"I can't even... What did you take me for? Did you think I was stupid?!"
"I didn't think you'd find out."
"And that makes it better?!"
A pause.
"Tell me. I want to know."
"Why? Why do this?"
"Because I need to know! When did it even start?"
"I... I can't remember."
"Fuck, a year ago? Because I remember a year ago..."
"No. Longer."
"Longer?!"
"Why are we doing this? What's the point?"
"Because you fucking owe it to me."
"Listen, I don't 'owe' you. Neither of us wanted-"
"Well we're fucking here now, aren't we. We can't just erase it like it never happened. I can't just erase it. This is it. This is part of my fucking story. You - are part - of my - fucking - story. What am I supposed to tell people?"
"It's just one of those things. It happens all the time."
"'It's just one of those things'?! What does that even... Do you have any... My family. My friends. Me."
An incoherent mumble, which sounds like a statistic.
"Don't give me numbers. I can't believe you're giving me fucking numbers. After all the shit you've pulled. All the little lies I've had to tell myself, when I knew, I fucking knew something wasn't right."
"I..."
"What?"
"I said I'm sorry. What else do you want?"
"The truth! Just for once, the fucking truth."
"The truth! The truth is that it's not even that bad! You're making this out to be worse than it is!"
"Don't lie to me! Again! Enough! God, that time when... And I convinced myself that it didn't mean anything. And all the other signs..."
"Look, this is easy. Now that it's out, in the open, it's easy. We can sort this."
"How? It's easy for you. You just carry on as you were. This is all on me. I'm the one who has to deal with it. I don't, I don't know that I can do this."
*****
"So now what?"
"We just keep talking."
"But we've been talking. How can we keep just talking?"
"Tell me again. Tell me again, everything."
"But..."
"No. You don't control this. You don't get to fucking control this. Tell me."
*****
"How've you been?"
"Okay. Better."
"That's good."
"I guess. It's..."
"It's what?"
"I still can't... square it."
"How can I help?'
"You can't."
*****
"I think I finally understand it."An exasperated sigh.
"What. What do you 'finally understand'."
"I've been reading about it. About you."
"'About' me?"
"Yes. It is common. One in ten women have to deal with it, apparently."
"See! I told yo-"
"You fuck, that doesn't make it better. That doesn't somehow absolve you, make it okay. It's just good to know."
"Fine."
"You want to know what else I found out?"
"I... Argh, I don't even have to be having this conversation right now."
"Yes, you do. Because I don't think you realise what you are. I think you've been kidding yourself that it's fine. That it's normal. That what you do to women is... normal. And it isn't. And it's not - fucking - fair. It's not fair that you've forced me to deal with this. It's not fair that I now have to change everything, everything, that I'm the one that has to scramble around and attempt to rake and scrape up your detritus, to deal with it. So yes. Yes, you do fucking need to be having this conversation right now."
*****
Years later.
"I'm proud of you," the body says.
"I... Thank you."
"It's been tough for you, hasn't it?"
"It has. It has."
"You've done it though. All that reading, learning, changing your diet, your exercise, your mindset... It feels... I feel you understand me. That you respect me."
"But I don't feel... I still don't know that I can trust you. I still can't believe you failed me like that."
"Trust me? I can't- You know what? It's time. It's time you heard this. I am proud of you. I've watched as you've had to rewrite all you know about me, and about how we work together. And we're both so much better for it. I've felt myself slowly fix. I feel better than I've done in years; I know that you do too.
And yet. And yet. I don't think you realise what it's been like for me.
For years you abused me. You put me down. Dismissed me. Reviled me. Refused to try and understand me, and what I need. And that was even before I first started showing symptoms. You don't know what it was like. I knew you needed to get through this. That then wasn't the right time to share this."
"I, I had no idea. I didn't think..."
"'I didn't think'. Fuck, you wouldn't dream of treating anyone the way you treated me. The way you treated us. Because despite everything, despite these conversations, you do realise we're the same, now, don't you?
But when we first got that diagnosis, when we finally got a label that explained everything - our missed periods, our acne, those cysts on our ovaries, the fucking, the fucking weight gain - you ignored it. You went straight into denial.
Do you have any concept of what it's been like? To not be given compassion, to be blamed as a cause rather than a symptom? To feel and listen to you oscillate and struggle between disgust and acceptance about me?
And you know what? I don't regret it. I don't regret what I did. I had to take you - take us - to rock bottom for you to finally listen to me. Yes, I did 'betray' you. Us. But I don't regret it. You needed to start listening to me. 'The truth will out', as they say, regardless of whether or not you try to deny it."
"I don't know what to say."
A pause.
"I'm, I'm sorry," the self says.
"Don't apologise. You were right to be angry. You're still right to be angry. But we can fucking do this. We - can fucking - do this."
*****
Useful links for those with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome:
- My Google Doc of notes made while researching it
- PCOS diet support (great resource on managing PCOS through diet)
- Blog from Erika Volk (personal trainer with PCOS, and who specialises in exercise to help manage PCOS)
- The PCOS Workbook (on Amazon, £6.55 for the Kindle version)
And if you have PCOS, there are some great Facebook groups, in which women share their stories and help each other out. You can fucking do this.
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