i never thought i'd be pregnant. actually, BE pregnant.
i assumed like any scarred catholic school girl that eventually that'd be my fate at some point... either by jason priestly or some by product of rape.
i told myself when that time came, i'd nip it. nix it. abort.
i told myself i prolly couldn't get pregnant cuz it had never happened before. lord knows there have been times where i prolly should've been pregnant. (wink wink)
but i never was. i thought the plumbing was busted and it wasn't in my cards.
i told myself that i loved other peoples children too much to ever interrupt that flow. other peoples children were so pure and needed tertiary love and i was and still am so filled with that emotion and ability to incredibly naturally that it seemed like a crime to diminish it in any way.
let alone... the whole thought of being pregnant disgusted me. the way it lives inside your body like a worm, feeds off your blood and bones, only to slither out in fluid with pain. i was disgusted by the body changes, the physical inability to turn back one's figure from childbirth. the uphill commitment of it all. there's a word for all this--tokophobia. it's a real thing and i'm not the only one who feels this way apparently.
i never thought i'd find someone perfect enough to want to procreate with. the endless search and the weighted settling... and all the running i've done from past partners. i thought i'd never settle down, never be pinned, never do ... what... i guess... i'm doing now.
i think it all began with the little zygote of a thought, the one single stupid fucking heavy thought of:
"huh... well.... this uh... this might not be that bad."
that naive sentence filled with hope and instinct, expectation and choicelessness, love and future. it danced inside me when i thought of the chance to get to procreate with him. all the things i admired in him combining perfectly with all the things i have learned to love about me into a little human ready to love and need.
and so i am pregnant. five months tomorrow. 20 weeks. period over 100 days late.
and i'm terrified by my thoughts. past and present.
i'm terrified every time i pee because half of me hopes there is blood because i'm so afraid i can't do this and i want to go backwards, however painful, however grieved.
i'm terrified that in this pregnant isolation i've absolutely already lost myself and my identity. that i've lost my utter footing on this planet and the ground really is lava and i'm going to be swallowed up into the normal, typical, mundane, lacking life of a mother.
i'm terrified my body will wilt.
i'm terrified of the judgements of this child.
i'm terrified that in my traditionally backwards actions of finding and being with this mate.... that he's made the wrong choice in me. i'm terrified by the weakness of that sentence. i'm terrified to need.
so i've been drawing. trying to illustrate these fears. so far... even i'm afraid to put pen to paper on them. they're pretty fucking dark and i'm exhausted metabolically and emotionally by 3pm. i ended up sharing one of my digital drawings on a reddit group for pregnant folk and moms. it was loved, shared, upvoted, and gilded. and in my depressed state, i wish i could be moved by that in any way.
i'd kill to be warmed by other peoples thoughts that are with me.
anyway.... so i'm writing this.
i'm going to have a show in february and i'm hoping to let all this out... all the fear and beauty inside me. i've got a few months to concentrate on it and all the time to cry over it.... all the hermit-style will to work on it...
i'm a well below poverty level soon to be single mother who can't get mental health attention to save her life. i have health plan of nevada medicaid and it does not... do shit. sure, it gets me into my preferred obgyn so maybe i take that slightly back.
i have called the lines, i have waited on holds, i have left messages, emailed, called, and called back to absolutely no avail. NONE.
if i don't have a substance abuse problem.... ehhhhh
"we aren't taking new patients..."
we actually don't take that branch of medicaid.....
"maybe i can refer you...."
does sliding scale sound good?
it's a cess pit of fucking exhaustion and dead ends. i've fucking given up. i can't imagine the plight of other folk with even more severe mental health needs than mine. i cannot... begin to understand.
so here's to art therapizing oneself.
where i'll post the in's, out's, tween's, and twixt's of my world of art mixed with pictures, links, opinions, and rants. (oh, and curse words. lots of curse words)