I think about you all the time little boy. I hope you still think of me. Your sister and I are doing well and want nothing more than to have you near us. You must be so big. Come find me my son. Let me show you a different way. Let me show you what love is.
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I came to the stark realization a few weeks ago that I will never have another period. Ever. I had my elective procedure and last Depo-Provera injection well over a year ago. Since then, I have had no foul, stinky menstruation, nothing, has come leaking out of my vagina. I no longer have to carry or buy tampons and pads. Or worry that I forgot to mark the calendar so that I have to guestimate my next cycle at the risk of bleeding on my clothes in public. I don’t have period panties anymore (those panties that are so stained and messy looking from ‘accidents’ I would die of embarrassment if I was ever in a car crash and someone had to strip them off of me, preferably a hot firefighter). I don’t have to worry about hormones to prevent pregnancy and the side effects associated with them. I will never again worry that I accidentally missed a pill or had to reschedule a Depo-Provera appointment or that my IUD had migrated out of place. I DON’T HAVE HORRIBLE DEBILITATING CRAMPS!!!!! I don’t feel self-conscious having sex with my boyfriend for fear he can smell the beginnings or endings of a menstrual cycle when we are intimate. While I am amazed at the beauty and efficacy of the female body and all its evolutionary perfection to bring forth life, now that I have birthed two children of my own, I have been liberated from the less appealing attributes of being female. I am so pleased that I was able to have this procedure.
I can remember what it was like to leave him. And so I’m never angry very long.
The last time I was pulling all nighters I was in such a bad space. I feel myself drifting back into that somnolent space of limbo where I’m not sure if I should be sleeping or awake. I wouldn’t have it any other way. God, have I tried. I resent the night shift. I want a normal job like normal people. But I don’t fit that mold no matter how many corners I try to bend to reshape my form. Why can’t I just embrace this? And creativity flows. When I am stretched. So I press on.
There is no better space than that in which all parts are fed and free.
I thought the last mile would feel more liberating, that the downhill stretch would be less strenuous once the end was in sight. It is none of those things. My muscles ache and my eyes are weary with patience wearing thin. This is my final mile of the run. I’ll make it across cramping and burning with pain if I have to crawl. I choose to press on even if it kills me in the end.
I test drove life. I flailed, I failed, I rose above it. Now I start with a clean slate. Lessons learned and armor gleaming. Polished smooth as a stone. Bring it on.
Our love is no longer fledgling embers but a raging fire lighting up the darkness.
do not mourn like those that have no hope
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