants or needs to know and just because you're a nurse and this stuff is interesting, doesn't mean anyone else wants to know.
-Take off all of your rings before you offer her your hands to squeeze. Blood will be drawn, especially if you wear a roughened diamond engagement band. It hurts.
As a side note... don't tell her it hurts your fingers. You WILL get a death stare.
-During labor, find a way to sit comfortably while you're holding her hands and she's screaming at you. Your partner may be in pain but you will be too at some point. Trust me. You don't have to tell her your back is hurting but be prepared and find a way to be comfortable too. You're no good to her if you feel fucked up as well.
-Don't remark on the colour of her vomit. It's not funny to anyone but yourself.
-Yes, partner's, it IS true that amid all of the blood and screaming you WILL unfortunately question whether or not you will ever be able to look at your partner's vagina as a sexual object ever again. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but it's true... you will look down and as much as you are overjoyed at your son coming out of there... you will also be thinking something along the lines of 'oh my fucking god!'.
Good news though... I have it on very good authority, that approximately two weeks after this you will be so completely sexually frustrated that not only have you forgotten that you once thought that, you will start to find household objects attractive. Anything really. Attractive.
Anything.
-It is true that it will be one of the most important and amazing days of your entire life. Looking into those eyes and hearing that little cry and whimper... it just opens up your entire heart to the possibility that up until this point in your life, you have never really known happiness.
It's bewildering.
That's about all I have to say on that right now as I would like to go and spend some much needed time with my partner while Kylan's asleep.
Suffice to say, I'm as happy as a pig in shit!
Peace, love and that nagging little suspicion that you can still smell your son's poo on your finger,
I miss unemployment so much lately. All that time I used to have for blogging and catching up on mindless internet gossip. *sigh* I guess after the coming week I'm going to have absolutely NO time to do these things.
However, I'm going to try and make a mid-year resolution to blog at least once a week. I miss it. I feel completely dull and talentless without it.
A little catch up blog:
-There's a lady at work who uses a very common expression incorrectly and to be honest, it's fucking KILLING ME. And she's not the only one. I hear it all the time. It's only that she's near me all the time that it's becoming her that pisses me off the most with it. The expression is "I couldn't care less!" and for some reason people seem to think it's "I could care less!"
Do they not realise that by saying "I could care less!" it actually means they care a lot, if not a little bit? I don't mind if they use it as a sarcastic expression but if that's how they mean it they should learn to use the correct inflection on the word 'could'.
I could care less.
I could care less.
-I got so bored at work the other day that I actually began my very own rubber band ball (without using a marble or wads of paper in the core centre either, this shit is purely rubber bands!). It's pretty fucking awesome. Right now it's about the size of a squash ball. Is a squash ball international? Huh. I digress.
I think my point is, if I don't win the Lotto or let my wife better me in a professional sense and get a really awesome job that earns millions of dollars... I think I might enter myself into the Guiness World Record for the largest rubber band ball ever made.
I'm going places with this.
-Life as a lesbian partner of a pregnant woman is proving a lot more difficult than I ever thought it would be lately. I don't know if I can explain it or give point by point examples of why... but I think the world is more backward than I ever gave it credit for. It's hard. Really hard. Harder than I'm willing to admit.
-I'm getting a lot more indigestion lately. Just thought I would throw that out there for you.
-I worry a lot about money and morals lately. That's something I never thought I would lose sleep over. I'm totally an adult now I think.
-There's nothing worse than skanky teenage girls who come in pairs into my blood collection rooms and are all "Oh my god! Does this hurt? I bet it hurts! I'm going to throw up!" and they squirm and squeal and hold their friends hand while the friend is all "Eeew! I'm not even going to look! That's SO gross!"
Oh come on! It just bugs the shit out of me. I don't know whether I'm becoming more jaded lately because it's all I do every single freaking day but these girls... they drive me insane. Stop having unprotected sex and you won't have to come in to get 'painful' blood tests to stress over.
Give me a break.
-We got a new lady at work. She's nice. Like, super nice. But not in a good way. One of those people where all you can say about her is that... she's nice. Like, nice. I think it's fake. I have to have her under my wing and train her and she and I are like chalk and cheese.
Plus, she's already referred to Emily and I as "you people" meaning The Gays.
I think there's going to be trouble here.
But she's super nice. *gag*
Anyway, I should get some sleep. Emily's been having Braxton Hicks (false labor pains) very early in the mornings, the poor thing, so I want to be alert if anything non-false-labor-type may happen. I think it's going to be within the next 72 hours, personally.
I think I'd like to be awake through the birth of my son.
Peace, love and those really good quality rubber bands that are thick and go around about 9 times.
So I was driving along the highway the other day thinking about my life and the way I am now compared to the way I was a couple of years ago.
I'm tapping the steering wheel singing along to my CD when I get this overwhelming feeling that... please don't laugh... I've been born again.
I don't mean in that very queer Christian I've Found Jesus And Now I Shall Swear Off Beer And Never Have Sex Again way.
I mean...
... the things I have done in my life, the things I used to put others through in the meantime... they were so horrible and EXHAUSTING.
It takes so much fucking energy to hate yourself and the world.
I don't want to become controversial here, because there are a lot of people reading this who are currently suffering, or have suffered from, mental illnesses but my entire opinion on them has just flipped.
I used to be a poster child for them. Hell, I was an advocate for them. I LOVED having one and used to make myself sicker than I really was just so that I could even moreso fit some sort of mould.
This is going to be unusual for me but I'm not going to express my opinion on them right now... I don't think I would be ready for that kind of backlash.
I just want to take the time to say this:
I feel so completely comfortable in my own mind right now.
I feel healed.
I feel... born again.
That's when I looked up and saw the following and took it as a sign that some higher power out there might just agree with me:
Peace, love and getting to go to bed with the most gorgeous pregnant woman ever.
There's this thing I have to do every now and then at work. It's something that, quite frankly, goes above and beyond the call of duty.
I work in a medical centre in the middle of a busy town. We're not up-market by any means and we bulk bill everything so we get a lot of low-income people because you pay nothing for everything.
A certain type of person we get in here say, once a month, is prostitutes.
Prostitution is legal in the state of New South Wales as long as you're part of a business with a registered name. After all, we're all tax payers, why should it matter what we do for a living?
Yet... there are some prostitutes that don't work for businesses because their sole income goes to crack and other various drugs.
They're the filthy ones that live in squats and spread diseases like nothing you've ever seen before.
I don't judge, but they ARE really dirty. Haven't showered in weeks kind of dirty. You get what I mean.
So these particular women can't really afford condoms/birth control for their line of work.
What I am about to tell you may seem kind of gross but I want to assure you, experiencing it first hand is so much worse than anything you can possibly imagine.
Instead of using proper means of sexual protection these women use what we call Sea Sponges which look like this:
Yes, the same sponges you would use to wash your car with.
What they do is they tear off large chunks and they then insert those chunks up into their vagina as far as they can poke them in.
In turn, they block off access to the cervix and it keeps sperm away from entering, thereby keeping them from falling pregnant. Hopefully.
These women come in and see a doctor once a month (yes, THAT time of the month) and get the doctor to get the nurse to remove it for them.
We are those lucky nurses.
We have to use sponge holding forceps and get inside there and pull out these wads of sea sponge. These sponges have had a months worth of semen and discharge coming at them from all angles and then these women start their period as well.
The smell.
Oh, the smell.
Once we do this procedure, we then put a note on the door that this particular room cannot be used for the next 24 hours at least. That's how long it takes for someone to be able to walk back into the room without projectile vomiting.
I can't give you a detailed enough description as it's something you just have to be witness to but it's something like a mixture of rotten fish, sun baked seaweed, baby poo, eggs and curdled milk.
Yes, that's actually quite close to it.
If you can imagine drinking a milkshake of that concoction then I'd say you'd be pretty close to what it's like taking these sponges out.
It's horrific.
You'll see a scrag fight break out between nurses over who has to do it. We've started a system now where we know who did it last time and who's due for it the next time.
I was the one up for it next time.
My next time came just over an hour ago.
But we're upstairs today where we don't actually have anything other than one room. I can't close up this room for 24 hours. I have to go back.
I'm hiding downstairs where noone can see me just to write this.
I have to go back to work.
And maybe coat my stomach in iron.
Maybe I'll get lucky and there'll be an apocalypse.
Emily here. As you all may know we have Immigration tomorrow morning. So far we've managed to get this far without much stress, in fact, things have come together quite well.
Not to jinx us of course.
Today's the day for all the final touches, and we have quite the checklist going, most of which is superficial. Things like printing directions that we really won't need (hopefully), making sure we each have two eyebrows instead of one, and laying out our clothes because we're obsessive and have nothing else to do.
At least that was the plan.
When Melyssa got to work today things changed. Her face swelled up breaking into bright red hives, her ears swelled so much they turned purple, and her throat swelled to the point where she had a Dr on each arm taking her pulse, both waiting to shoot her up with adrenaline in case she went into anaphylactic shock.
They did some other medical type stuff too, she ended up on oxygen and sucking down some medicated shit, and of course shot her up with a full dose of heavy duty anti-histamine.
You'd think the anti-histamine would be the easiest of all this saga but let me tell you right now, that'd be where you're wrong. This is the same anti-histamine she takes semi-regularly at home, in a smaller dose, that knocks her out for literally 2-3 days straight.
Did I mention Immigration is early tomorrow morning?
And not only will it knock her on her ass, but it makes her an insane flaming bitch. And I mean that with all the love in the world.
All we can hope is that the hives and welts which are covering her from head to toe and threatening to swell her eyes shut, have gone down enough in the morning to cover with make-up... if I can get close enough to her to suggest it without losing my head.
I may just have to do her make-up on the train... while she sleeps. With this shit in her system, she won't even notice. Let's face it, the last thing you want is to show up looking infested and contagious to the person who decides whether we remain in the same country, not quite the impression we want to make.
I'm crossing my fingers that this is the crux of our Immigration drama and tomorrow things are back to normal.
Don't worry though, I have no real hope to get crushed.
When I was at work a while ago I had the misfortune to be on a computer someone had been using. They were logged into their email and one of them was left up on the screen (in a public room with a shared computer) and I happened to catch my name on the screen.
So I read the email.
Don't for one second try and judge me for that because if you had seen your name on the screen when it was left open for anyone to walk past, you would have wanted to know what someone was writing about you as well.
It's human nature.
The thing is, the things that were written about me were blatantly ridiculing and discriminatory.
I don't care about what this person thinks, because everyone is entitled to their own thoughts and far be it for me to think everyone should say nice things about me and nothing else...
... but this person is someone who has never given me a feeling or reason to believe they have some sort of issue with who I am. This person is someone who has stood up for me time after time.
To my face.
So now I don't know what to do. I can't say anything even though I am angry and upset and extremely hurt by the things that were said. And some of the things mentioned were ill informed lies and opinions. Not to mention huge exaggerations.
And I know this person reads my blog.
Again, this is a public forum and if I didn't want someone to know something about me, I wouldn't write about it on here. But that is not the point.
So I checked and double checked my stat counter because I can see exactly who is looking at my blog and where they are looking from (down to suburb, internet provider and sometimes business name) and they definitely are reading me.
I don't get why someone who thinks I am disgusting for the way I live my life would read me so often.
This person is saying horrible, degrading things not only about myself but my family. My family. I can stand up for myself but when you bring my unborn child or my wife into the mix... I have no respect for you anymore. If ever again.
I really want to say something but I can't.
So what do I do?
Do I let it go?
Part of me wants to make my blog private so that only those who ask me for the password can read it. But that makes it a nuisance for all of you who then have to log in to read me.
And it means I won't get any new readers.
But it gives me peace of mind that I can get through to this person that I don't want them to be reading me if they think so low of me.
Does my 'lifestyle' make you uncomfortable?
Do I make you so sick you want to avert your eyes?
Does the fact that I'm a lesbian make your morals shake in their boots?
If so, I suggest you don't read me anymore.
I see you.
I see all of you.
I don't stand for personal attacks, as witnessed by my previous couple of posts and comments. But I give kudos to MIL for putting her name to it. For saying what she meant and meaning what she said. I have respect for her and for doing that.
Just do me a favour and don't be sweetness and light to my face. Don't pretend you care. Don't stand up for me when you're the vile person who is really on the side of the homophobic and right-wing fucker that slanders me in the first place.
Name::melyssa. From::Sydney, New South Wales, Australia
24. In love with my lesbian life partner Emily, awaiting the birth of our first son in June. Recovered self-harm addict and depressive extremist who now LOVES life to the fullest. I hate the smell of alcohol breath; people who can't spell; women who dumb themselves down; glad-wrapped food and the smell of inside a fridge. Don't tickle my tummy, I bite. View Me.
Wisdom From The Unwise.Y
"I expect perfection from imperfect expectations." ~Melyssa.
"If you brand me on the ass do I not moo?" -Melyssa's attempt at Shakespeare.
"It's like being married, but with sex." ~Emily on being together only 3 weeks.
"That's like scented candles for the hungry." -Melyssa, on a particularly lovely fart.
