woemanhood

Woe-man-hood

here has been of the past month a strange and unnatural phenomenon which has perched like a sickly specter upon my conscience and general constitution, one that has caused innumerous bouts of pain, loss of appetite, and newfound distastes with life. With much deliberation and empirical evidence and analysis, I have come to find the truth of the matter concerning the source of the issue; though I had understood the procedure to be one of logical soundness at the time, the insertion of a Splinter in my cervix turned out to be much less fruitful than I had initially expected, from what the professionals had suggested.

f course when she had convinced me to put such a thing in my body, Mrs. Nurse had informed me, as is done by lawfully abiding citizens, how I was at increased risk for infection. No matter the circumstances, I told myself, this would be a good idea. I would be prevented from the embarrassments and mortal dangers of having to become the naturally occurring yet socially detestable Pregnant Man, by way of a simple insertion that needed no upkeep, yet that was at its core simply another torture device prescribed for those who wish not to be burdened by the organs that make most who suffer from associated afflictions go a tad neurotic with pain. Of course I was a special case, in that my neuroticism was not-so-uniquely tied to my distaste with the hormonal normalities associated with the functioning of such organs, but I had not yet come to understand the ways that the current medical system was purely focused on the well-being of those who did not fall under that definition, those who intuited without thought that their bodies were aligned with the hormonal makeups they had had since their first pubescence.

midst all of this, the Splinter was, as it was called, “the best option” for my situation, apparently, and so I went along with the advice of those who knew less about what was good for me than other adults who also did not fall under the definitions of “expected society.” The Splinter felt and behaved as any splinter does: immense pain upon insertion which evolves into a dull but ever-present feeling that something foreign and inappropriate is invading your body, blood and other grotesque fluids oozing from the site, and a continuous irritating desire for it to be removed. It was foolish of me to think that putting a piece of trash in my flesh would cause no issues, let alone one that was not designed for my life, my body; I knew in some ways that I would feel emasculated from such a procedure, and yet I bore with it for the sake of an illusive idea of safety. What a waste.