My story is one that I have wanted to write for a long time but could never seem to find the strength to.
It starts like many others: I grew up in a conservative family and went to a private Catholic school. No one talked to me about sex or sexuality. When I first got my period I was home alone with my father. My mother was visiting her sister out of town. I didn’t have a clue what to do. My insides felt like they had been ripped to shreds and I was panicked and alone. I snuck into my father’s room where he was sleeping, knowing that my mom kept disposable pads in the bathroom. Back in my room, sobbing, I put the pad on upside-down. It pinched and my body hurt and I cried harder, curled up in my bed and watched a Disney movie, praying to God the entire time that the searing pain would go away and that I would be ok. Eventually the time came when I had to tear the sticky pad off so that I could wear it properly. It hurt and I was completely ashamed.
In high school I found myself accepted only by the other outcasts. If only then I had known they were more interesting than the popular teens. I wanted more than anything to be accepted. Sex seemed to be happening all around me, it seemed to be the key to popularity. So I found a high school drop out 5 years my senior. My best friend was dating a friend of his. They two were having sex. So I did, too. I lost my virginity to a skinny pot head’s long, painful fingers. I cried but he didn’t notice. My sexual education up to this point consisted of a day in school where we were given no information, just inflated threats of AIDS and an abstinence only education. While we were only 13, we knew the claim that 90% of people engaging in sex getting an STD or pregnant was inflated. So, we decided that it was inflated because it was completely untrue. Sex was safe, cool, and absolutely amazing.
So when I found that not only was I not sexually attracted to this guy but I hated sex as well I thought God was punishing me for something, that I would never be able to enjoy sex and that there was something very seriously wrong with me. But, I kept doing it in the hopes that at the least I would fit in. That never happened. What did happen was a pregnancy at the age of 14. Again, I was panicked and alone. I couldn’t tell my parents, they had never been open about sex before and I always seemed to be In trouble for something. I knew something very bad was about to happen to me. I waited months, my 14 year old mind telling me that if I just ignored the problem it would just go away. Instead the warm feeling of bubbles in my body strengthened as the baby grew and moved. In my panic the only person I could talk to was my baby. I would whisper all of my fears to her at night.
5 Months later it all came crashing down. My parents met with me in secret, not even in my home for fear that my sibling would find out. I had a late term abortion. They put me in the downstairs, which was really just a touched up basement. I was there with another girl my age. They gave us pills to take hourly to induce labor and stop our babies hearts from beating. Each one burned my throat, but I didn’t feel like I had another choice. Then the labor started. Again my body felt torn in half, my spine was on fire. I was in a recliner in the basement of the clinic. My mom held my hand. I cried as I delivered my dead baby into the toilet, I cried for days and weeks afterwards. I’m still crying now.
My Vulva and I had a hard road. I was ashamed of her for years. She was a black stain that drew in death, sadness and wicked men. I didn’t like to think of her or even touch her to bathe. She was a talisman of bad things.
Then I found Vulva LoveLovely and she saved me. She taught me that I was beautiful, I fit in, I was a soldier and I was love. My Vulva and I are beginning to find harmony. I haven’t forgiven myself, but I know she has. I know that she is the bringer of life and light in my life.