sometimes
I think about how in 6th grade we read the Giver. And every time I see rosemary or smell rosemary I think of the little girl who had to take her own life because too much pressure was put on her shoulders. I think about how no one stopped her and gave her a better life.
The thing that continues to haunt me about that book, to this day, and god, at least every month since 6th grade when I read it was the ceremony where all thr children get together and are given their equipment and assignments for the new year. I remember them giving bras to the girls. I remember being so embarrassed, because by that age I was already developing and would not have had access to a bra if I lived in that society.
I remember the teens with our protagonist and I remember their assignments. I remember the girl who was assigned to give birth, for three years, I think, living in total luxury, but forced into pregnancy, and after, forced into a life of hard labor, because of her body. Because she had large hips and a large frame and she was strong. I was terrified, I had large hips, I had a large frame, if it was my class in that book, I would have been that girl.
I wonder sometimes if my whole life was me desperately trying to not become her. Desperately looking for a way out of my body which just got bigger and stronger and more suited for carrying babies for someone else. Maybe that book was why I insisted for years I hated babies, or that I would never want one, and that I was actually weak instead of strong.
Sometimes I think about her. If I was her I would have already had my years of luxury, and had my body destroyed by delivering babies for a society that keeps them in line. I think about how I would be sent to hard labor now, body broken, babies stolen and killed if there was more than one.
I never wanted to become her. I studied, I studied, I worked for something that you wouldn’t expect me to do if you saw my body. I wanted to be the doctor. I wanted to be given school, I wanted to be given a good life and a body that was mine.
My body of a woman, my fear, warped into me doing this opposite of what is expected I don’t want to be used to give birth, I want to be the doctor.
I just, I just think about her a lot. The character, the horror, of being so young and being told that your body is not yours and your life is not yours.
I think she gave me so much of what I am. I still hate that book for the fear it gave me. We never talked about that part of the book. We only talked about the boy. We never talked about the terror of it.
