You know that this attachment deal affects the way I feel about myself too? I know that sounds a bit messed up (lolol..a bit, yeah sure Grainne…just a pinch!) but it’s true.
When I was dating my ex husband I had all sorts of gynecological trouble (won’t detail it here, worry not). I would bleed, a lot, after sex and sometimes just for no reason at all. I’d be standing there, not anywhere near time for my cycle and would suddenly feel like I was wetting my pants with blood. I learned to be prepared all the time, just in case. I went to the doctor dozens of times and had so many pap tests the Government stopped paying for them and sent me a bill wondering if I was indulging in some sort of fetish. (not really, but they did try to bill me). Nothing ever came back as concerning, but then, the tests were usually inconclusive. It went on for years until pain started to accompany the blood. I was finally referred to a specialist who had me up in stirrups for less than 30 seconds before he diagnosed me. I had fairly advanced cervical dysplasia which, if left untreated, develops into cervical cancer.
The news didn’t phase me. I said “oh!” and asked if it could be treated. I had to go in for laser surgery to blast out the abnormal cells and while waiting for that appointment, I had plenty of time to ponder the situation. My foster mother cried on the phone when I told her. I was absolutely astounded. It didn’t seem like a reason to cry to me. It was just my stupid body.
When I told my ex husband he also burst into tears. I blew it off and dragged him to the bus stop so we could go home. I have a strange way of passing out after things like that…only to do with my cervix somehow. Pregnancy cleared that up for me but then, I wasn’t so acclimatised. I nearly fainted on the bus and he panicked!!! I had to somehow keep him calm, keep myself conscious and get off the bus…..I managed. Got home, slept for ages while my ex sobbed in a chair across the room.
It did not, even once, occur to me that I should be upset or frightened. I didn’t worry about it…did not’ think about it, actually. I suspect it was really dissociation in a way, but I didn’t feel the need to spend any energy on the whole experience. I got the surgery, things cleared up and that was that. It’s just now, recent months, that I can see what happened there.
I didn’t care about getting raped either. It didn’t make me angry. I didn’t feel like someone had taken something from me. I felt worthless, but that was common throughout my experiences as a kid.
I didn’t care about getting hurt physically. I remember fire flashing in my eyes while I stood my full four feet and, hands on hips, stood up to my father. I would sometimes pick at him until he blew, just to get it over with. I would cry myself to sleep, but really, it wasn’t because he hurt me. It was because he didn’t love me.
Dear god. I am such a mess. I did learn from my stupid mother. I learned to ignore everything that’s important and pay exaggerated attention to things that don’t fucking matter. *closes eyes*
Please, day, just fly by. I need so much to sleep.