And then the whole family got Covid. Ah, the joys of having a child who goes to pre-school, where other parents bring their children when they’re sick (yes, very much against what we’ve been told time and time again). We just got free and clear of the cold that tore through the house as a result of the stress of moving, now we’re down again.

And I’m about to lose my mind.

Everywhere hurts. I feel like I went to the gym and did nothing but squats for a whole week. The fatigue is dragging me down. Last week I was so exhausted I did nothing but sleep for most of four days. Everything tastes wrong or tastes like nothing, though today the Dijon mustard finally – finally! – had the smallest burn to it again.

Now I’m waiting for the day coffee is gonna taste good again.

I only have enough energy to be frustrated and angry about not having energy to do anything other than be frustrated and angry. If that makes sense. My self-confidence is a dumpster fire. My self-loathing is through the roof. Fatigue still has me dragging my hands on the floor like a beached cephalopod (how’s that for a Zaven joke). And more than anything I’m 👏 so 👏 done 👏 being 👏 sick 🤧 Fuck this shit.

My body dysmorphia has been kicking me while I’m down too, and I don’t seem to possess enough spoons to get it under control right now. And because of this gods damned allergy to the cold (thanks for THAT faulty response, immune system) I can’t even look forward to going outside once this is all over. No nature for me, only the same four walls that are already driving me insane because they won’t let me run away from my responsibilities, even for just an hour.

I go through periods of intense hatred of my body. I know I shouldn’t, I know I should be grateful for the things it has brought me through rather than focus on all the things it is not, but it’s hard some days. Especially this whole foray into reproduction and the poor recovery from it with an autoimmune disease has been less than I could have hoped for.

I think I was at my happiest when I was dancing, my body was very androgynous then, I had short hair and spent most of my time in sweats. It was almost like being a man. I’ve never had an easy relationship with my body, feeling like I don’t fit into either my physical being nor the gender roles of society. Would I be given a choice, I would choose male, but with my medical history, gender is not something I’m even going to attempt to change, so I’ll settle for fantasising of how much better I’d feel with a body that was different.

I’ve been seeing a lot of guy thirst traps on social media lately, and the thing I’ve been walking away with is the overwhelming jealousy. I mean, I can work out, but no matter how much I lift, I’ll still only be my squat five-foot-four (and in a female body).

Maybe I’m just being morose right now because I’m sick and fatigued. And maybe I’ll start feeling better once I can start exercising again and pushing my body’s physical limits. I can’t wait to get back to the kettlebells and working my way up to bigger and bigger weights. I think I’ve always been at my happiest during those times when I’ve been able to push my body, discover and develop the innate power that it can possess. But also, once I get over this fucking curse of a disease, I’m gonna start exercising some fucking agency again. I think I’ve let it go for too long as it is.

Oh, is that a faux hawk I feel in the making? Stay tuned.


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