Thursday, 15 January 2015

Is there anything worse than biting your tongue?

When I logged into this fathomless void of blogdom that nobody seems to read, I was intent on merely asking the question of whether or not there is a more painful experience that literally biting your tongue. Upon writing that title, I realised I'd nearly inadvertently branched off into a different subject altogether, namely, holding back what you really want to say. But no, on this occasion, with the pain still eschewing into my brain, I'm going to plough on through with the initial connotation.

Is there a more painful experience? Quite simply, the answer, is no. This conclusion may insensitively appear to be spitting in the face of all you wondrous women out there; who have served humanity the ultimate deed by aiding our existence, to go through 9 months of uncomfortable pregnancy and the subsequent painful birth it inevitably leads to. And spitting in the face of it is exactly what I'm doing, it's about time some truth surfaced from this myth. Throughout said pregnancy, you're entitled to scream at the sperm provider (whom you chose, in most cases) at will, your gargantuan "look-at-me" belly hump casting aside any quite ludicrous assumption that you're to be treated like a normal human being, a subversive VIP pass to the self-entitlement and unaccountability you've been training your whole life for.

At least in childbirth, it's a means to an end. After it's all over, you get to hold the love of your life. All I've got is the tarnished memory that was supposed to be a feast of nostalgia......literally. When you give birth, you get drugs, tens machines and all manner of pain-nullifying gadgetry to dim the rather unpleasant sensations. People wait on you, hand and foot, pampering you like royalty, whilst you just lie there and soak it all up in your giant birthing pool. Tut.

Stubbing your little toe is a universally recognised rival to the championed pain of childbirth......but it only lasts for a few evil fleeting moments where the air is turned blue, no matter what company you're in, so it doesn't quite make the grade. Why don't self-harmers use this method? At least the scars would only be mental ones. Fallen on a train track and had your leg timely amputated by a passing delayed train? Oh, the irony. At least you'll get a sick-note, time off work, the perfect excuse to put your foot up, some disability benefits and a decent parking space for life. 

What do you get for biting your tongue? Absolutely bloody nothing, it's a disgrace!!! I'm not suggesting there should be a national day of mourning.....I don't know what the solution should be, I'm just bringing the matter to public attention. These are the things we should be talking about, maybe I'll start a petition.

Now, you may have garnered the impression that I've just bitten my tongue, pat yourself on the back, you have deduced yourself into folklore. I HAVE just bitten my tongue. The initial burst of pain is excruciating and it doesn't end there, it continues throughout the entire duration of the meal. On this occasion, cheesy eggy bread (or sergeant majors, as my mum used to call them, for reasons unknown to me) was my said eatage. First time I'd had it in ages too, hence the nostalgia factor. Every ounce of salty tomato sauce exacerbated the pain and rendered the whole experience completely unenjoyable, I'm gutted.

It brought back awful memories of a date I'd been on last year. This girl, let's call her Debbie and keep it anonymous and light. She'd told me that she had split-personality and that this secondary persona, who she'd named Vixen (I've decided it's not hurtling the blog into disrepute to bring into the spotlight  people that don't actually exist) came out in the bedroom. Me being me, with alarm bells conveniently being drowned out by my desire to tick off yet another 'POF box', I decided to go with this carefree abandonment of self-prophecy and common-sense to completely ignore my gut. You only get once chance to completely balls up your life and I'm taking it with both hands, using this very method! It takes skill to be this inept. It all predictably backfired, however. As it turns out, I wasn't so keen after she bit into my tongue and wouldn't get go for about 5 seconds. Biting someone's tongue and ignoring their desperate muffled pleas to let go, is NOT sexy. It didn't go any further, not because of that.....I just didn't like how she said "supposably", that's unforgivable.

What started off as a tongue in cheek nod to an everyday unacknowledged unrivalled pain, has led me to self-diagnose that I'm suffering from post online dating traumatic stress disorder (aka PODTSD). I hope I've raised some awareness, if nothing else.

Anyway, my mum used to say that I was happiest when I was eating. If that is indeed the case, then this is the cruellest of all pain. I'd even proudly posted a picture of my grub for the benefit of my social media friends/fans/victims, whatever you want to label them, serves me right really. Maybe if everyone received the same kind of karma every time they posted something so superfluous, Facebook wouldn't be such a hive of mediocrity, kind of like the antithesis of this very blog you're so blessed to be reading.

So let this be a lesson to you all. I kind of wish I'd just bitten my tongue now, in the nonliteral sense.


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