I hate to update twice in one day, so I'll make this short, but not sweet.

I can't stop thinking about this fucking physical, I'm completely terrified and sitting here thinking about it and crying my eyes out.

I have a phobia of doctors - when I was a kid I was strapped down (see previous entry) and I think that fucked me up seriously. I can remember it somewhat, just the velcro straps ... the sound of it, and just remember them strapping down my head, and not being able to move a muscle in my body.

I'm sorry, but that was tramatic to me as a kid, being held down like that and all the nurses, doctors looking at me, touching me and me not being able to do anything about it as my parents did nothing....oh my.

Fuck then my high school physical when I layed down on the table and the doctor opened my shirt, right in front of my MOM, and gave me a breast exam. Oh my fucking GOD, I wanted to die right there, I felt molested, violated! Jesus Christ, I hate medical shit.

Ohhh I cry to think about this exam, just them looking at me and me feeling embarassed about how I look and how they will judge me and maybe tell their loved ones about this crazy fat chick today who works at the local paper flipped out or was disgustin'.

I told my friends that I might just end up bursting into tears in the office, or talking crazy. Or something, anything, I just don't want them looking down there, I hate my thighs, and showing a stranger my goods is undiginifying on so many levels. Not to mention his hands touching me THERE.

But no one, completely no one, seems to understand that to me...the doctor is the boogieman.

It's why I've been a crabby mess, I'm just so fucking scared and it's something I HAVE TO do, and I don't know how to make anyone understand why I'm just a basketcase .... I know it must be done. I understand this, and I know they've seen it all, and I'm just another cadaver for them to mess with and it's old hat to them.

But it's not to me.

Maybe crying and talking it out will help me somehow produce a plan of attack, I feel like they will look at me competely and I'll have to act like it's all okay and act like that odor of PMS is nothing. ew. God please let me off the hook on this one and let this doctor come in and ask a few questions and look in my mouth, listen to my chest and feel around and then call it a day. He'll shrug and skip that lower level section saying what do we need that for?

Somehow I don't think he won't, though I think I'll say "you don't have to fill it all out...."

For now, I think I need this fine and good crying out of my eyes. I've been meaning to have a good, very good cry lately due to everything that's happening in my life and leaving (if I even get to) and stuff like that.

I wish I could come to some clear ground where I'll feel OKAY. Maybe when I get to talk to him I'll tell him how afraid I am and ask WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME? What are your plans...that type of thing. I'll lighten the air with my story about me being strapped down and my new found baby-ish attitude toward doctors. He might not find that so funny.

Hell he might just like to look at girls coots for the hell of it, just to see them blush furiously. I will pretend I'm Beauty in Anne Rice's icky Sleeping Beauty novels. ooo

Fuck.

�

pet ramps