Made This For Amanda Todd

Black Day

Hello.

Lemme ‘splain somethings  to youse.  I don’t write for the grammar.  I don’t write for a paycheck.  I don’t write for fame.  I write under two assumptions: 1). that whatever I write will not ever be read and 2). if read, what I write will greatly go misunderstood.

So in this world of tweets and status updates, gets a womb-man feelin’ like the quiet worm in the Dr. Seuss book that has to contend with a gazillion squawking birds.

I write.  Probably for the same reason Anne Frank wrote; to keep herself sane in an ‘unsane’ world.  I write.  Probably for the same reason you may have stopped to read a random blog; because we are internalizing our environment.

Presently my level of anxiety is SO high, I feel like my sternum is about to split in two at any moment to release the anguished soul inside.  I am so unhappy.  I try to be happy.  I try to be grateful for ‘the little things’ but every day, being grateful for little things is getting harder and harder to do.

Yesterday I went to get my birth control filled at Walgreens, which is the NuvaRing, without health insurance the cost of this product is $93.00 but with my health insurance it’s $30.00.  Which is pretty cool for not being worried about getting pregnant in my committed co-habituating  relationship, I don’t have some stupid little pill to remember to take every single day and after reading an article on Alternet.org I decided to just not have periods anymore (ladies don’t need a placebo week to bleed, it’s purely a male construct), it’s easy to insert and remove, it’s worth $30.00 but not $93.00.  So I go to call that refill in, only to be told that this year I have reached my ‘insurance cap on co-pays’ and now need to pay $84.00 for my birth control out of pocket.

My boyfriend charged it on his credit card, which actually kinda sucks, because I only have three bras and the underwire is poking through the seams on ALL of them.  If my boyfriend was to spend $84.00 on me, I’d rather it be on new bras.  But alas, no.

But I’m freaking out on the drive to Walgreens, because on August 9^th I was diagnosed with IBS and need to take up to 4 20MG pills a day of Dicyclomine which prevents me from having an incredible amount of abdominal pain, an excessive amount of bowel movements (I still have shit 5 times today in the last 12 hours), disabling nausea and vomiting that is worse than having a stomach flu.  This means if I don’t take these pills, I can’t work.  My co-pay on these pills is $15.00.  But since I have reached my ‘cap’ they now are requiring me to pay $17.00.  Whew.  And here I was afraid that to maintain my quality of life and to prevent a life would cost me around an additional $140.00 a month.  To be able to live without my period, fear of getting pregnant, without puking and shitting abnormally.

Ah, the joys of womb-manhood.

Why my birth-control is more expensive then Dicycolmine is beyond me.  

Alright, well, there’s always Planned Parenthood, so today at work I logged on to their website to schedule an appointment with them only to receive an email and get a cryptic call from them within a few hours stating that I owe them $88.00 dollars and that until payment is received, they will deny me care.  Without telling me what I owe them that money for.

Back in 2008, I had gotten an IUD implant at Planned Parenthood that my uterus rejected within a few days, the cost and insertion of this device, if I recall correctly cost about $300.00.  Since my uterus rejected the IUD, I was promised by a doctor at the PP clinic that if I decided to let them reinsert one, it would be free of cost.  I did not because the man I was dating at the time became MIA soon enough and the entire procedure—despite being told it would be a ‘slight pinch’—was unbearably painful and I almost couldn’t walk for two days.  I wasn’t really in a rush to get that done.  The last time I tried to call Planned Parenthood out on this promise, they ‘couldn’t find the paperwork’ to provide the free IUD I was promised.

Too bad right?  Because I’m a forgetful person and don’t like taking The Pill every fucking day.  So was reduced to using condoms for contraception.  Then I wound up in my current relationship and sometimes, shit, including pregnancy, happens.

So in May of this year, I found out I was pregnant.  We can obviously barely afford our birth-control so how on Earth could we afford a child.  Well, I was spared from making a critical decision because on Mother’s Day weekend I had a miscarriage.  At work.  It was bloody, painful and scary.  And I’m so low-key nobody noticed and only two people knew.  My friend Amada convinced me to go to the ER because I could’ve unwittingly have had an endoscopic pregnancy and might be in need of a DNC to avoid any type of internal infection.  So I went to the ER.

My insurance did not cover that visit.

It was expensive.  I still haven’t paid it yet.

When I called into my health care provider to find out why, the female TSR told me, “We don’t cover abortions, ma’am.”

This Sure Beats The Hell Out Of Algebra, Doesn't It?

Dr. Who-me?, eww.
You can't see or understand that I'm the Invisible Man with jewelry?
You lookin' pretty paltry & pouty
I'm feelin' kinda rowdy
like a cowboy that don't say, "Howdy."
Pennywise,
I am the ultimate Ghostwriter:
John Ritter,
only bigger & more bitter
and, yea, you could figure...
on a star.
All those
Once Upon A Time
wishes,
tend to go
a bit too far.
Tracy Chapman
said you got a fast car.
But all men be playars.
All womb-men be bitches,
and give birth in a rut
'cause of a sting in the gut
so what you breed
gets called mutt and never gets what they need
to sleep
and feel alright.
So they grow-up like me
and ghostwrite.
Say they, "Al'right,"
when they're not all right.
Every step a jihad,
Every breath a fight.
They might let you pray if you're lucky.
Even if he does love you,
he'll still fuck me.
With pay.
Tell you it's addiction,
tell me it's fiction,
but it's the predilection
you know not of.
You laying on the rug
lip bleeding
feeling OOBE
very Obi-Wan Kenobi
wondering what Dad's thinking
rocking his Lazyboy in,

in the dark.

Every step a jihad,
every breath a fight.

47%

I know he's making CD's of all my playlists

and all 22 blog views
were his hits,
he might miss this
as much as I miss that
and he's writing on the shiny silver disk with a black Sharpie in safety orange spandex speaking Spanglish.
Wondering whatever is on my mind...  ...if they'll find me
dead,
like Norma Jean
with my brunette hair
just as bleached, beached
on a Plastic Beach,
guerrilla in the sand.

My castle is a man.

I could still wrestle with gators but,
then I couldn't hang-glide with the aviators,
and while you strum on yer guitar
trying to become what you are,
all stop-lights mediators: 
avid avatars in their cars...

...I break lamps and dance.