So today’s post was born from today’s events. This morning I woke up late. I actually got some sleep for once which I put down to being sick. I didn’t really want to go out today. I just wanted to wrap up in my duvet, (despite it being 28 degrees outside,) play on Dragon Age and eat my favourite spicy Thai chicken soup. Needless to say I didn’t get what I wanted. (When do I ever?) I got dragged outside shortly after having my Chai tea. I was gawped at like a freak show and followed by people sneering. I didn’t have a hat (I recently shaved my head for charity and have to wear one outside.), sunglasses, my wallet, just my phone that has no signal…still. Turns out my mum had decided my sister and I had to have our blood group tested.
Not once was I asked if I wanted to have this done.
There had been talk about my sister wanting it done several days before, but I didn’t know if it was serious or even a possibility. I literally had no idea this was going to happen. I didn’t know where we were going until we turned into the hospital complex. Then I started to panic. I hate hospitals. I hate doctors. I hate how depressing and bleak these places are. I hate being barraged by posters telling me I probably have cancer. I’ve probably mentioned why I don’t like my doctor’s surgery and about how it triggers my anxiety. Being at a hospital is almost as bad. I usually come to the hospital to say my farewells to loved ones, or someone’s seriously sick. However that’s not what triggers my anxiety.
When I was a teenager I kept blacking out, getting dizzy and such. It turns out my optician was incompetent and I needed glasses. But before that came to light I was put through lots of medical tests. I had blood, pee and practically every sample taken off me. I was told I had brain cancer and had possibly a month to live. I’ve walked the dark paths that leads too, only to be told I didn’t actually have cancer after having MRI’s like it was some kind of sick joke. The worst test I was ever made to endure was this barbaric balance organ test. This involved having hot and cold water pumped into my ears until they were full and told to stay still and keep my eyes open whilst my brain thought I was drowning. I had a camera unit strapped tightly to my head and I couldn’t see, and I was held down by nurses. My head was spinning as if I was rolling down a hill in a barrel at top speed. My brain was confused and at some point, I vomited and because I was lying down I started to suffocate. In the end I ended up punching one nurse whilst suffocating and she broke the heel off her shoe. She fully deserved it, because she hadn’t realised I was suffocating. I was then carted out of the hospital in a wheelchair, soaked in my own sick.
So it’s safe to say I don’t like hospitals. Especially ones where I’ve nearly died several times. Back to today, I wanted to jump out of the car and escape when I realised where we were going but I restrained myself. We ended up in the ‘path lab’ and only then did I find out why we were there. When I found out it couldn’t be done that day I sighed to myself. Instead we would have to go to the doctors another day. That is a horrifying prospect, but it is a horror for another day. What bothers me the most about today is that if this test had been done today, it would have been done without my consent. My mother would have paid for it, the test would have been done, end of. I am 25 and because of the stuff my mum has done in the past I have no voice, I have no power and I wouldn’t have been able to back out.
I wouldn’t be allowed to back out.
I understand that it’s helpful to know my blood group and for those who don’t know it’s not done at birth in the U.K. I would have prefered not to be sexed at birth and instead been handed a blood group. So yes in a way I want to know, but not like this. If you’ve read my other posts you’d know I’m into BDSM and would love to be in a full time D/S relationship when I’m better. That world’s rules are based heavily on consent. I don’t think you can take a step anywhere in the BDSM world without having the importance of consent drilled into your head. (I kind of can’t believe I’m bringing BDSM into this.) However today has made me realise I’ve rarely been given the option of consent in my home life. It’s a case of “you will eat this food or you don’t eat” or “you will go to such a place”. I really belive that has severely impacted my life in a negative way. It’s why I think a lot of my childhood was abusive. Imagine being forced to eat something that you know will make you sick or you hate the taste of or is seriously unhealthy or if you’re not hungry. Now imagine if you were being mentally force fed and you know you are not allowed to leave anything on the plate and you have to eat a pudding too and compliment the chef. You will find yourself dying inside from the lack of choice and all because of consent. Imagine if you are never allowed to go see a doctor without your mother and if you do book an appointment by yourself and she doesn’t find out and follow you, imagine the doctor not seeing you because you are not with your mother. Now imagine how soul destroying that would feel at the age of 25. You are not allowed freedom and you will do everything she wants, even if you’re sick or had other plans. That’s why I believe domestic abuse isn’t just between to people in a relationship. It can happen between any members of a domestic setting. I am not a child therefore it is not child abuse. I can not contact any child abuse services because I am deemed an adults. Adults are deemed to be consenting and aware of their actions and not defenseless like children or animals. So what the hell do I call what’s happening to me?
I am 25 and in my mother’s eyes I’m still a child. It’s not loving or motherly, it’s a form of abuse. I have no independence.