It feels strange to feel deeply for someone again. I'm incredibly nervous about getting hurt again. But I can't fucking help it, its like water rushing downhill, it can hardly be stopped. To borrow a quote from a good movie, "He is just what a young man ought to be." Smart, good-natured, sympathetic to the struggles of women. And then yesterday I was blown away when he told me that I shouldn't feel so bad about my problem, that it was even a problem, just a natural variant of human sexuality. That I was valuable as a person for me, and not the sexual services I can and can't provide.
I just cried, it felt like a weight was lifted off of my shoulder. I have let vaginismus weigh so heavily on my self-worth, maturity, sexuality, relationships, to hear someone who has absolutely nothing to gain by lying about it freely say such a thing....brings tears to my eyes each time I think about it. There were so many times when I thought about ending my life, wishing I was never born, that I would never live a normal life.
And now I can clearly see how wrong I was. I am so happy to be alive, even when its hard. I had such simple goals in my life, that seemed to be hopeless, but hear I am getting ready to achieve all of them. To think my heart would ever truly feel again, even after I have loved so hard and lost even harder, is truly a testament to how strong the human heart is. To love even in spite of pain, to pick yourself up and love again. To be blind and stupid, again and again.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Friday, March 21, 2014
A Post to Bring Us Up To Speed
And so, I'm back to dating again. I survived the one year anniversary of my family members death (although I accidentally drank too much wine and was a scary drunk), I have expressed my feelings more to people, been more social and active, got my life plan together for the next year. Feeling much more positive.
I met a guy on the internet, talked for like 5 months, we liked each other, so we went on some dates. Now we're in a relationship. We're both very shy and nervous. He's very sweet, smells good and his skin is very soft. We like a lot of the same things. I like him very much!
And perhaps even more amazingly, my body LOVES him. My vagina has relaxed so much, I don't even do my exercises lately. He fingers me multiple times in a row and it actually feels good. And the last few times he put two fingers in which has NEVER happened before (I can't even do that). And it was so exciting and I was giggling and he was really happy too. So omgsexmaybesoon? Who even knows, I've reverted to my 'sixteen year old first time being in love' self again and I hope I don't do something stupid to scare him away.
Overall feeling realistic but happy at the same time. Only time will tell what the future will bring to me.
I met a guy on the internet, talked for like 5 months, we liked each other, so we went on some dates. Now we're in a relationship. We're both very shy and nervous. He's very sweet, smells good and his skin is very soft. We like a lot of the same things. I like him very much!
And perhaps even more amazingly, my body LOVES him. My vagina has relaxed so much, I don't even do my exercises lately. He fingers me multiple times in a row and it actually feels good. And the last few times he put two fingers in which has NEVER happened before (I can't even do that). And it was so exciting and I was giggling and he was really happy too. So omgsexmaybesoon? Who even knows, I've reverted to my 'sixteen year old first time being in love' self again and I hope I don't do something stupid to scare him away.
Overall feeling realistic but happy at the same time. Only time will tell what the future will bring to me.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Sometimes it is hard to let go
2013 was kind of a terrible year, and now almost two months into 2014, I would really like to let it go. I'm approaching the years mark of my two family members death, which marked the downward spiral of my year. It feels like I've lost so much, friendships, family, love, excitement. And sometimes it makes it hard to keep my chin up. I know that it can only go up from here, but it's overwhelming. Because I have to do all the walking. I hike up the mountain of self-improvement on my own, sometimes blindly, sometimes getting lost and cold and sad. But when I look up at the sky, there is only sun to greet me. That sun reminds me that I'm alive, that I'm strong.
It's okay to cry and be weak, its okay to be scared. Because those are just feelings, and feelings will pass. There will always be those who hurt you, but wounds heal. Sometimes they scar, but what is a scar but a mark on the surface? Hurt doesn't take away from what your are, what you have, what you worked hard for. Hurt doesn't change the fundamental building blocks that make you.
So hurt, and then get up and be who you are. Work hard. Live, in all your tears and hurt, and be that person you were meant to be.
It's okay to cry and be weak, its okay to be scared. Because those are just feelings, and feelings will pass. There will always be those who hurt you, but wounds heal. Sometimes they scar, but what is a scar but a mark on the surface? Hurt doesn't take away from what your are, what you have, what you worked hard for. Hurt doesn't change the fundamental building blocks that make you.
So hurt, and then get up and be who you are. Work hard. Live, in all your tears and hurt, and be that person you were meant to be.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
New Tag
I just made a tag for the Progress Log. And Wow! Amazing! How strong and together I am compared to the first post. How amazing it is that I got so far. My one moment to pat myself on the back, Go me!
Progress Log: Mechanics of Sex
So back on the sex horse, tried yesterday and then today. Yesterday was the same old issues so then I gave up. But today I was determined to be a normal sexual being again, so I tried again. Very patiently. I was a little scared since it had been awhile since I really tried to insert something all the way in. My goal to make dilator three a non-issue hasn't been all too successful. So I tried really hard this time. I was clenching up so hard at first, so I pulled way back and let my body relax. Then I started to insert it and I really hated the feeling. It was uncomfortable and I didn't like feeling my muscle twitch around the dilator. But it had started to slide all the way in so I was determined to make this work, to push myself farther. I told myself to try and last for ten minutes, which seemed unbearable at the time. But after listening to a whole song my body started to accept it. I decided to try and open and close my legs, then I lifted one leg and then the other. I pulled my knees to my chest and it didn't cause any issues. I moved my hips in the babiest of motions.
This was the first time I'd ever changed positions with an object in my vagina before! So cool milestone. Left me feeling renewed and hopeful that I could do this.
Fuck, I can do this!
This was the first time I'd ever changed positions with an object in my vagina before! So cool milestone. Left me feeling renewed and hopeful that I could do this.
Fuck, I can do this!
Monday, January 27, 2014
Feeling Unfocused
But I wanted to post anyways.
I wrote some stuff but it got deleted. Clearly a sign I shouldn't post the crap I was going to post.
I feel many things right now, but I post none of them.
Tentative dilator goal:
Start using the dilator 3 until that becomes the baseline. As in, the 3 goes in virtually effortlessly like my finger can or the 2 can. The aim here is to make 3 easily accessible, thus making the 4 a non event to insert. Which would then make the 5 doable.The girth of a penis is at the 5 level. Then I can try to work with the mechanics of sex.
Also, make spreading legs in yoga less traumatic feeling. Still some serious issues there.
Read anal sex book!
I wrote some stuff but it got deleted. Clearly a sign I shouldn't post the crap I was going to post.
I feel many things right now, but I post none of them.
Tentative dilator goal:
Start using the dilator 3 until that becomes the baseline. As in, the 3 goes in virtually effortlessly like my finger can or the 2 can. The aim here is to make 3 easily accessible, thus making the 4 a non event to insert. Which would then make the 5 doable.The girth of a penis is at the 5 level. Then I can try to work with the mechanics of sex.
Also, make spreading legs in yoga less traumatic feeling. Still some serious issues there.
Read anal sex book!
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
And Suddenly There Was....Nothing: 2013 Momentum
It started off with a kiss and a profession of Love and closeness, Sincerity, promise. Flirty relationships, fun, and likeability gave way to a creeping disturbance as reality came closing in. Conflict, jealousy, people's true colors started to glow faintly from within. Washing the floors every night started to become tiring and impossible. I was tired.
And then, the flirting was over, I cast off the chains of love and sex and attraction and was alone. I got a real job and thought things would start to look up. A uniform, a pay raise, promise to move through a prestigious institution. The beginning of moving up in the world, making new friends and feeling warm and appreciated. A sweet new friendship brought joy to my life. A sense of wonderment and excitement of the world around me. Walking through the glass walkway with the early evening sky streaming on my head and shoulders, I felt a vibration in my pocket. A text message, confusing, but serious sounding. In the hospital, not much time, didn't look good. I thought it was a wrong number. I didn't know any sick people. I didn't recognize the number. But I was wrong, I did know this person. Now, to wait excruciatingly for a great long life to end. Wrote the eulogy, drifted around teary and confused. My life seemed to be so full of death. Those long canvas boxes they wheeled past the lab at night burned permanently into my eyes and stayed even as I slept. The great doors of the morgue like a chasm into a silent hell, shutting on their own without a blink from anyone else. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away, trapped in the stinking chemical, bloody organs, and the canvas box, pushing discreetly past by the man in his one purple glove.
I went home, steeled to support my family and read my speech for the great woman of ninety odd years old. I talked on the phone to my grandfather and told him I couldn't wait to see him again. I put on my shiniest shoes and took a deep breath in the hallway of the funeral parlor while I waited for the rest of my family. I heard screams. They had found him dead. I sat down on the ground winded. Visions of what should have been and what would never be danced in my head all day and all night. Even when I filled my life with hobbies and love and sexual intimacy the sound blasted in my ears constantly. While I slept I saw him, heard his voice, remembered his smell and the touch of the foil and velvet wallpaper in the house. It was as if someone had cut open my head and shook out my soul like a wastebasket of paper. I crawled around my job and life trying to make sense of it.
As the empty case once known as a person I worked hard to forge an identity. Worked hard to support my roommate, get hired permanently into my job, worked to be a supportive girlfriend to my new boyfriend, to save money, work on my sexual inadequacy, be friends with those I was once romantically involved in, conserve energy and be a fun and interesting person. But I was so tired. I lost so much support from the people I've known for years. By striving to be a strong and independent person, I did myself a disservice be de-emphasizing how much pain I was in. People simply forgot that I was grieving.I didn't cut myself slack, and no one else did either.
After months of working hard, what I thought was the rewards was nothing but a stealthily disguised knife to twist into me. Alienated from most people, receiving almost no payback, and then getting the news that I had been cheated on. I just broke. Me, the already broken down me, broke completely. Fell off the grid, I felt so angry. I just wanted silence. I hated everyone, and lacked the words to describe why. What I had wanted was the warm blanket of support and what I had received was virtually nothing. Stinky, putrid nothing.
But I wasn't ashamed to be myself. If anything, my broken sense of self only solidified. I was belligerently myself. Backhanding those with the idea of myself. My hair stood on end, but people were admiring and not put off. Somehow that made me even angrier. I was disgusted with the prospect of being desired. I hated it.
Then somehow along the way my angry turned to Productive Anger. I started to do things fearlessly. I mowed down my fears and insecurities and stopped taking bullshit. So productively angry I came into the new year, still mad, but less than before. Feeling better as things fell into place, and less tears fell from my eyes.
I have become someone that I do not yet know. I have mediated crises, tested positive for tuberculosis, been molested, watched an animal die in front of me, surprised by the callous insensitive way people speak of death, contemplated suicide and survived the most sentimental times of the year alone.
But I also completed all of my resolutions for last year. Learned to cook, and be useful to somebody. Went to the gynecologist. Asserted myself and my needs. Got a full time job. Tried online dating. Dried watermelon. Read books and sewed clothes and baked bread. And inspired people to do things. A lot of things. And really, what is a life but the imprint it leaves on others after all is said and done?
2014, don't disappoint me
And then, the flirting was over, I cast off the chains of love and sex and attraction and was alone. I got a real job and thought things would start to look up. A uniform, a pay raise, promise to move through a prestigious institution. The beginning of moving up in the world, making new friends and feeling warm and appreciated. A sweet new friendship brought joy to my life. A sense of wonderment and excitement of the world around me. Walking through the glass walkway with the early evening sky streaming on my head and shoulders, I felt a vibration in my pocket. A text message, confusing, but serious sounding. In the hospital, not much time, didn't look good. I thought it was a wrong number. I didn't know any sick people. I didn't recognize the number. But I was wrong, I did know this person. Now, to wait excruciatingly for a great long life to end. Wrote the eulogy, drifted around teary and confused. My life seemed to be so full of death. Those long canvas boxes they wheeled past the lab at night burned permanently into my eyes and stayed even as I slept. The great doors of the morgue like a chasm into a silent hell, shutting on their own without a blink from anyone else. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away, trapped in the stinking chemical, bloody organs, and the canvas box, pushing discreetly past by the man in his one purple glove.
I went home, steeled to support my family and read my speech for the great woman of ninety odd years old. I talked on the phone to my grandfather and told him I couldn't wait to see him again. I put on my shiniest shoes and took a deep breath in the hallway of the funeral parlor while I waited for the rest of my family. I heard screams. They had found him dead. I sat down on the ground winded. Visions of what should have been and what would never be danced in my head all day and all night. Even when I filled my life with hobbies and love and sexual intimacy the sound blasted in my ears constantly. While I slept I saw him, heard his voice, remembered his smell and the touch of the foil and velvet wallpaper in the house. It was as if someone had cut open my head and shook out my soul like a wastebasket of paper. I crawled around my job and life trying to make sense of it.
As the empty case once known as a person I worked hard to forge an identity. Worked hard to support my roommate, get hired permanently into my job, worked to be a supportive girlfriend to my new boyfriend, to save money, work on my sexual inadequacy, be friends with those I was once romantically involved in, conserve energy and be a fun and interesting person. But I was so tired. I lost so much support from the people I've known for years. By striving to be a strong and independent person, I did myself a disservice be de-emphasizing how much pain I was in. People simply forgot that I was grieving.I didn't cut myself slack, and no one else did either.
After months of working hard, what I thought was the rewards was nothing but a stealthily disguised knife to twist into me. Alienated from most people, receiving almost no payback, and then getting the news that I had been cheated on. I just broke. Me, the already broken down me, broke completely. Fell off the grid, I felt so angry. I just wanted silence. I hated everyone, and lacked the words to describe why. What I had wanted was the warm blanket of support and what I had received was virtually nothing. Stinky, putrid nothing.
But I wasn't ashamed to be myself. If anything, my broken sense of self only solidified. I was belligerently myself. Backhanding those with the idea of myself. My hair stood on end, but people were admiring and not put off. Somehow that made me even angrier. I was disgusted with the prospect of being desired. I hated it.
Then somehow along the way my angry turned to Productive Anger. I started to do things fearlessly. I mowed down my fears and insecurities and stopped taking bullshit. So productively angry I came into the new year, still mad, but less than before. Feeling better as things fell into place, and less tears fell from my eyes.
I have become someone that I do not yet know. I have mediated crises, tested positive for tuberculosis, been molested, watched an animal die in front of me, surprised by the callous insensitive way people speak of death, contemplated suicide and survived the most sentimental times of the year alone.
But I also completed all of my resolutions for last year. Learned to cook, and be useful to somebody. Went to the gynecologist. Asserted myself and my needs. Got a full time job. Tried online dating. Dried watermelon. Read books and sewed clothes and baked bread. And inspired people to do things. A lot of things. And really, what is a life but the imprint it leaves on others after all is said and done?
2014, don't disappoint me
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