The Girls and That Shit

Today was my final post-surgery checkup. The doctor said I'm healing nicely, I'm slightly uneven, and he's finished with me. That last part is verbatim. I hope I never see him again.

I am quite happy with the girls. I really am. I'm happy with the way this all turned out, yet I can't help but wonder what the fucking point was to any of it. The only thing I know for sure is that I'll never know. It was just my path.

I haven't really allowed myself to reflect on my experience for a few weeks now. August was a painful blur. September was a drunken blur. October? I haven't decided yet. I think I'm ready to sit with this again.

I have moments when I'm looking at myself topless in the mirror and start laughing. I laugh because I'm enlightened. I laugh because I faced this thing head on and won. And I laugh because it's fucking funny. Seriously, lopsided breasts? A popped implant? You can't write this shit. Okay, well maybe I am writing it now, but still. This is a ridiculous story and it's all mine.

Am I different? Yep. I don't feel broken. I don't feel deformed. I don't feel this thing sitting in my chest anymore. The implant was in me for so long that I didn't even realize I was feeling it. When it first came out I felt like there was a hole in my chest. The hole is closing now and for the first time in my life I feel well, whole.

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I haven't written about therapy because I shut down after my visit a couple of weeks ago. I told Cee everything I have buried deep inside. It took a lot out of me. This is the big stuff, That Shit if you will, I am afraid to conquer. The weird thing is I'm not afraid to talk about them. I'm afraid what will happen if I do. I'm afraid of letting go.

I know now is the time for me to go back and do this. Sharing my breast and 9/11 stories were huge steps in the right direction, but I still have a lot of work to do.

I decided it would be best for me to wait until January. Financially, it makes sense with the holidays. Personally and emotionally, well there are things I resolved to take care of before the new year. Sexy, Simba, Something. I haven't forgotten nor given up. Simba's out of the picture now with the short 'do, but Sexy and Something still have a good 10 weeks to come to fruition. I want to make sure I come back to therapy ready to tackle the big issues instead of getting caught up in the less important ones. Working out and proactively looking for a new job will give me the boost I need to get That Shit out.

2010, it ain't over.