A year later...

Today marks one year since my second surgery. A surgery I had to have for medical reasons. A surgery that changed my body forever, and deformed my favourite body part.

I have not been able to return to how I loved and embraced my body before the surgery, but I am trying. Loving oneself is hard enough, without external factors intervening. 

On this day, I'm self reflecting on my journey to recovery, the realisation that the body can take years — if ever — to fully heal from physical trauma, how physical and psychological trauma are intertwined, and how one can navigate relearning to love themselves, after they're not 'themselves' anymore. 

I don't have any answers to give you, or myself, at the moment. Recovering and healing can be difficult. Complications can be scary and horrendous. The unknown is terrifying. No one can give you an absolute guarantee things will go as planned, or that you will be okay. 

The hospitalisation for and recovering from the two surgeries I had (for the same medical reason), were the worst experiences I've ever had to go through — and I've been through some terrible shit. I will always have a scar reminding me of the nightmare, but I can only wish that my body will fully heal in the foreseeable future, so I can — at least partially — move on to a happier and healthier place.

Lara

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My poem 'de-FORmed:'

Goodbye;

Farewell.

I know I’ll never see you again.

You changed forever: your shape, your form.

All that remains is I, deformed

https://mysticismlover.wordpress.com/2022/10/17/de-formed/

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PS. I kindly ask that you do not comment/message regarding my surgeries or my health.

PS2. Please, also refrain from dismissing my trauma or diminishing my experience. "You look fine" comments aren't welcome.

PS3. From the bottom of my heart, 'Thank you' to those who have supported me throughout this journey, either practically, or emotionally. I don't know that I would have been able to persevere without you. I am forever grateful. 

Random Thoughts LXXXIII

Depression is 

forcing yourself to take a shower; yet, lacking the energy to lift the shower head to wash yourself. You stare at it crying, the overwhelming existential fatigue making even the smallest movement feel akin to climbing a mountain.

Anxiety is 

a relentless assault on your mind, dissecting and scrutinizing every perceived ‘flaw’ and imperfection within yourself and your life. You can’t stop falling down the rabbit hole of negative thoughts. Your body becomes a vessel of suffering.

Random Thoughts LXXXII

Today, London’s temperature has been reminiscent of Athens in late May or early June.

Warm days, slightly chilly nights.

What I miss the most about my hometown is strolls bathed in moonlight, breathing the city in, being an observer of the microcosm that late-night Athens is.

I don’t think I’ll ever love a city as much again, with such passion, such unbearable longing, such tenderness… And, at the same time, dreading visiting for too long, or becoming Athenian full-time again.

My feelings for Athens are as confusing and conflicting, as Athens itself is riddled with antithesis and contradictions:

Ancient and modern, wise and impulsive, pretty and ugly, resilient and clumsy.

That’s her core and her beauty.

Καληνύχτα Αθήνα μου.

Random Thoughts LXXXI

Το κάθε ένα άτομο ας κάνει αυτό που μπορεί για να αντέξει τον αβάσταχτο πόνο της ματαιότητας της ύπαρξης...

Random Thoughts LXXX

Isn’t it fucked up that the world we live in is so shitty, we constantly seek forms of escapism?
Be it food, drugs, shopping, gambling, adrenaline rushes or anything else, many are in a constant search for distractions from the life they live.

International Women's Day

(Image Source: https://www.staffnet.manchester.ac.uk/news/display/?id=29403)

Today is International Women's Day.

I won't be wishing us Happy International Women's Day, though. I'll say stop discriminating against us, disrespecting/shaming/raping/murdering/abusing us, instead.

Oh, and a kind reminder that trans women are women.

Now that I got this out of the way, I want to talk about a specific quote I see people share every year on this day: "Here's to strong women. May we know them. May we be with them. May we raise them."

 
I find this quote highly problematic for the following reasons:

-Women shouldn't have to be 'strong' to be appreciated and celebrated. The notion that we always have to be strong, to persevere and rise above puts us on the pedestal, which then 'justifies' unrealistic and unfair expectations of us. We're not superheroes, we're human beings. The expectation of 'strength' also makes it harder for us to feel comfortable asking for help when we need it, resulting in us suffering in silence or alone, which of course works in patriarchy's favour. Because, as long as we keep our pain and suffering to ourselves, we don't 'disrupt' and we're isolated, the patriarchy can keep doing its job of oppressing and controlling women. And lastly, what has 'strength' or being 'strong' been associated with in our society - typically? Masculinity and men. Being vulnerable is mostly - typically - associated with femininity and women. I'm not going to analyse why these stereotypes are bullshit; but, I do want to ask this question: why is it that even on a day dedicated to women, we're expected to act like men to be respected and celebrated? 

-All women and femmes should be celebrated on this day, regardless of their perceived 'strength' or lack of. Excluding a group of women/femmes from their own day is, well... Kind of anti-women.

I understand that many people sharing the quote do it with good intentions, and I appreciate those intentions. However, I'd like to invite you to consider the deeper meaning of what you share and its wider implications.

A plant named 'Vagina'

Since I'm ill, and can't do fuck all atm, I decided to tell you a story about one of two times I tried to be a plant parent.

Back in 2021 or so, a friend had gifted me a pot of a very beautiful pink flower. Don't ask me its name, I know nothing about most plants, unless they can be smoked. lol. Anyhow, my friend was all excited to urge me to become a plant parent. I, on the other hand, wasn't excited. I was horrified. In the past, I managed to kill a cactus; I knew this poor flowery creature stood no chance.

I thought I had to name it (because I have a tendency to name things) in a way that would motivate me to take care of it. Hence, I named her 'Vagina.'

Now, my Vagina started all pink and pretty, and I did remember to water her from time to time. I even talked to her and petted her. I have a slight suspicion all the other housemates watered her, too, when they shouldn't have. Her beautiful pink petals gradually fell, and she looked like a spooky tree from a horror movie.

As you can guess, I was concerned. Very concerned. I didn't want my Vagina to perish. I read a few articles and consulted a couple of green-fingered people on how to save her. I was told I had to remove her from her pot and check if there was any mold on the roots. I was also advised to cut the dry branches off. I did both. My Vagina looked sadder and drier than ever.

As time went by, there was no improvement of her state. My Vagina wasn't going to survive. Her roots seemed fine to me, however, her body was the shadow of its old self. I pondered upon what to do, and finally, decided it was time to bid my Vagina farewell. I took her out of her pot and buried her in another pot, one of a large plant in the garden. My reasoning was that since she was dead/dying anyway, she could at least become one with the earth and benefit another plant.

And thus, my Vagina was gone forever.

Random Thoughts LXXIX

 Being apolitical is one of the greatest indications of privilege and indifference.