gemsybobsy: (spaced)
Right from my early school years I knew what I was good at - I could make people laugh, I could listen when people were upset, I could sort out arguments, I could organise games, make up dances... I had lots of friends. We were always told 'if you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all.' We were always encouraged to be the best people we could be, and appearance was never, ever an issue, beyond making sure we were clean and tidy. I discovered I had an artificial eye when I was probably about five-ish, when my sister and I were making tunnels with our hands to look through, and I realised when I did it on one side I couldn't see down the tunnel. But it still didn't really become an issue, I only had that and a bit of eczema to deal with, and other than the various questions I got asked from other children and eye hospital check-ups, I didn't really think about it.

As I got older, the other kids stopped asking innocent questions about it and started taking the piss instead. I learned that an artificial eye was a bad thing for a person to have in society. Mrs Twit had one, and she was loathsome. My eye became an affliction; something that was ugly. My Achilles' heel. After my childhood of having loads of mates, winner of Musician of the Year, being the best at handwriting and having all those ballet and swimming certificates - I started to feel inadequate. My circle of friends got smaller as everyone branched out, I was always the single one when everyone else had partners, and I gradually got more shy as I felt more and more inadequate - I eventually came to accept that I was ugly. 'Plain' at best. I tried not to let it stop me from enjoying my life, but it did get in the way. I let it stop me doing dancing and acting, which I loved, because nobody would want to act face-to-face on stage with a cross-eyed person. It buggered up my job interviews and my confidence because I couldn't do eye contact. It just ended up driving me a bit mad.

My family and friends would try to comfort me when I was upset about it by saying, 'There's nothing wrong with your eyes.' They'd try to gloss over the fact - there's nothing wrong, you're NOT cross-eyed, you're being silly, don't let it upset you. But it is a fact that I am flawed. My eye was broken! I'm reminded of that fact with every nasty comment, I can see it myself every time I look at a photo or a video of my face, or if I get the wrong angle in the mirror. School friends would always say they couldn't tell I had a fake eye or that they always forgot about it, until we'd all fall out as kids do, then they'd always get some nasty comment in about the eye. When I got older I had arguments with friends about this glossing-over malarkey, because it began to annoy me - 'You're not ugly, stop worrying about your eye.' 'WHY DO YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT WHEN YOU KNOW IT'S TRUE!' I'd stomp off and not speak to anyone, always in a turmoil about this stupid bloody tiny poxy flaw.

It's only recently that I've realised that what I really wanted was for someone to say, 'Yes, your eye is wonky, but so what? That doesn't mean you're ugly. We all have flaws and we're all beautiful.' And I did get that response, from some, but I can't remember if I appreciated it at the time. It was always, 'Don't mention the eye. Don't upset her.' If I dared joke about the eye I'd get sympathetic looks. Or 'don't be silly' or 'don't put yourself down.' I even had people tell me they thought I was beautiful despite the eye. Lol, thanks. I'll remember to keep it hidden under the carpet/my fringe. But I've also had people say absolutely lovely things about it; that it's awesome, cute, endearing, and the best of all - that I only need one 'window' to see my soul - which was such a wonderful thing it always makes me cry when I think about it.

This clip is what inspired this entry today. "The meanest thing you can say to a fat girl is 'you're not fat'. It sucks to be a fat girl. Can people just let me say it?" CAN PEOPLE JUST LET ME SAY IT? - just sums up my whole experience. Argh, it's hard to put into words. It's like, we project our own standards of beauty, and what is normal, onto people who feel inadequate. Or, we believe people probably feel inadequate if they don't fit our own standards. See also Conchita off of Eurovision (what a great song). The bog-standard haters of cross-dressing and the related assortment of homophobic comments, I can kind of understand. But I keep hearing comments from people, who 'don't mind' transvestites, who are questioning the beard. 'It just doesn't look right, she should shave.' One comment in particular I saw just briefly looking at that page - how Conchita is trying to 'force the vast majority of people into thinking that a woman wearing a beard is just normal and just as beautiful. It looks very ugly and non-feminine.' I.e., if you want to appear as a woman, you have to at least fit... the breed standard?! Are people concerned for her? Who do they want her to change for?!

I'm always discussing with people whether I look better with short hair or long hair, because I'm always thinking about chopping it all off, and have been told it looks better long because it's 'more feminine'. Also apparently I look nicer in a dress because it's 'more feminine'. From which I can only draw the conclusion that 'more masculine' means 'more ugly'. I've had people tell me and my friends that we need to be less masculine so as to be more attractive. Don't drink pints, wear 'nice shoes', wear a 'flattering' dress. If I mention I don't suit pastel colours or floral patterns, don't fancy really short hair again because it emphasizes my big facial features and jawline, and don't want to wear spaghetti straps because of my broad shoulders, I'm 'putting myself down'. I am constantly being told I'm putting myself down if I have (or assert preference for) anything about me that is anything other than pure femininity. As this similar ramble showed back in the day, if I say I'm gender-neutral/androgynous I'm calling myself ugly and need to be told I'm being silly and am clearly a lady (because it's assumed that's what all [perceived] females want to hear!) Because, somehow, not adhering to what I should adhere to (perfectly-groomed, flawless-as-poss, straight, feminine-appearing/acting female of my age and race) would mean I would be making myself appear ugly. Which leads me to ask - appear ugly to whom? To the perfectly-groomed, flawless-as-poss, straight, masculine-appearing/acting (BEARDS) males of my age and race - because that is by whom society is led, or because that is whom society assumes I should be sexually attracted to/by...? Who knows. It's very much a 'tell them what I think they want to hear' kind of thing. If a friend mentions she feels fat, you automatically give them 'no you don't, you look great' as a response. I (hereby) wouldn't like to hear that, but I would probably still assume that's what my friend wants to hear. As if 'fat' and 'great' can never be synonymous. Are 'wonky eye' and 'ugly' synonymous? I wouldn't like to hear that either. But, if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

I want to grow a beard ffs.
gemsybobsy: (gemsy)
I'm so sick of spending my hard-earned cash on my fail-train of a body. I spent around £250 (luckily NHS this time, the same treatment would've been triple that had I stayed with my old dentist in Hythe) on stupid teeth this year. I've just spent £116 on my stupid eye (glasses) and it was all WRONG:

I always feel like they're rushing. Two examples of it this year. H (dentist) has the pleasure of treating me because I'm a friend of his receptionist. He's always bringing up our friendship which is a bit annoying, but the benefits outweigh that. He's brilliant - seriously mad dentist skillz. I first went to see him around this time last year, and he could tell my previously root-filled and (since) broken bottom molar had become infected at the root, just by looking at the colour of it. Didn't even poke me with the sharp stick thing, and told me I would need a new root filling and a crown. Aaargh. He said, 'No rush, I will leave you to think about it and see you again in April.'

Just before April, one of my teeth at the top started hurting. I went in to see H, who gave me a massive lecture about not going back earlier - I was meant to have booked another appointment to have treatment on it when I left that day! He turned his attention to the top hurty tooth, and root-filled and crowned it over 2 sessions - £198. When I tried to explain that it was the bottom tooth I had supposedly neglected, I got, 'No, no, you should listen to me, I could have been in trouble if you'd needed to have emergency treatment with that,' then bangs on about me being friends with his receptionist again and how he knows we're friends but he has to treat me like any other patient. (Do so then, and STFU about it!)

So. Yeah: 'You said it was my bottom molar that I had to think about fixing because it was infected and broken, not this one...'
'I know what I said. THIS one is infected,' he says. 'This top one is infected...'
'Okay, okay... I trust you...' *screaming inside*

So at the end of the treatment, in my relief to have it all over, I went and reminded him about the bottom one like a dumb-ass; I need moar injections, please. He said it just needed a filling, and he'll do it now, in fact. He did it then, and that was that. Most confusing, because I KNOW he said it needed crowning. I remember it well, because I was impressed at his speedy diagnosis. Anyway, tl;dr: Now it's broken even more and I'd be surprised if it turned out to be salvageable at all. If it is, I can't afford £198 (and more - I'd need a white crown) because I need to pay car insurance this month. So, I need to go and get it removed, most likely. I'll add to my already-questionably-good looks by being a Gummy McGappy and I'll most likely get another bollocking for my troubles. FML.

Now glasses: I went in two weeks ago for a routine eye-test, and also because I was having trouble focussing on road signs and getting eye strain - I knew I'd need a new prescription. I was in and out, no fuss - which is an understatement - I was barely there for five minutes before being told that my 'prescription is lower now because in your thirties you become less short-sighted. It's happening already!' Was a -2.75, now a -2.5. I did think it was a little quick - they didn't do all the 'better or worse?' stuff with the different lenses! At the time though, I was only happy to accept it and get home. I do love being at home. So yeah, cut to three days later, pick glasses up, can't see a damn thing. Turns out I needed a slightly more short-sighted prescription, not less. Boo, more short sighted. Yay, eyes aren't thirty years old. The glasses are off in the lab having -3.0 lenses put in, so now I have no leet sight skillz at all. Brilliant. At least when they screw up they put it right for free, unlike the dentist. Haha.

THE END.
gemsybobsy: (maynard)
Last night Anna, me, Dave, [livejournal.com profile] sessal, Cockney Dave, Ant and Ben went to the Alex for some pintage. It was great fun, lots of laughs; I had a few and was decidedly merry at closing time. We went on to the Hobbit, where for some reason we started drinking vodka and lemonade. Disgusting. Well, I think I had four of those. We put 10 of our favourite songs on the jukebox, danced around the bar area a bit (it was really empty) to a song by the band 'A', remember them? They were awesome. A barman and I shared appreciation loudly across the bar. Then I jumped up on a stool at the bar and it started to spin lazily, so I started laughing and Anna span me round really fast. This guy next to me was like, 'That looks fun, lol.' I was all, 'Haha yeah, it's not me! It's doing it aaall on its own!' like, pretending I didn't know Anna was doing it, you know, being banterous. Then the thing stopped spinning and I was like, 'SPIN IT THE OTHER WAY I'm dizzyyy,' and we span it the other way, and I was like, 'See, the stool is alive, now it's changing directions! Magic!' Anna looked all innocent and this guy was like, 'I think your friends are having you on.' Well, duh. I pulled a really big sadface and sighed and said, 'Yeah they're so mean to me!' He laughed and was checking the state of my dizziness and being all banterous and jolly too. Then I looked up.

'Woah. WOAH. You're blind. Woah...' I laughed nervously and tried to spin away but he bent his neck and stared right into my fucking face, 'Yeah, fuckinell! I've just seen your eyes... you're blind. Bloody hell, didn't realise that.'

Then he like, turned his back? and got on with his drink? WHAT?! Like, I don't mind curiosity, but there were no polite questions here. No time for that. So I got up and started gathering my bits and bobs from the bar, still smiling, told the girls I was going to get that table... when he turns round again and starts rambling behind my back,

'Yeah I said I reckon your friends are... well, you said they were winding you up, but I think they're your carers!'

O_o how were they 'winding me up'...

I was just like, 'Haha, what?'

He was like, 'Yeah they're your carers aren't they!'

I turned to Anna and said loudly, with a hint of lulz in my voice, 'This is the sort of insensitive wanker I'm up against,' and began to laugh off the whole situation. THEN, unbelievably, the fucker REPEATED IT. 'Haha, 'ere, I said I don't reckon they're your friends, I reckon they're your carers.'

I just snapped, 'Oh for fuck sake, why would you even say that to somebody?' and went and sat down at the table, where my friends and I started rocking out to our jukebox songs, loudly, like, I don't care, up yours. But then some other people started throwing things at us (for singing) and there was some shouting and I started to cry. Dave and [livejournal.com profile] sessal were really angry and confronted the guy, and he denied everything. Dave was frustrated and wanted me to go over, see if he won't deny it to my face, but I was in no mood for that. I just wanted to undo it all and have fun. I felt rubbish for ruining [livejournal.com profile] sessal's birthday; all I ever do is ruin people's nights with this shit, because it's my fault if I'm offended, clearly. Anna went over to the guy while she was getting another drink, and she said to him, 'Having a good night? Goood, it's cool when people can have such a nice time being horrible to others.' ONE-ALL!

Then when we left and went to get chips, Cockney Dave and I stood outside and talked about it. He said, 'Why do you think these people are better than you?' I was like, I don't! I think they're the scum of the earth, the fact that they not only think bad things about people but feel the need to POINT THEM OUT, to their faces, and I want to march up to them and tell them that! And he said, 'Why don't you then?!' and I was all, I dunno. I dunno why I can't just stare them down and say yes, my eyes are wonky, SO FUCKING WHAT, instead of being speechless and quietly despairing of people and getting upset. I told Cockney Dave I'm not upset, I cry because I'm ANGRY at the fucking state of the world, that people exist who can not only think evil things about you but actually say it to you. I said I'm sick of people reminding me of it. Yes I know thanks! How about I point out one of your many flaws? UGH. Cockney Dave was all, 'These wankers think they're 'alternative' and free-thinking, nah nah nah, they ain't openminded, they're just wankers. Wait till you get to my age my gel, you'll realise it and won't give a fuck. So you've got a funny eye, so what? I'm short.'

Ahhh, I love it when Cockney Dave points out the bleedin' obvious (that people are cunts, not that he's short. He's not short anyway - he's taller than me!) But yes, here's a tip you guise probably already realise - that's why you're my friends, naturally - but if you see somebody with something obviously 'different' (I hate that but... yeah), don't point it out to them. They are very likely to already know. jfc. I need to be more angry and reactive rather than skulk away and cry. But then I'm always wary of causing a scene.
gemsybobsy: (floyd)
Still in existence, still no word from the agency. I think I'll ring them tomorrow and nag them into giving me an interview. I knew I'd have to do that. Agencies are absolutely useless. I put £200 into the bank today, so I'm getting back on track. Until the next time I'm suddenly penniless without warning! I need something more stable, for the good of my health if nothing else. I'm walking around (and driving around) in a slightly blurry world at the moment, since the death of my spectacles. I can't get an appointment until Monday (which is good really, 'cause the money I get from Riley and Roxy at the weekend will pay for it). I had some awful tooth pain going on yesterday. I need at least two fillings but can't afford treatment, even if I change to an NHS dentist. It's a bit better today though. It's alright if I don't blast it with substances of extreme temperature, or breathe in sharply. My God, I thought I was going to be sick from the pain yesterday. I spent the entire afternoon in tears of agony. Ain't never felt the like. I know the 'I need a filling' pain well, and this was ten times worse. I think I need a root filling. Rubbish. I swear my teeth are crumbling away. And my wrist is still causing me pain. All these ailments. They're very welcome, really, on top of everything else. This year seems like it's going to continue to try me.

On a lighter note, the dogs have been eating chicken wings, fish and an old swede for the last couple of days, and this evening the room is... shall we say, fragrant. I actually yelled out my disgust, and I can usually bear horrible smells quite well. I've never smelt anything so horrendous. Anna lit an incense stick and I jumped up and moved away from the main culprit, only for him to follow me and curl up at my feet again. My Didz. He's turning into such a loyal little collie, even if he does smell viiile, as Katy says. I think I'm starting to bond with Didz now. As cute as puppies are, I think the best bit is when they grow up and start to learn how to be your friend.
gemsybobsy: (space)
I've been thinking a lot lately about youth, and how fast it goes. I mentioned something somewhere the other day about my childhood; how we always used to have our baths early while Mum would make cheese and potato pie and beans, and we'd eat it in front of the telly on a Saturday evening, and all these memories came back of how my dad used to come in from work when he'd been on days with a cheerful, "Hello squids!" He'd always be so happy to be home, and he'd cuddle us after tea and I used to listen to his tummy rumbling and his heart beating, and I'd sniff him and say, "You smell of work!" and Nikki would go, "Daddy smells of wooo-ooork!" It was a very odd smell, sort of like a mixture of chemicals and ozone and stormy air; one of those lovely comfortable memory smells that you wish you could've bottled at the time and kept it forever. And it makes me sad that I'll probably never smell it again, because I don't live with him anymore, and stuff like that just doesn't seem the same when you're a grown-up.

We were watching old Doctor Who episodes again today and I was telling Anna and Steve about how when we did our infant school nativity plays we'd always have the Doctor in it, going back in time to Bethlehem in the TARDIS (there must've been a Whovian amongst the staff 'cause when Leeps went to the same school 5 years later they were still putting the Doctor in the nativity play!) And in my final year I got to be Mary and was really chuffed (my friend Sharon got to be Ace and my sis was a Cyberman, and Daniel was Joseph and everyone made us play kiss chase 'cause we were "married") because that was the best feeling ever, being the lead actress as it were. And even more so for me, because the previous year I'd been crying because I thought I was going to be an angel but I was confused 'cause I wasn't even in it, as I wasn't old enough. But yeah, I loved being the centre of attention as a kid. I was so bossy with my friends as well, inventing games and making the other kids play them. I loved dancing and always won the awards at our dancing school. I loved singing and acting and all that malarkey, and yeah. I rocked. I wish I still had that self-confidence. It's weird what life does to you.

BUT ANYWAY then I was thinking about being little, and school, and how once we were in assembly and there were these people there claiming to be aliens, like a little children's entertainment thing, and none of us believed them. Sort of peer pressure... "They're just normal people acting," everyone said. But at hometime when we went to get our coats there was green slime all around the school. I remember going up to my teacher and saying, "There's green slime everywhere!" and she said, "Oh, it looks like they were aliens after all!" I remember being terrified and the sky looked green and I went home and nervously told my mum that there were aliens taking over the school, and she told me not to be so daft.

So yeah, as well as start my life-long semi-obsession with outer space, that school did so much to inspire my imagination. Haha, looking back, my school was so awesome. So many memories where it felt like everybody loved me, like being the fun-run May Queen with Iain Cook being the May King, who gave me some sweeties to say congratulations for being the Queen. And I was wicked at reading so I'd help the younger kids from the lower years, so I felt amazingly wanted and special and brilliant at everything. It was an amazing life, I was oblivious, I just wanted to play and have fun and there were no issues, ever. I mean, every day I had to go to the secretary's office to get my eye cleaned but that was just something that happened, like how some other kids threw up a lot or had hearing aids or glasses. I didn't feel any different to the other kids.

Well.

I have no really bad memories of being under 7. Apart from that bitch dinner lady who was the first person to make me feel ugly. I wish I could meet her now and give her a cunt punt. I remember her telling me in front of everyone that I was disgusting because I was covered in pen ink, and always telling me to go and see the secretary to wash my eye out. Always always ALWAYS when I'd just reached the front of the dinner queue as well, so by the time I got back they'd run out of chips. I also remember being shouted at for being "silly" because I cried when there were fire drills. I was extremely scared of fire. They drill that fire-safety don't-play-with-matches crap into kids don't they, without the slightest thought that they might be terrifying them a little bit. And then they say you have to know how to light matches at Brownies! Talk about conflicting discipline. Anyway.

Oooh, Brownies was another one. I started off there being really shy because I was the youngest, but by the time I was the oldest I was ruling the fuckin' place. Gemma Davison, Super Brownie extraordinaire, Sixer of the Gnomes, mo'fucker. All the little n00bies loved me and I felt like a goddess. And then I was in Showtime at the Mayflower theatre, and got put in with all the Guides and got moved up, and was the youngest again so I left. Haha, 'ave it.

I guess you lose the innocence when you realise you're not the best. Falling out with my friends when girls reach that hormonal stage at junior school. And then I guess, discipline really, being taught how to act like an adult. Which, in my mind, equates to being taught to act like a stuffy, reserved, miserable old goat. I remember we did another play at junior school and the cast were sitting on the stage, and I jumped up to see what my nan had won when her raffle ticket got called. The next day the headmaster called an assembly and told me off, in front of the whole school. I still maintain that there was no need for that. Extremely harsh. "I'm talking to you, Gemma Davison. How dare you stand up when you'd ALL been told to sit still!" Well, I'm fucking sorry, I'll just be a good little quiet girl from now on.

And then there's starting secondary school, having cemented your place at the top of junior school, only to be met with competition from kids from the other schools. I remember meeting new girls in year 7 and them saying, "Ooh, I do ballet too!" and then learning they were already in Grade 6, when I'd just passed my Grade 3 exam. Was a completely different syllabus, but still. And then as everybody knows, before you know it you're a teenager and it all goes downhill.

I mean, I'm only 25 but sometimes feel really world-weary, like, responsibilities and being alone and the end of innocence and I often feel that it's already too late to do the things I've always wanted to do. The things I do end up doing are never the same as I thought they'd be and I move on to the next daydream. I found my old school stuff under the stairs and my Life Book was there, which was my attempt to gather all the diaries and thoughts and photos of my life in one place.. but I was 20 then and thought I'd grown up and had settled into my adult life, so I wrote my Book O' Life (it says that on the spine) thinking they were like my memoirs or something, and lo and behold EVERYTHING has changed since then.

I guess the only thing that's come close to being a true representation of my history is this journal, which is why I've attempted to type all my old diaries into this one as well. I'd love to print them all out and make a book one day, maybe use a bit of creative license and create a character or something. I dunno, I kind of want people to know about my life, I guess it's all the reading I've done of biographies and stories and tales of other people's lives and I've always wanted to do something like that about me so that there'll always be a record of my life after I'm gone. Sounds depressing but it's quite the opposite; I always think it's fucking awful how people's lives get lost with every new generation. For example, I am privileged to have known my great grandmother, Big Nanny Westbrook. But if anyone asked me about her, I couldn't tell them anything. I can hardly even remember her face. And it's already happening with my family. I see them now and am at a loss as to what to say to them. I started researching my family tree in the library a few years ago, but never really learnt anything and want to go back to it, but I often think what's the point, 'cause when I see my current family all we talk about is work and family. I know nothing about my once doting grandparents and aunties and uncles who I've lost touch with - you could say it's an age thing but I've grown up with cousins and siblings MY OWN AGE and don't know the first fucking thing about any of them. One of them's even in a fucking metal band and has played at THE JOINERS, for crying out loud. I go there all the time. He sounds like my kind of person, but I don't know him well enough and it's hard to see family members as people in their own right, if you see what I mean, because you never really know them. And when we do all meet at Christmas or whatever and talk, I go into Gemsy v1 (quiet reserved me) mode and it's always just the facts, "So-and-so does this for a living, has that many kids.." that's all there is to be found. There's never any DETAIL there, like, favourite music, things they'd wished for, things they love and hate, and none of the meaningful stuff that makes them the complex people they are. The way it seems to be is that people (parents and teachers and Brown Owls and what 'ave ya) are only here to educate kids on how to live in society, discipline any wayward antics and the essence of fun right out of them until they're a reserved, politely functioning, breadwinning adult, sever the inner-circle/immediate-family connection and then simply forget to keep the friendship going. And the kids grow up to do the same. I want to break that shit, yo'. I want to cuddle my daddy and tell him he smells of work and make daisy chains for my mummy again.

WHERE THE FUCK DID ALL THAT COME FROM

I want to resurrect Brother Earth. I was listening to Devy today and there's a song on there that sounds just like our old stuff. Inspiring.
*gets piano out*

Oh yeah, check out me new icon. Tammers sent it to me on my phone; 'tis me & teh doggle in the sea.
gemsybobsy: (walkies)
I have been to the doctors this morning to read my history. So interesting I nearly LOL'd.
In fact, I did a few times.

"Was crossing road, hit by car. Head hurts."
"Walked into a wasps' nest. Had asthma attack, took inhaler, and not wheezing now."
"Patient asked, "why does this keep happening to me?" SMOKING! Have warned."

Anyway, the reason I went was because I wanted to find out exactly what happened to my elusive eyeball.

Basically, in October 1981, my mum & dad noticed that my pupil had faded to a greeny colour so they rushed me to the doctor, who referred me to the old Southampton eye hospital. (Awww, that place owned.) I got diagnosed with a cataract. It turned out that both my irides were abnormal with vessels coursing on the surfaces. My left eye was otherwise normal. In my right one, the vessels crossed the pupil, and the lens was connected by some up-drawn ciliary processes (woah, alien eye!) So, I had an ultrasound scan to rule out tumours, and then I would've had cataract surgery to give me some chance of being able to see, but the crazy blood vessels were coursing over the surface of the cataract. So they gave me eye drops. Lol.

By December I had a primary congenital hyperplastic vitreous and marked choroidal detachment (squishy stuff and a big gap in my eyeball, basically).

By January 1984 my eye had gone proper tits up. I had secondary glaucoma, buphthalmos and megalo-cornea (WOAH! Wicked! *imagines eyeball bigger than head*) and a large dark mass had arisen from the choroid. This was haemorragic in origin from the primary hyperplastic vitreous (so it wasn't a tumour, Mum, you medical n00b).

By this stage it was painful and completely blind, so it was enucleated (removed) on the 26th January 1984. What a wicked little story. So in conclusion, I developed wrongly, haha.

My mum said that somebody at her work died in front of her when she was pregnant, and the doctors thought that the shock from that may have had this impact on my development. Certainly an interesting thing to think about.

The most frustrating thing is that this was 25 years ago. It might be cureable now.

I was reading my baby notes and the midwife had noted the yellow around my pupils. I love my eye colouring. :(
I would've had amazing eyes if they were both real and I didn't look like this: O_o

Yep.

Then 2 years later I got a cough, then was diagnosed with asthma and eczema and all my rhinitis problems... How fun for me. It took them 10 years to realise it was allergies, and send me for tests. Medical n00bs.

And then in the year 2000 (which, incidentally, was when I started listening to Muse, ROFLCOPTER) all the "moderate depression", anxiety and related "musculo skeletal" aches/pains and irritable bowel started kicking off. How even funnerer for me. Again, it took them another 10 years to realise all that was related, after telling me to take paracetamol and "go swimming more."

Pffft. I'm such a mess.

UPDATE: Dr B says: "If it's any consolation, I wouldn't fancy the chances of saving an eye in that kind of state even today. Choroidal detachment will just result in degeneration of the retina (to vascularisation pathways from the sclera will be broken, and bleeding will occur into the space between the layers (as noted in your records), pushing the choroid/retina away, blurring vision further, if innervation/perfusion was somehow maintained), with the inevitable results."

So I'm happy. And a little turned on..

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