For many years after the loss of my child in a second trimester abortion I held on to secret thoughts of straddling a burning clothing iron naked. I wanted to mutillate and seal the part of my body that had been used to kill my child. It was the entrance and exit of death, and I wanted my sex completely obliterated; it disgusted me so.
I fantasized also about getting a hysterectomy and taking my uterus home in a jar where I would remove it and slice it into as many pieces as I could, to actively hate this part of myself into oblivion.
I settled instead for burning my lost child's initials in my hand over and over again through the years. This self-abuse is always at a private crisis point related to thoughts of who I lost and how. I know it is strange and unacceptable, yet at times has been an almost necessary compulsion. The burning is in lieu of suicide; it is, unlike abortion, pain I understand and know how to deal with.
:: ashli 2:49 PM # ::