“Can you imagine this mug on a normal body? I could have ruled the world.”
Paul, American Horror Story Freak Show
One of the schools of thought I subscribe to (a few actually) dictate that my soul chose this body before we got here. Um Soul…what the fuck were you thinking?
Figure that out and I’ll have all the answers, and quite possibly rule the world.
Remember me saying that I cannot shut up, even if it means no man will ever love me?
This is the post that prompted that fear.
2 things happened.
- A massage
- Drinks with an old friend/ex from my 20’s.
Common thread? Me naked.
I went for a massage with a new woman. She looked at me, poked, prodded, clucked her tongue a bit and proceeded to deal with my body as two separate halves. Treated each side differently BECAUSE IT IS FUCKING DIFFERENT. My ‘normal’ movement comes from my muscles never knowing what normal is and my body compensating.
I have Poland Syndrome. (http://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/condition/poland-syndrome )
I have two great tits, sadly they belong on two different bodies. I have always padded any disclosure with ‘it could have been worse, I could have webbed fingers and toes, shortened limbs, curvature of the spine and Bell’s palsy on the affected side’. I don’t. Yippee?
Fat only grows on muscle. Breasts are composed of mostly fat ergo…No boob. When I was in high school and had to wear a prosthetic I/it became not-so-affectionately known as “Jellyboob”.
Yep. That happened. The perpetrator of said nickname was none other than High School Sweetheart, the man I loved for 26 years. I think there is a huge tanker truck full of worms that is about to spill out, going to try and keep it contained, or perhaps call in the crows to clean that up.
But, but…wait. Stripper?
Yes, I was a one-titted stripper. Add another tanker truck full of worms to the pile up on the highway. We will have to get to that later too.
I am quite literally a circus freak. I am fucking deformed.
I am missing my pectoral major and minor on my right side.
I have had 4 corrective surgeries since I was 16.
I started seeing a plastic surgeon when I was 13. He said “we can’t do the surgery until you have finished growing, you have to be the same height for 3 years.” He measured me I was 5’5”.
Twice a year I went back, for 3 years. He measured me and I was 5’5”. On my 6th visit, sometime in December he whipped out the plaster of Paris and began sculpting me a tit. Surgery was schedule for that summer, I had a custom made prosthetic coming, one that would reside UNDER my skin and I’d be a real girl.
Last consultation before surgery. He measured me. I was 5’8”.
Had to start over and build a new boob.
I supressed my growth.
Yes, that happened.
That is how badly I wanted to be a real girl.
also, I AM magic.
I was sitting in a pub with my dear friend, known him for almost 20 years. I must have called myself deformed once for each of those years. I said I would have been in a freak show had I been born in the 30’s. “But you weren’t Sarah”. He kept reminding me that I am lucky. Apparently my old speech was rather convincing. Except I never convinced myself. I said “I would have been discarded had I been born in ancient Greece”. He disagreed and thought I would be worshiped Gods bless him. It could have gone either way.
Every girl says “I’m not like other girls” and while in a philosophical sense, I tend to agree. It still gets my back up 7 ways from Sunday. I want to shake them and say at least you have 3/3 things that make you a woman.
One of my rather shitty exes said to me “well you only have one tit, you can’t be picky about the men you date”. Shitty thing to say right? My mom said it was abusive, it was abusive, he was abusive. But I didn’t think he was wrong.
The most comfort I ever received was from a stranger, she heard about me and sent me a letter saying that I was an Amazon in a previous life, that I had willingly lopped off my breast because it made me a better warrior. Which would also explain why, at age 7, I was reigning archery champion at camp having never picked up a bow before. While lovely and mildly comforting, something is still missing. A tit, and with it a huge piece of me and my peace of mind with it.
It’s what you deserve to hear… “That you’re whole, that you’re worth loving…”― Veronica Roth, Allegiant
I don’t need to hear it, I need to believe it and I don’t know how.
This subject is far from closed, I’m having revelations like lightning strikes and need some time to ponder.
