Beef Liver and My Fall from Grace

How does one listen to the messages of a body after a lifetime of outsourcing that power to someone else? I don’t even have the excuse of most–an inflated respect for white coats and the lack of resources to know better. No…I’ve chosen a myriad of different faces as messengers for my body and skin and guts and sometimes, yes, even brains. I can categorize and list all the symptoms but god forbid I glean their messages myself. What monsters might emerge if I turned the awareness inwards instead of hoarding information like a dragon with a cave full of gold? 

So what is the problem in a world where it all -INSERT COLOSTRUM ADVERTISEMENT- peaks your interest and next thing you know you’re rabbit holing your way into the next best thing to heal everyTHING? How can I keep my super strength self-awareness without pathologizing my entire existence? Is that possible? If so, let me know because these GRASSFED VIRGIN LIVER PILLS aren’t working like they said they would. This drive to search still exists, taking me from one problem to the next. 

The sad thing is that I’m not out of pocket. Not obsessed, I swear. My skin is mottled with red and I can’t get pregnant and my bleeds feel like that one scene from Alien. Like today, my moon, my blessed blood arrived. I promised myself no NSAIDS–they disrupt your gut lining and cause long term problems with overuse and– I’m sweating like the sun sits between my ovaries, unable to focus on much else. There must be a reason for that, but no matter my dose of MAGNESIUM GLYCINATE I can’t seem to simmer it down to what seems reasonable. Manageable.

I don’t want a body that needs to be managed. At least I think I don’t, missing the times when my gangly limbed flesh suit was simply a tether to this earth and not a mystery. I have to go far back in my memories for that, I am a woman after all. 

  And as a woman, I know better. I know I have a body that says, “not thin enough” “not smooth enough” “not unblemished enough” “not energetic enough” because the programming worked. I was/am/will be a sponge. So I suppose if I wanna listen to my body’s true messaging I better start adjusting the antenna, like some old busted TV. One without the ads or reality TV. Perhaps one that just plays nature channels. 

Because I can’t recall any time I’ve judged a flower for not being pretty enough or a tree for having bark that wasn’t perfectly symmetrical or an animal for having a weird marking. No, mine is the only animal worth hating it seems. Because isn’t that the point of visible health? To be prettier and more likable and more energetic and better? Vitality is only important when it's seen. A barrier of aesthetics has withheld from me the tuning of my own damned SOMATICS. The messages of praise up until now were loud enough to drown them out.