Category Archives: Friendship

The first time I didn’t want a friend to lose hope in our country

You have come home.

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Image from imgfave.com

I can only imagine how it must feel for you to have re-entered our frightful, violent motherland again. I can’t say anything to make you less scared, or less mistrustful of the fragile security you have experienced here. It must make you want to ask yourself ‘when will I be next’ and feel constantly afraid. I am so sorry that this has been your experience.

I think though, that there is no place like our country. That there are no people as down and out who remain generous and kind. There are no women like ours, beaten and raped and poverty stricken, who open their hearts to each new day and keep on going. This doesn’t mean we must burden ourselves with flying the South African flag high, or trying to push against the violence. Our first and most important priority as women and feminists is to take care of ourselves so that we feel able to encounter the challenges we face here. If that means we need a time to be away from here, then we must take it and feel grateful that we have been offered the opportunity.

I remember when I came back from London’s security after just three months there, and felt enraged that I couldn’t just LIVE here. It took a long time to be able to walk around without feeling frightened. With your particular experiences, it will likely take much longer.

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Image via imgfave.com

Don’t be too hard on yourself about the difficulty you’re experiencing in re-immersing yourself with a country at war with itself.

The only thing I want to say is don’t lose hope. One day you’ll come home and it will feel like home again. The home of ice cold cokes sipped outside corner cafes in the warm sunlight that I really believe is like no other sunlight on earth.

We can’t be the change we want to see when we are afraid. We have to take steps to embolden ourselves. Take those baby steps when and however you can.

I’m with you all the way.

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The first time I realised that my friends weren’t as great as I thought they were

I’ve always seen the value in being alone. I might not like it, but I see its value because it keeps me from getting hurt.

Being the lone wolf, however, is not a strategy that gets one very far. For the past couple of years, I’ve let many people into my life. I’ve told them so many of my secrets. I thought that the hardest secret to tell would be about my bipolarity. But it turns out that I’d rather people know that I’m bipolar than that I’m bisexual.

I know that there’s nothing wrong with me. I know that I deserve to be happy and to love openly. But other people don’t know that. It’s amazing, because people who have been so accepting of my bipolarity always have the same things to say about bisexuality.

“But how do you know?” (How do you know if you’re straight?)

“Ugh, I couldn’t like a guy who slept with guys!” (If sleeping with guys is so gross, why do you want to do it?)

“Ugh, that’s so greedy.” (‘Bisexual’ does not equal ‘screwing everything that moves’.)

“You’re just confused.” (I’m not. I’m not and you don’t have the right to tell me that I am.)

I’ve only told one person that in the past three years. She was supportive, but confused. She thought that, because I’d never slept with a guy or a girl, I couldn’t know whether I actually liked both. But her response was generally good, so I wanted to tell more people.

I tried, I really did. I called some of my friends into my room for a study/snack break. Bisexuality came up because a song played on my laptop that was sung by a bisexual male artist. And before I knew it, all but one of them were saying the same old ignorant and hurtful things. I got upset, but I tend to get upset by all prejudice (imagine that), so I don’t think anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary. But it hurt. It hurt more than anything has hurt in a long time because I knew that they would feel differently about me if I told them. Our jokes would all seem inappropriate (we’re masters of innuendo), our hugs would change.

So now, I’m beginning to see the value in being along again. The real me, the one I lie about every day, is alone. And I notice her more and more every day.

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The First Time I was Pregnant for a Day

Okay so obviously it wasn’t really only one day. I was actually three-weeks-and-a-day-pregnant when I found out. The decision was an easy for me; it simply wasn’t the right time. So the day after I found out, I took steps to have a medical termination and this is how it all happened.

Tuesday, 14h15

Stood in Clicks looking at the array of pregnancy tests:  disposable, electronic, early pregnancy, twin packs and more. I went for the one in the pink Toblerone shaped box. I only got it to put my mind at ease after being less than responsible with my pill on a recent month of travel and then having some great break-up sex with my recently ex-boyfriend on my return. Then I got cracking with my Christmas shopping to distract nosy shoppers’ eyes from the anomaly in my basket.

15h30

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Got home and dumped shopping bags on the kitchen counter. Kept having to stop myself from thinking, “I’ll just have a quick wee and then I do the test.” Ripped open the packet with distinct diagrams to the effect that “one line = exhale, two lines = knocked up” and peed on the stick. My home phone started ringing, “Bugger!” I galloped to the lounge with my shorts and panties around my knees, “Hello?”. A fax tone responded: beep, beep, beep. I glanced at the stick: one line. Then, as the liquid travelled further up the window, as inevitable as a wave claiming the beach, a second line appeared. I realised I was still holding the phone, begging the fax machine on the other end to take the second line away, “No. No no no. Please no, please, please no.” The two bold lines remained. I wasn’t just me anymore.

15h32

Phoned ex-boyfriend hyperventilating.  I bellowed, “I’M FUCKING PREGNANT!” with absolutely no rom-com charm. Sat on the floor in t-shirt and panties, crying into a towel and staring at those two lines in absolute disbelief while ex-boyfriend came rushing over from work.

He was totally lovely – everything anyone in my position could have asked for. He was tender and respectful and concerned and absolutely supportive in every way of every choice and decision I made.

17h00

Went back and got another two tests. All positive. Like cherries on a slot machine, “Bing! Bing! Bing! You’re so freaking pregnant!” I sat looking at the three tests for ages. I kept returning to them, mesmerised. Ex-boyfriend worried that it would make me sad.

19h30

Phoned my best friend who laid it down in ecological terms: “In nature, when an animal is carrying a baby and the time is not right – there’s not enough food or there’s danger – the animal naturally aborts. This is your beautiful body and it’s your right to choose what happens to you. Right now, what’s inside you is a group of cells.The is just not right and you’ve chosen to do what’s best for you. You are so brave; you’ve made a really brave decision. We are all here for you.”

23h00

Couldn’t sleep. It was four days until Christmas and I had no idea how long any procedure would take. Googled local clinics and decided to see my GP first thing. Lay next to ex-boyf and talked. He kept making me laugh by pretending to fall asleep mid- sentence.

Wednesday 7h00

Woke up and stared at the ceiling alone for ages before ex-boyf woke up. Felt the numbness of disbelief trickle into a warm, magical feeling of wonder. I felt special. I still didn’t even consider having the baby but just the mere fact that I did it. My body was made to get pregnant and I did it. It felt quietly wonderful.

Got up and phoned the GP. Made an appointment first thing.

08h30

My normal GP was on leave for Christmas and so I had to see the other doc in the building. As I announced that I thought I was pregnant, the turd responded with “Oh wonderful! That’s such exciting news!”

After clarifying the situation, she gave me a list of recommended Gynaecologists who “deal with this sort of thing”. After trying most of them only to hear that they were on leave, I found a Woman’s Wellness GP who would see me that afternoon but I needed an ultrasound before then to make sure it wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy.

11h00

Sat in a gown in a tiny room drinking water for an hour before my bladder was full enough for the technician to use as a lens to see into my uterus. It was totally like the movies: cold gel, what looked like a roll-on deodorant, a black and white screen.

13h00

Met with the new gynae-GP. She was amazing. She invited ex-boyf in but I decided I wanted to do it by myself. She explained everything clearly without being judgemental or condescending. I had found out so early that I could use the medical method which involved taking a series of medications which terminates the pregnancy and induces a period over two or three days. She was thorough with understanding my emotional state, my support structures and my decision-making.

15h30

Took the first medication that would detach the foetus from the lining of my womb.

The procedure went off without a hitch. The doc was in touch on the phone every day; I hardly suffered any symptoms, in fact, I think family Christmas (which I went to the next day) was more painful! Ex-boyf sat next to me for three days straight while my body let go. It’s taken a while to process it all since then; you can’t rush figuring it all out for yourself. I’m grateful that the (second) doctor was so great. I only wish other girls in this situation could be treated so well; cared for and respected.

I told my family in my own time and in my own way. Maybe that’ll be another story.

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