EDITION 4: Pussy Pain Explained

MY PUSSY. MY GURU. MY GODDESS

It’s dark in the room, the night is quiet, the air cool. I blink open my eyes and take in a velvety depth of blackness. It makes no sense that my skin is damp, my hair wet, the sheets underneath me drenched. There is a wild sensation occurring in my vagina. It’s most definitely not pleasant. I suppose this must be what it would feel like to have multiple razor blades lightly cutting through the skin of my vulva. I heave my body from the bed where I lay. As I sit upright the sensation expands, rockets and explodes. Cold sweat is trickling down my bare back. This isn’t right. This isn’t normal.

I’m staring at a male doctor. My mum is beside me. I’m 19, and I still need her to be in the room incase I miss something important. This doctor seems to believe I’ve got an infection. The tests for are showing up as negative, but all the symptoms point towards an infection so they’ll just give me a round of antibiotics to fix this up. I’ve lost count of all of the rounds of antibiotics I’ve been given to take for this recurrent, no-show of an infection. Why does my vagina hurt?

I’m 22. I’m sat crossed legged on my bed. My vagina is on fire. I imagine that this would equate to the same pain that another woman would experience if she were to take off her pants, and sit directly on top of a roaring fire. It takes a lot of strength not to scream out for help. But there’s no point in that since no one can help me can they? Not the doctors. Not the specialists. My vagina is an anomaly. A very confusing body part to own. I type frantically slam into Google search ‘Vagina Transplan..’ I change my mind, and start typing out my symptoms instead. What shows up on the harsh screen changes my life.

I’m laid on a hard raised bed, my legs stretched out wide. It’s as though the harsh lights of the hospital aren’t enough, so the specialist is shining a bright, bright torch directly into my vagina. She’s got a gloved finger inside of me, and as I hold my breath and wince she announces: “Yup, you’ve got Vulvodynia. We’ve got medication for that. You might notice some of the following side effects. Dizziness. Blurred vision. Sickness. Anxiety. Confusion”.

I’m 25. I’m bent over on my knees, my chest is pressed against the bed, and my vagina is up in the air. “Fuck me harder I yell”. So he does. The harder he fucks me, the more I can scream out. He thinks I’m loving it, probably because he can’t see my hysterical face whilst it’s stuffed into the sheets of the bed. My fingertips are frantically clawing the bed. I’m willing desperately for this horror to end, so I encourage his beat faster. I just want to have sex like all the other girls do. I’ve left my body. I’m dreaming of a world where my vagina doesn’t hurt.

I’m 27. I look into the emerald green of his eyes and he tells me the words I thought were impossible. He loves me. He’ll never leave. He doesn’t care if we never have sex again. He just wants to be with me. Surely he can’t mean it? But as I stare at his kind face, I feel the rush of trust and heart that he radiates penetrate me deeper than any man I’ve known before. I’ll let him in.  

I’m 27. I’ve chucked out the the medication the doctors prescribe. I don’t keep codeine in the back of my bag. I haven’t been to the hospital in years. I’m soft now. Not neurotic. I ride bikes and my vagina doesn’t mind! I’ve remembered that sex isn’t frightening. This is the beginning of a remembering. An awakening.

I’m 29. My Pussy is a portal for transformation. I have learnt that through pain, I’ve been assigned the wisest teacher, and this type of teacher doesn’t care for spelling and algebra. No. This teacher cares for my truth. Her lessons fierce, empowered and wild, and when I stray off track or forget what I’m worth, I’m met with a sting straight to my Vulva which causes me to step back and assess. This teacher, she removes everything that stands in my souls way with radiant fire. She’s like Kali, but with a clitoris.

My Pussy. My Guru. My Goddess.