Of all the things I took away from this past weekend, the realization that I haven't been completely honest with myself is number one.
I spoke on a panel, Writing Through the Pain. And when I say "spoke", of course, I mean I sobbed my way through.
The thing is, I thought I was "over it". I thought I was okay with the fact that an essential part of who I am was cut out of me. Sure, I signed the papers, but when you're at the point where your options are to A) slowly bleed to death while your infected uterus leaks poison into the rest of your system kills you dead, or B) have some surgery, most of us would gladly pick the second option.
It's hard because I didn't realize how much of myself was wrapped into that half-a-pound, bloody, mean, and nasty little organ. It's like my womanhood was stolen.
Of course, NOW that I am back home, safely hidden behind a screen, NOW I can talk about it. Because I don't have to say the words out loud. I don't have to look you in the eye and admit how ashamed I feel over this. How much I try to make myself believe that it's not my fault.
Isn't it funny how even though you KNOW something isn't your fault, you still have to work to convince yourself that it's true?
I can't begin to describe what I'm feeling NOW without the beginning.
So it's been decided...
Tomorrow, I shall begin at the beginning.
Wherever that may be.
