EX - It's over but not yet

Nothing has been cleared up.
The lady with the space width says we have met before.
"No, first time here for me", I say. "Yes, I know you for sure", she insists.
"Impossible", I say.
"Okay, you look very similar to a girl that came to see me once", she says and asks me to have a seat on a very low leather chair. The first thing I notice is the box with the handkerchiefs that stands on the little table in front of me. I'll actually need one later.
"You had very bad luck."
That is the conclusion of a talk that goes on for one hour. A talk that is supposed to cheer me up, a talk that is supposed to give me the illusion that I can be a self-determined woman if I just seek out for the right help. But the only help I have is that of my body that is trying to do its best after being anesthetized and played with as if it was a piece of meat without brain and soul.
Of what have I become a victim?
Of my relationship? Intercultural in taste, representative of my generation, specific in its uniqueness every relationship is.
Of a single man or a team of practitioners? Not following the procedures as they should have, reminding you of your irresponsibility but not reminding you of the precautions 
Of the health system in Germany? Overloaded with hypochondriacs, divided into two classes, full of money but short of human beings that care about their patients, corrupted by the pharma industry
Of an age-old debate between conservatives and liberals? stigmatizing women in any case, leaving them out there with a job market that needs them only part-time and in places where days smell of ink from the copy machines and cold coffee, telling them that no matter how they behave they are "a type of woman"
It is not a coincidence that predictions for women who decide for this path or that path are always frightening. It's like you can either have this or that, you have to focus on your career or the children, you can either be skinny and perfect or regular and boring.
If you are not a type, if you don't behave as a type they'll either make you one or they put you in a corner and try to ignore you as best as they can.
I see more days now that turn out to be automatic. I am fed to grow for an experiment I am not aware of. I allow them to feed me, I eat and eat and eat, the heat on the plate is unfolding into a climatized day in a little room full of newspapers. I eat the letters with my eyes and my stomach grows bigger and gets more hungry for tasks yet to be fulfilled. I am a wheel in a wheel chair waiting to be pushed into the emergency room.
I have so many questions but I don't even get the chance to ask.
I want to claim a fundamental right. The right to know.
But there's nothing to know, they say, the guilty one should not ask, a guilty one should shut up and wait for the court to decide.
Decicsion postponed. Summer break. It's over but not yet.


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