Venting

I have been angry today. I am angry because I didn't get to go to therapy because of the blood issue and this sucks because I really NEED to go to therapy to talk about the blood issue. I am angry because my doctor hasn't called me back, even though I have made it known that I need help. I am angry because I worry I sound like my grandma . . . and I'm angry that this bothers me. I am angry that if I was a man and my reproductive business was bleeding, I would already be in the hospital, surgerized, and tended to. But I am a woman and vaginae just bleed so I'm clearly overreacting.

I am angry that when I needed to be bleeding, when the ER doctor was giving me the exam, I wasn't bleeding. Any other time I probably could have blown a clot in his face, but no, not then. Not when it was important that it happen. Stupid body betraying me.

I am angry that I am still writing about this. That over a week later, this is still dominating my life, still dictating what happens, still calling the shots.

I am angry whenever I see any happy, plucky message on Facebook about how we are in control of our own destiny. FUCK. YOU. I am not in control of jackshit right now. I'm just the person who changes the pads.  There is no control and not one goddamned thing I can do about it.

Mostly, because I like my simple little life and the path I have carved out for myself, I am angry that all of that has been disrupted.