dealing with pain and dysfunction


Category Archive

The following is a list of all entries from the omgwtf category.

nice guys, Nice Guys, and not getting laid

My life has been a Nice-Guy-splosion this week.  FUCK.  I can only think of one friend who is a dude and not a total goddamned asshole/Nice Guy right now.  Shoutout to Dan for not being a total bag of dicks.

The thing about dealing with so many Nice Guys is that after awhile, I stopped feeling like a person.  Most of my male friends were or are just straight up lying about it; we were never friends no matter how much I thought we were.  Right now, I don’t feel like a person who might be interesting or have something worthwhile to contribute to a friendship other than fucking.  AND HEY, I CAN BARELY EVEN DO THAT, AMIRITE?  I mean, if I can’t fuck then I’m basically pointless.  Obvs.

And the real killer thing is?  I’m in my most epic and shitty dry spell ever. Attention dudes!  This could be so easy for both of us.  Stop pretending to be my super platonic awesome friend, state your intentions and quit being whiny little manipulative assholes for an hour or so and you’re more than welcome in my bed.  What’s that, you can’t manage it?  FUCK RIGHT OFF, THEN.  I HAVE NO USE FOR YOU AND YOU HAVE NO USE FOR ME.

ETA:  it appears that the antidote to a dry spell is whining about it to the internet…

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i am gonna make it through this year if it kills me.

we have all the same friends and they all like him better than me

if i told people they’d think i was an asshole

he’s way hotter than me so people would think it’s a compliment or that i’m lying

it’s best to not cause a scene and pretend to be totally cool about it

it’s close to the end of the year anyway, what good would come of saying something?

just in general, what good would come of saying anything?

i was drinking way too much

i’d slept with him a few times before anyway

it’s easier to play it off as a hilarious, if awkward, story (i stole his corkscrew as i was leaving!  ha ha!) than actually think about it

“i want to go home” isn’t a forceful enough “NO”

i’m just being way too dramatic

just because i don’t remember how i got to his apartment doesn’t mean i didn’t want to go, right?

if, when asked how i got there, he told me i was “playing hard to get” and he had to “like, physically force me” then…

oh wait, i guess shit just got a lot more difficult to rationalize away as a funny mistake between friends.

for the aforementioned reasons i’ll continue to shut up about it and keep acting like it’s totes hilarious, but i wanted the internet to know that last night someone actually had the gall to announce to me at a bar—in public!—that he “physically force[d]” me into his apartment a couple weeks ago.  i’m glad i don’t remember that part.  even making a little blog entry that no one will read feels like i’m being a hysterical prude.  anyway, there’s not really anyone for me to talk about this with, so, whatev.  i’m keeping the fucking corkscrew.

on topic:  this is the same guy that i had the horrifically awkward vulvodynia discussion with last summer, and when i got all “wtf happened” he looked really upset and asked if he had, “y’know, hurt me” (shifty gesture to my pelvis).  no, my vagina’s pretty cool most of the time nowadays, it’s just that you should maybe reconsider your idea of “fun” if it involves forcing extremely inebriated women to come home with you.  just a thought though, dude.

all the people that have been so shitty to me this year are only going to matter for four more months.  there will be no more running into them or trying super duper hard to hang out with them just so i stop being such a homebody shut-in.  i’m sure “real life” is just as cliquey and terrible as high school and college were, but fuck.  i’m going to get a puppy and we are going to love each other.  and the people that actually do matter will be there for it.

the things that are getting me through this day:  puppy face and beat control (i was at this MHoW show in august 08 and it remains one of my very favorite memories, plus the lyrics are just what i need)


omfg

I have a yeastie or BV or some shit, and it just got so bad that it literally woke me out of a dead sleep.  And it’s fucking Saturday so the student health clinic doesn’t open for another three hours.  Coincidentally, that’s about how much sleep I got.  Holy shit, this is so horrible, I don’t know what to do.

Last night I was merely feeling a little suspect, and started some homeopathic hippie shit for yeast, but it obviously didn’t work.  I could never tell the difference between the two infections since I don’t get classic symptoms for either–just ridiculously itchy and massively pissed off for the both of them.  Shit, I’ve even managed to confuse BV and a UTI.  Which means that I always have to see a doctor when my vag is feeling down.  This is so not what I wanted to do today.  I need to find some anti-anxiety meds and calm down a little.  I wish I could sleep more before the clinic opens, but it’s not going to happen.  Nothing is open yet, which means I can’t even walk to the store and buy some boric acid or something.  Not that I have that much confidence in my ability to walk around right now…

I am seriously crawling out of my skin right now, I want to scream.

ETA:  Guess what this weekend is?!  Memorial Day Weekend!!  That means the student health clinic is, wait for it… closed! Until Tuesday!  So, um, best of luck to me, I guess.

ETAII:  Planned Parenthood is also closed.  I better have some great fucking barbecue this Memorial Day.  USA!  USA!


Dilator ≠ Penis

Okay so I should have seen that coming.  At least I tried with someone I’m comfortable with, because it would have been completely impossible in any other situation.  I’m now able to comfortably start with the third-to-last dilator, second-to-last is challenging but not painful, and the last one is not good.  Maybe an inch or two in it feels like hitting a wall (vaginimus, obvs) and if I push it, it’s just painful.  And instead of taking that as a warning sign, I decided to pretend like everything’s okay and forge ahead anyway.

The bad:  it hurt just as badly as I remember it.  It had been a really long time, but it’s still just as painful.  The tearing/papercut feeling afterward was just as bad, and I didn’t really want to move or bend over at all.

The good:  Since I’m so ridiculously prone to UTI’s, I always have to dash to the bathroom afterward.  Usually I use that time to curl up into a ball and cry because I’m so burny at that point.  Like imagine peeing razors.  But this time it wasn’t so bad, it hardly hurt at all.  I’m still a little achy (I think this was Thursday night, it’s now Saturday) and feel a little bruised or something, but the burning was gone in record time.  I think that might have to do with my regular use of the lidocaine/aspirin/gabapentin cream.

The stupid: Sex is nothing like dilator therapy at all, I think because I have so much less control over the situation.  I don’t know what possessed me to do that, I knew it was going to hurt.  It might be helpful to use something more realistic for therapy, but frankly I don’t want this guy hanging out in my room.


In which I find new and innovative ways to humiliate myself

Firstly, I’ve managed to (kind of) work out the issues that I thought were going to keep me from writing here.  Therefore, I have an awful story to share.  This builds upon an older entry which is now much more relevant to my life.  I guess I’m single?  Or something?  I know it’s a good idea to be by myself for awhile but I’m kind of working through it—and not necessarily in the best or healthiest ways.

So, I had to have the pelvic pain talk.  Well, that’s not true, I did it accidentally.  Either way, it was horrifically embarrassing (mostly because I answered the wrong question—it didn’t have have to come up [keep reading to see why this is a pun!]).

Dude*:  So we’re both on the same page concerning the seriousness of this encounter, right?

given the circumstances, i assume this is a question about ‘we both know where this is going, are you okay with that?’** and answer accordingly.

Me:  Well, I should probably tell you that I have a pain condition that might make things difficult.  If I’m in pain it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be doing this or that I’m not into it, it’s not your fault.  We’ll see where it–

dude looks kind of taken aback

Dude:  No no no, I meant like… there isn’t really any meaning behind this, right?

Me:  Right, of course not.

*is dead of embarrassment*


In an amazing turn of events, however, I was not the dysfunctional one!  Even though this was a totally casual, just for fun situation, I feel infinitely better knowing that he can’t get it up when he’s stressed out.  Because now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that at least one guy has to understand what it’s like when your body doesn’t cooperate with your mind.  So (luckily?) we were both insanely embarrassed, called a raincheck, and tried to sleep.

Maybe before that, though, the pelvic pain thing was mentioned again.  I don’t have much of a grasp on timeline here, but… it wasn’t in the morning, so it had to have been before sleep.  I’m practically a detective, y’all.  He was apologizing and explaining, and I said, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m probably more embarrassed for having launched into the pelvic pain lecture at the worst possible moment, blah blah blah.”  And rather than making a big deal or demanding an explanation or causing a scene, all I got was a calm, “yeah, I didn’t really know what you were talking about.”  So all in all, slightly awful but nothing as nightmarish as I had imagined.  Regardless, thinking of how I must have sounded is enough to make me physically cringe and turn a little red.  Whatever, if nothing fun happens with this guy I’ll just think of it as taking one for the team in the name of consciousness-raising!

*he’s got an asshole tag now, see below

**this is extra lulz*** in light of this

***and also by lulz i mean what in the actual fuck


In Which I Defend My (Nonexistant) Honor

Attention  privileged, puritanical, assholes:  just because I am a godless heathen does not mean that I fuck everything that moves or am guilty of “sexual sins.”  Kindly piss off.

Once again, something about my outward appearance/attitude/loud feminism/lack of religion/something has convinced someone that I’m a total whorebag.

AS A MATTER OF FACT, that almost couldn’t be farther from the truth.  And I can’t say a damn thing about it, because pelvic pain is pretty silencing, and no one wants to hear about it.  So as usual, I channel my rage to the anonymous internet.

First off, how, exactly, is someone with vulvodynia and vaginismus going to find all these partners with whom to be promiscuous?  While I’ve never had a one-night stand or anything resembling one, I think it might go something like this:


[at a party or some other social gathering]

Dude/Chick:  Yo, let’s talk about something like school or music or travel.

Me:  Okay, blah blah blah.

Dude/Chick:  Want another beer?

Me:  Oh, actually I don’t drink.  [I just hold this cup so my hands have something to do and I’m not the only person here without one.]

Dude/Chick:  Yeah, why’s that?    -or- Bye.

Me:  Um, family history, would you like more detail?

Dude/Chick:  That’s cool.   -or- o_O  Bye.

[Somehow miraculously progresses through my social anxiety/general awkwardness to some kind of hookup situation]

Me:  So there are a few things you’re going to need to know before we begin… [vulvodynia, vaginismus, vulvar vestibulitis, no quick movements please, you may scare it]

Dude/Chick:  O_O  BYE.

So as you may understand, I’m a bit confused as to how I am committing these egregious sexual sins that someone else’s god is so upset about.  Is it the part where I CAN’T HAVE SEX?

I think what the real problem here is as follows:  some asshole is uncomfortable with sexuality and is mad that I haven’t joined him in the ranks of obedient followers, ignoring sexual impulse and condemning others while probably still making time to furitively masturbate in the shower, crying and repenting afterward.  You can go on and on about how “everyone’s guilty,” but no one’s gonna convince me that a life of shame is the right path.  Even if I can’t have sex (by hymen fetishist standards, at least), I’m still going to have a damn good time and not feel ashamed about it.  Just, umm… probably not with someone I’ve just met.  And you know what?  Even if I did fuck anything that moves, your ridiculous concept of “sin” is useless to me and has no place in my life.  So, hey.  Fuck off, buddy.


Estoy en Cuernavaca y muy cabreado*

Okay so this blog is where I go to complain about my vag problems.  This problem is quite different, and is only here because I am absolutely furious and disgusted and upset and I can’t complain out loud right now.  It has very little to do with vulvodynia, so my apologies in advance.

I am in in a Spanish immersion school in Cuernavaca, Morelos, MX.  My DivaCup is in a drawer in Ithaca, New York, USA.  AND I AM SO ANGRY.  Oh, and my birth control is also in Ithaca, so I’m crazy, mean, and bleeding x 100000000.  A doctor put me on the pill when I was like 13 because I bled too much and had cramps so bad that all I could do was curl up and vomit.  Like, couldn’t even get to the bathroom to throw up.  And now I am no longer on the pill, so this is awful.  I don’t know how my pre-teen self dealt with this shit, but I’d like to meet her and give her a hug.  You know the kind of pain where you just want to break something and then pass out??  That is me at the moment.

I mean, leaving my shampoo and toothbrush in Ithaca is okay.  Annoying, but… okay.  This?  Is absolutely unacceptable.  There is nowhere in Mexico for me to buy a replacement.  I’ve checked online (google “comprar copa menstrual”) and everything is in Spanish.  That seems like the right direction, but no.  Because they will only ship to Spain and Portugal.  The LadyCup would ship to Mexico… in 10-20 days.  GODDAMNIT.  I bought some baby washcloths and velcro so I could get crafty and make my own cloth pads.  They’re super cute, but I’ve gone through three of the 12 in the last few hours.  And not to judge anyone else’s menstrual choices, but I haven’t used a pad since I was like in middle school, and I feel fucking disgusting, squishing around in blood.  I got some cloth pads (actual ones, not these useless washcloths) when I thought I’d be getting an IUD, but I only used them once and couldn’t deal with it.  I think my period is pretty neat, but this is just too much for me right now.  How do you sit down?  Or walk?  Or move?  Yo tengo una problema en mis pantalones.

OH AND HERE’S THE KICKER.  The reason that I can’t just go to the store and buy some?  Is that I’m allergic to commercial pads and tampons.  WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.  Oh, and the toilet paper at my school has these green flowers on it.  And I’m allergic to the fucking ink.  Who the FUCK thinks it’s a good idea to put colored ink on fucking TOILET PAPER??  I am so furious and uncomfortable right now, and I totally have to act like everything’s fine.  Everyone here is sooo polite and I don’t know how to properly be sick, you know?  Like, is it rude to want to curl up in bed all day??  I can’t skip school.  I can’t be sad or mean because this is a vacation for my mom and I, so I don’t want to ruin it.  And I couldn’t even begin to explain this to my host mother because my Spanish is awful, and if I tell any of my host sisters (in English, they speak it very well), they’ll tell our mom and she’ll make a big deal out of it… Everything here is a huge production and takes forever.  I just need my cup, like right this instant.

Honestly, I can’t believe how life-changing a little silicone bell has been, but I NEED IT.  I am bleeding on absolutely everything I own.  I have to sleep on a towel.  Before I came here I went shopping and I got these little shorts with penguins on them and they are sooo cute and now they are covered in blood.  Poor penguins.  God this fucking sucks. Seriously??  Who is allergic to tampons, for christsake??  WHAT.  Really?  Okay this is getting incoherent and I have homework to do.

*I am in Cuernavaca and very pissed off  (of course I mixed up ser y estar the first time I posted this, argh)


The Feminist Perspective on Female Sexual Dysfunction.

I do strongly identify as a feminist. However, if someone (Our Bodies, Our Blog, among many others) is going to tell me that female sexual dysfunction (FSD) is being created by pharmaceutical companies in order to make a profit, they can FUCKING SHOVE IT.

I would be jumping for joy if someone manufactured a pill that could make me better. Imagine, a pill that would make the pain stop, make the self-consciousness, the arguments, the doubt, the fear stop. I don’t care how much money I would have to give to big pharma. I don’t care if some feminists declared that my sexuality was being pathologized. I don’t care if “dysfunction” sounds ugly to a feminist blogger’s delicate sensibilities (and that’s saying a lot, because I’m the first to decry the stereotype that feminists = oversensitive). It makes me feel better to have a medical vocabulary to use, like the problem is a real one and that it’s not all in my head, as I’ve been told by so many doctors. Perhaps they can consider that when they accuse doctors and pharma of “making a disease.” Perhaps they can consider that when my foot is up their ass, as well.

Really, “looking to social change and education”?  Thanks a whole fucking lot, that will totally help with my uncontrollable pubococcygeus muscle.  Yeah, I want some social change in my vagina.  Morons.  I understand how that can help women who’s FSD is emotionally based (trauma leading to vaginismus, etc), but to claim that all FSD can be treated with social change and education is simply ludicrous.  I don’t understand how the leap is being made from a drug for FSD –> a narrow view of acceptable sexual behavior.  Anorgasmia isn’t acceptable to a lot of women, unless they are asexual.  And my pain sure as shit is not acceptable to me.  Who are they (bloggers and the people they cite, such as Leonore Tiefer, a psychotherapist at NYU, incidentally the same place where I got my vulvodynia diagnosis) to tell me and their entire audience that FSD is being manufactured by big pharma?  This makes me very angry.  And very disturbed.  I don’t need any more impediments to my medical care than I’ve already got.