Saturday, January 13, 2018


I have a womb-warped body with short arms and short fingers. Combining that with injury to my ability to handle objects due to PTSD it means I struggle to do basic things. 

We had fierce winds and lashing rain so I tried to move the cover on the chicks' hutch. Only I fucked it up and had to take it off and try and put it back on. But with my short arms, my inability to handle fine objects like small D clasps meant I could not put it back on. Plus my glasses kept falling off because the frames are bent and pain sweat kept causing them to slip off if I looked downward.

I had a rage attack at the cover, ripping it off and stomping on it, after 30 minutes of concentrated, deep painful bending and lying on the ground trying to get it back on.

This is something a normal person could do. This is something I cannot. This is when I feel robbed, that my life was stolen. First by my parents who couldn't be arsed to look after me in the womb then bullied me for the result and then by my workplace injury that makes my already womb-fucked life exceptionally more challenging.

I had to take Valium, brace the cover as best I could without clamps or rings because my womb and work robbed fingers cannot manipulate them and because I was trying to do it bending which my womb-fucked body screams in agony when I do it.

Stolen; my life of being normal was stolen from me. I never had a fucking chance.

Sure without all of this crap I couldn't have done what I did t but that pales when you're in juddering, angry tears because you're not normal; you're sub-normal and you feel it. 

UPDATE: The wind tore the cover off. I have used kettle bells to hold it down on one side and a giant inflatable hot dog to hold down the other. Kettle bells and an inflatable hot dog; that's my solution. So far it's holding. 

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