Burlap & Satin

I was so proud of myself today. I actually drove myself happily to the doctor's office. I had myself actually elated and excited about undergoing my yearly blood test. I felt it was time to be a grown-up and do this without sedatives, so I didn't even take them with me. I was that ready, that sure. I was looking forward to coming home and posting a photo of the little cotton ball and band-aid on my arm. I didn't make it a big deal. I didn't think about it too much and get myself scared. I was absolutely fine right up until I had to sit in the chair. I had a plan all mapped out in my head. I would look away, I would count in Italian, I would breathe through it, I would get through this once and for all. It doesn't have to be a big deal, so why should it be? Exactly. I didn't even get upset when I felt the rubber tie off my circulation. I even managed to relax my arm and talk about beagles.

Then I felt the alcohol swab on my skin.

And I passed out.

It took nearly an hour before I was steady enough to drive and even then, I had to promise I would take a juice box with me. I sat in the car and cried for ten minutes and then I cried the entire way home. I feel like an absolute failure. I hate, hate, hate that I cannot get past this. I've spent the entire day sleeping and dizzy on the couch because my blood pressure spiked so badly. All because of a damned blood test. All because of a damned doctor that fucked me up when I was 12 and left my arm bruised and blackened for weeks. Still, that was nearly 18 years ago. Isn't it time to move on? Isn't it time for my body to let this go? I can be completely calm in my head, but it does not matter because my body is the one holding onto this horrid memory. Even after four years of somewhat successful blood tests, why must this be such a damned ordeal for me?

I hate it. I hate living like this, knowing that I am not healthy but also knowing that the blood test required to fix me will wreak even more havoc on my system. I hate walking away in tears and flushed and dizzy and having to constantly reschedule. I hate having to dope myself up and have a driver. But mostly, I just hate that I have to feel so damned defective. Especially when I have no reason to be. I hate not understanding my body and I just wished so badly that it would understand me.