A New Level

Originally published May 7, 2017

Last Thursday, the day that the House passed the "health-care" bill that will repeal the ACA and doom us all to early, expensive deaths, my boyfriend came over to find me scribbling madly into my notebook. He stood at the sink and looked out the window while I finished my thoughts before they flew out of my head. Sorry to keep you waiting, I said, I'm just finishing up my feminist manifesto.

I have reached a new level. I am so angry I am giddy. 

After some thought, this is what it must be. These men, the men in power, hate us and fear us so much that they would prefer that we all die quietly. 

(I say us. I mean, essentially, everyone who is not one of them: wealthy, white, cisgender, straight, male. But this bill is personal for all of us, and I speak from my experience, as a woman. But make no mistake, we are all in this together.) 

Or perhaps it is this: if women need Pap smears, or birth control, or STI screenings, or pre-natal care or abortions, it is because we are whores. We deserve to be denied this basic healthcare, because we wouldn't need it, if we didn't whore around.

Or, it's both. It's punishment and it's fear.

They fear us because they know what they've done to us, and they think as soon as we gain any power, we will do the same to them. Perhaps it's because I'm currently devouring The Handmaid's Tale, but I suspect sometimes, that if they could, they would round us all up and keep us prisoners: the walking wombs they imagine us to be. If they would do it, they think we would do the same to them. What they don't know, is that all we want is to be free, and happy, and healthy. To live our lives with dignity. 

My body, these past few days, can feel my rage. I am so angry I feel like a conduit. It's coursing through me and giving me a constant stomach-ache. 

The personal and the political have always beeen one in the same. Politics is, after all, how we decide to structure the world in which we live. To divorce it from the personal is disingenuous--a lie afforded to those with power and privilege. But this one feels extra personal. 

A couple of weeks ago I had abnormal Pap smear. Soon I will have to go back to the doctor to get another test to determine if there are some cancerous or pre-cancerous cells lurking in my cervix. If there are, they will take them out. Modern medicine is a wonderful thing, if you can get your hands on it. I need to get Pap smears annually. I may need someone to get in there, and scrape cancerous cells out. If that doesn't happen, I may get cervial cancer and die. That is not hyperbole. That is one of many things that happens to women when they cannot accces basic healthcare. Those smirking old assholes are congrautating themselves on jeapordizing my life, and most likely, yours too. We all live in these breakable bodies, after all. 

This knowledge, this confirmation, is my new level. They would rather see me dead than living my life as I wish; having sex on my own terms and walking around with my ankles exposed. This is why, when I can, I will relish living my life. I know it makes them angry. My happiness, my freedom, my sexuality, offends and terrifies them. Knowing that brings me joy. 

I try to hold onto that joy; I hold in equal parts with my anger, glowing hotly inside me. 

I know now it is pointless to tell them: I need [the ACA, Planned Parenthood, etc.] to live my life! Without these services I may die or become buried under debt or an unwanted pregnancy! This is vital to my very existence! Because they don't care. That is their objective: they would rather I were not here. 

Well, here I am. I am a pesky, uppity woman whose very existence offends the men in charge of my country. This bill has proven that to me, and I feel a strange joy, a freedom, in knowing this.