finally revealed my intense phobia of pregnancy to my psych, like seven years after i started seeing him. we were talking about housing assistance and the affordable housing rent thing and how there’s apparently a years-long waiting list that i, a single, depressed autist, would probably not qualify for since they’re more geared toward single women with children leaving abusive situations, to which he joked that i could pretend to be pregnant and having just left an abusive situation to qualify and then have a miscarriage (spontaneous abortion, said i) to get higher on the list.
i full-body spasmed for a good five minutes, tried to rip my face off, and generally hurled myself around in my chair in a complete inability to articulate just how much DO NOT WANT even pretending to be pregnant would be.
“I WOULD LITERALLY STAB MYSELF SO MANY TIMES,” said i.
“JUST THE SUGGESTION OF PRETENDING TO BE PREGNANT MAKES ME WANT TO PERFORM A HYSTERECTOMY ON MYSELF WITH MY POCKET KNIFE (WHICH IS VERY DULL RIGHT) IMMEDIATELY,” said i.
“THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE WAS WHEN I MOVED TO NEWFOUNDLAND AND WAS TOLD THE STORY OF THE VIRGIN MARY IN MY NEW RELIGION CLASS. THE COMPLETE HORROR THAT I FELT HAS NEVER LEFT MY BODY,” said i.
“THE IDEA OF SPONTANEOUS PARTHENOGENESIS MAKES ME WANT TO STAB EVERYTHING, MYSELF INCLUDED,” said i.
“i am fine with cancer, with a tapeworm, whatever,” said i, “cool cool cool. BUT THE OTHER THING? NO.”
