Hey Cyster

Fluttering heartbeats, thorns prickling the centre of my forehead giving me the will to purge out every little taste of the uneasiness sitting at my throat. I straighten my shoulders, arch my back breathing in a gulp of air as I nervously eye the empty ceiling whilst the persistent nail-biting, nauseous sensation adamantly camps at the base of my chest. I gradually bring out the white stick to my view, engulfing another handful of air as two bright red, neatly paired vertical stripes scornfully glares back at me triggering a sharp, searing rush of pain. The months of unshed tears sitting in the inner corners of my eyes begin to swell, readily trickling itself down the sides of my cheeks and forcing my lips to uncontrollably quiver.

My fingers instantly snap the pregnancy stick in half and throw the remainders away from my sight as I lethargically trudge towards the bathroom mirror. I slowly lift my shirt, unveiling the lingering chunks of excessive meat hanging off my waist, drizzled in zebra-patterned stretch marks. The soft edges of my fingers trace over the tiny inflamed, bumpy spots nesting on my face. The palms of my hands cup my cheeks as I examine the lineage of thick, dark hair adamantly creating its trail from my sideburns to my chin and eventually making its way down to my chest. I gently intertwine my fingers into the roots of my scalp effortlessly withdrawing a chunk of lifeless hair stands as I look back at the mirror.

You could be beautiful if you took care of yourself. You cannot have a baby? Maybe start to focus on your health and lose a few kilos, surely it is not that hard if you set your mind to it. Sorry but you are infertile, chances of you having a baby is slight to none. There is no cure, I can prescribe you with medication and that may increase your chances. Just exercise and eat healthy, you will be fine. This is a lifelong condition with no cure and no clear indication of what causes it, I do not have much expertise in this area. You have way too many cysts in your ovaries, I can only give you prescribed drugs to control your hormones. Do you stress? Why are you stressing? The best remedy is to just lose weight...

Why me? In a world consisting of seven billion people, I was naturally selected to embark on a path that questioned the very crux of me. The constant clatter of external voices, masked by a pretence that they know what is best for you and how to tackle it. The turmoil and internal chaos equate to a long dark passage, an endless corridor mirroring the infinite tiers of pain which persist on overshadowing my strength. The continual pester and presumed insightful advice from people who know fucking zilch is nothing but a catalyst in creating a deeper hole, accentuating the misery inside of me. I picture a long deserted road, lonely hitchhikers asking passers for a simple ride yet they constantly get dismissed when all they want is a simple fucking ride. The number of times of repetitively being told that the issue is trivial and the ringing words to just lose some weight is boundless when all we need is for someone to address its deep-rooted significance.

Day by day, moments of sitting on a train and observing beautiful women with their pristine bodies, thick locks of luscious hair and unblemished skin. To make it more unbearable, their littles ones sitting on their laps holding onto their fingertips whilst cradling in their arms, extracting the warm maternal love I may never be able to give. I ponder about how some have it so easy yet others have to endure a timeless battle in order to procreate and have the simple pleasures of creating new life.

I leave my house and make my way out to the front yard, walking past neighbours carrying on with their mundane lives. A couple bickering out in their driveway, an elderly couple trotting down the streets with their arms interlinked spreading their comforting love for each other, a child running out of the house screaming at the top of her lungs for not getting what she wants. Each of us are strangers, forming encounters on a daily basis, entrapped in our own bubble that seems perfectly functional on the outside yet we all have our own little stories.

An old, yet youthful tree dripping of sap with luscious green leaves dancing in the breeze beckons me over. I place myself underneath its overarching canopies and lay my head against its thick trunk as I stare out into the perfectly serene ambience. I open my wallet and notice pictures that were tucked away in one of its hidden pockets. To my amazement, there it was, pictures of myself as a young infant sitting on my mother’s lap, with my petite fingers wrapped around my mother’s curls as we both joyously beam, appreciating the golden feelings of love that was blossoming at that moment. When was the last time I even smiled like that? Did I need a reason in order to smile and feel the emanating warmth and wholesomeness that a naive infant naturally felt? Years of feeling inadequate, an unanswerable illness that has deprived me of any happiness, the constant pressure of feeling dictated by societal criteria on what makes me worthy of feeling beautiful and lustful has stripped me to my naked core.

I dig my fingers into the earth’s soil and place my other hand on my womb, taking in a deep breath of the purified oxygen excreted from the tiny pores of leaves of the tree. Sweet twittering music of the birds, soft rustling sounds of the leaves and the whispering winds abruptly calm every energy particle engrained within my flesh and bones. This simple moment, a little touch from Mother Gaia manages to entrust me with pure clarity and transparency, unlike the opaqueness the normal world feeds me. I have swum in pain, lived through disappointment and doubt, but will I be me if it was not for all that? A bunch of ovarian cysts, physical imperfections are a part of this physiological anatomy that make up me but does not holistically represent my inner consciousness or who I am.

My fingertips caress the sides of my cheeks, my breasts, my torso realising how each fragmented piece of myself whether considered perfect or imperfect collectively create this physique and I am unapologetically in love with that. To all my Cysters, who feel like a piece of you has been stolen, the very essence of what makes you beautiful is you and no one can rob that special uniqueness. The brokenness and unsureness of where our physical bodies will take us inherently instil power, strength and subtle ascendency amongst us that others do not experience. You are a flower with manifolded layers yet to be unravelled. I close my eyes and feel the reverberating vibrations in the lateral roots of the tree as it feeds into the multi-tiered blood vessels penetrating throughout my veins. Various gradients of cotton candy skies hover over the thick masses of clouds offering a whisk of luminesce. Streaks of light emitted by the sun’s rays seep through the trees canopies imprinting a warm, summery sensation on my cheeks as I whisper the three most special words to myself, I love you.