The More Things Change...
I had a long, long talk with Mom this morning. She's worried about me. Yeah, I know that's her job as a mother to worry about her children, and I understand that. I just hate this growing up business.
I don't want to see a doctor. I'm not sick. I don't smell bad. Other than my almost-recovered knee, I feel fine. I've never had any kind of intercourse in my entire life, not even when I had a boyfriend. (We didn't want to have children, and condoms are so undependable.) I hate doctors. I hate hospitals. I hate blood. They creep me out and remind me of illness and death, and who wants to think of that?
I KNOW I'm getting older. I KNOW I'm at risk for fifty million different kinds of diseases just because I'm fat and will be turning 30 in two years. I don't want to think about it. Thinking about it makes me depressed, and I do enough of that on my own. I don't want to have cancer, or fifty million other diseases, and how could I, anyway? I eat fruits and vegetables and whole grains and drink lots of fluids. I get outside as much as possible. I only ride my bike to work every day!
And now I find out there's the possibility of this stuff running in my family! I don't want cancer! My stepmother DIED of cancer! I don't want this!
I DON'T WANT THIS! I don't want to scan this or that. I don't want to see what awful shape I'm in. I'm not an old woman. I've never done anything worse than overeat and hurt my knee! I don't drink. I don't smoke.
Please, please, please, don't make there be anything wrong with me. I'm tired of there being things wrong with me. Everything's always wrong with me. I'm mentally wrong. I'm physically wrong. I'm fat and out of shape. I don't get along well with the other kids. I'm stressed. I'm anxiety-ridden. I'm diseased.
Go away. I just want it all to go away. I don't want to be sick.