Written in 2008 to help deal with the anger and helplessness I felt when diagnosed with Vulvodynia and the triggers it caused. Through much effort, work and support I do not feel this way as much anymore.
A friend told me I should write a vagina monologue. Maybe because I have always found it pretty amusing to talk about around the dinner table, maybe because of the crazy natural concoctions I have tried to heal it, or maybe just because I speak in monologues.
I don’t know if I would feel the same if my life had taken a different course. I never felt connected to my sexuality growing up. I longed to have a picture perfect romance, but was never willing to pursue it or deal with it when it came along. I felt like it didn’t make sense, like riding a damn bike and not even knowing what to do…ever. Just some gangly girl peddling along- wobbling here and there, taking corners too fast.
When your first experience is rape- things change. The issues before are now exasperated by your new experience and you feel like everything is falling apart. I felt like this is how it is- this is how it is supposed to be. I was never taught before that women had rights or choices. I moved quickly from a rape into a self-destructive situation where everything was centered around the idea that all men want, is sex and all women are good for, is sex.
After the rape, I really understood this concept of a vagina that feels and speaks. I spent a whole year in silence and denying what happened to me. Never could I imagine that I would be raped…or at that- had been raped. Because, when you are saying no…you don’t even believe it yourself. You make up excuses like any other bad relationship- well, maybe I did want it, or maybe if I wasn’t so poor and desperate I would have never gotten in this place to begin with, or maybe because I grew up that fat, ugly, loud mouthed little girl- that this is the only thing I will ever get…
God, what a sad thing to finally say.
The guilt I felt. Can you believe- I actually tried to help the man?! No, he wasn’t bad…he just needed someone to believe in him? He didn’t mean to? He feels terrible…oh, he really did care about me…I gave him the wrong message, I sold myself for comfort?! Or security?!
Two years, I believed I could help change this man. This man that changed everything for me.
So what does my vagina say?
Well, it would say, fuck off. Or, I am too scared.
What would it wear?
Lace-up combat boots.
The Rape
People to this day still think I am crazy when I say- vagina’s really do have a mind of their own. Let me give an example- like I said before- I have never been very connected to my sexuality, nor had I ever really noticed my vagina…but things changed.
After rape, you feel like you just don’t understand your own vagina. You don’t even know it. So many days I would suddenly realize it all over again- my vagina is not a part of me. It is angry and distant and something I don’t even understand. The moment anything goes wrong with it- I am convinced!! I have contracted an STD from the rape…no matter if it is 1, 2 or even 4 years later. It feels confused, and embarrassed. When I go to the gynecologist, I cry and cry. One time the female doctor asked me real cold, “Do you always do this”?!?
I have researched and studied our past history of violence against women and the notion of sexual violence as a weapon during war. Bosnian women explaining how the lips to their vagina just fell off in their hands. Everything smelled of pus, disease and emptiness. Everything sweet and beautiful, gone.
I don’t know a better statement to make someone understand…if it is physically or emotionally. Often times, when you are sitting alone trying to figure out what to do next or just trying to reason the past…you sit there. Lip in hand, numb, confused and lost.
Moving On
I feel like as a feminist, I am supposed to say- fuck you and move on. I am stronger than this…Well, it is a damned well known fact that Ms. Mandy H. is stronger than this, but what does that even mean.
Does it mean that we forget, we heal completely and welcome any hungry man into our open legs…or do we build a wall?
How can you not? How many men really say- oh, of course I understand.
Every time that I feel like I am moving on- something goes wrong and I end up at the gynecologist for a bladder infection- crying and crying. Figuring that somehow- just somehow this was caused by the rape.
So, I need to address this issue. Yes, I am still a strong feminist, but the reality is that we are influenced by our environments, our past and the political culture of this nation to know that we have a long battle ahead of us, and it will be hard.
An Ode to Vulvodynia
Many of our wonderful male doctors believe that vulvodynia is a product of women’s pea-sized brains. We dream up chronic Vulvar pain.
After all these years of healing and finding happiness here and there…it results in something so frustrating, so lonely, so unfathomable.
Shooting nerve pains, raw, angry, almost like your lips are once again lying in the palm of your hand.
This could be genetic, allergies, environmental or a product of all of them?
Or maybe, just maybe these egotistical, misogynist male doctors are right. Right in this sense that we are plagued by a disease that touches and changes every woman no matter class, race, culture, age or geographical location.
A disease that makes me say- my vagina has been one of the biggest problems in my life. Everything has revolved around this one damn lump of flesh and nerves.
God, how many men walk around and say that they are all hung up on their penis? How many walk around thinking it is the worst damn thing that ever happened to them?
What does a penis mean today? Well, what is has always meant- power, pleasure and war.
What do our vagina’s need to say?
This plague will one day end.
Vulvodynia Monoblog 