My massage therapist is a lovely California woo. By which I mean she calls herself a Christian but she does a lot of energy work and can reference multiple schools of thought on how the body stores energy. Yesterday her thing was how the various fingers are tied to current and past emotions.

The finger I knocked out of joint is supposed to be connected with current worry. The finger I jammed so badly it was hard to get any movement back in the joints is tied to past anger.

When she said these two things I burst into tears. I don’t cry with her much. It freaks her out.

But I started instantaneously sobbing and talking about how angry I am that those motherfuckers are still god damn making my life hard because they just had to fuck up a child’s pussy.

I don’t think I had been terribly aware of just how much anger I am holding on to about the fact that my labors are so hard partially because of what was done to me. My ability to have a normal body process was taken away when I was a child. And I am fucking bitter. I am so tired of suffering because of assholes.

This is where the whole victim/survivor thing becomes a problem. I’m still carrying around the impact of the incest and the rapes. Does that mean that even my labors are part of my victim experience? Is being a survivor what makes everything so awful? Cohort. Cohort members frequently experience difficulty because of being part of the cohort.

That doesn’t feel as violating to me.

It’s almost 3am. That means I have approximately 74 hours until eviction gets started. There is a 0% chance I will still be pregnant in 100 hours. I will have a baby in my arms. One way or another.

It’s funny how her movements keep changing. She used to move all the damn time. Little sharp movements that rarely stopped. Now she has stretches where she seems to be storing up energy for the next big flip flopping session. She is still until my entire abdomen moves like there is a sea creature doing otter rolls inside of me. It hurts. Her movements are becoming quite painful. She’s too dang big to be hanging out in there any more.

I keep telling her she doesn’t actually want a Valentine’s birthday but so far she doesn’t believe me. So far she thinks it’ll be fiiiiiiiiine.

My sister got married on Valentine’s Day when she was 17. She has spent the rest of her life talking about how the day is ruined. Somehow… this just might be redemption for me. Cause I’m going to ride the gravy train forever that this child will be my sweetness and love. Even if they are a total shithead. That would be so apropos.

I feel like a wounded water buffalo when I try to move around because of all the flip flopping and awkwardness.

I would like more sleep but my shoulders hurt so badly.

This relaxin bullshit can go ahead and stop. My body is crumbling.

I’m trying as hard as I can to keep my mood as level as I can manage. I feel so bad that I am being bitchy. I have a lot of feelings going on in my body and being regulated with my emotions is basically impossible at this point. I’m trying. I’m trying to shut my fucking mouth instead of expressing pissiness when it won’t god damn help a thing. The situation will be fixed. It’s not a big deal.

Breathe. Everyone around me is trying so hard to be helpful. I’m sorry I am so impatient and bitchy right now. I see y’alls wonderful efforts and I’m trying to give you the response you deserve for your lovely behavior. It’s really hard to keep my mood level as my pain levels are spiking like this.

But it doesn’t actually matter how I feel. It matters how I act. If I want to preserve these relationships I need to get my shit together. No pissiness over minor mistakes. Shit happens. Shake it off. It can be fixed. That is absolutely my favorite part of becoming a rich old person. Do you know how many mistakes I can’t fix? The number is small. Most mistakes really don’t fucking matter now. It’s ok.

It really is.

But hopefully when I heard news of the small mistake I didn’t cause a mistake that can’t be fixed. That’s the important dynamic.

The stupid little shit that needs to be handled? That’s not a big deal. How people feel about the mistake? That can have longer lasting consequences.

fuuuuuuuuuuuck

Breathe.

My hands need me to stop typing. But I still have feelings. Bury them, motherfucker.