Because writing has always been cathartic to me, and because
a good friend has opened the thought process, I am going to try this tonight. It’s been a long time since talking about
this subject made me cry, but it did tonight, which clearly states I have a
problem of some sort.
Cervical cancer is caused by HPV.
When I was 19, I slept with a random guy. As I left his
apartment, he slapped my ass and said as casual as can be “Oh by the way, I
have warts/herpes” (I cannot remember to this day, or to the minute he shut the
door, if he said warts or herpes, but the one thing I knew for sure in that
moment, was whatever he said had no cure).
I threw it off as that he was an asshole and pretended none of it
happened. However, two years later,
cancerous cells were found on my cervix.
I flashed back, in the doctor’s office, to a summer’s night, two years
before. I caused this. This is my fault.
So life went on. I
decided to admit that I was a cancer survivor, because what else could I
be. I knew I hadn’t suffered like many
cancer survivors, but I had cancerous cells and I was still alive. I hadn’t dealt with the situation well, so I
had to admit something to myself. I get
my PAP every year with trepidation. And
every year, my STI test comes back clean.
The doctor decided I was exposed to HPV, but never contracted it. Every year since, my PAP has come back clean
as well. Even knowing this, and knowing
that the symptoms of cancer that I still have are also the symptoms of endometriosis,
which I also have, my heart drops every time I see blood on the toilet
paper.
All of that should have been review, except that I know I
caused the problem.
The difficult, and new piece to me, has taken me eight years
to realize. The shame I felt from
causing my own worst years in one stupid decision has caused so many ripple
effects in my life.
I don’t like sex. I
did for the first couple years of being sexually active. Then, cancer happened. I continued to sleep around for a little bit. Then I dated a man for a year and a
half. We had a strong relationship until
I completely stopped having sex. I used
any excuse I wanted, and he let me. “I’m
bleeding”; “I am spotting”; “sex hurts”; “sex makes me bleed” etc. Without knowing it, right then, I demonized
sex in my mind. This is a psychological
barrier which I am struggling to get over today. A barrier I might have admitted a while ago,
but never fully looked at. I never
looked at what it would do to my life. I
didn’t see it then, and he let me get away with it for nine months of our relationship. I was going to the doctor for checkups and
specialist appointments. The great part about cervical issues is that the
doctor asks how long has it been happening, and if the answer isn’t three
months, it is thrown off as coincidence.
I convinced myself I was dealing
with everything. I wasn’t. I was hiding
from it; I just didn’t see it. Life went
on, I dated other men. If I was honest
then, I knew that the relationships failed because I wasn’t interested in
sex. I blamed the men, and many of them
were not great people at the time, and certainly not good for me. However, the failure of the relationships
rests on me. I know you are getting mad
at me for blaming me when you hated the men I was with, and they were bad for
me. However, I am not looking at that
part right now (I know they were, I feel like I have changed because of those
experiences, and I think for the best).
These men cheated on me. Why?
Because I didn’t do my part in the relationship. I improved myself over the years, and the men
stopped cheating. They did everything
they could for me. I didn’t want sex, I
didn’t care that it was “how a man shows he cares” and I certainly didn’t care
that it was a normal part of a healthy relationship. Sex to me, always hurt, wasn’t fun, had
nothing for me. In a totally jerk move,
I called “rape” on it more than once. I wasn’t
interested, therefore it was rape. I
agreed to have sex because of guilt trips.
What a cruel thing to say in a relationship.
I don’t like sex. It
does hurt. I seem to have no sexual
desire beyond the original “biological response”. Once we have had sex a couple of times, I
lose all interest in it; even my body stops responding. To me, the relationship, someone liking me
for me, and being there for me, and being my best friend became more
important. I dry out, and lose interest. I might let you lube me so you can finish,
but I am not there anymore. Sometimes, I
couldn’t even let you finish. I was done
and therefore, so was the act. I have
not found sex pleasurable, despite gallant efforts, since cancer came into my
life. I know anti-depressants can lower
sex drives, but I have been on and off them a lot in the last eight years. I don’t see a difference. I will take my mental stability over a sex
drive, especially since I don’t like sex!
People tell me that I need to play with myself more, and learn more
about my body. I have bought toys to “fix
me” but I am “still broken”. The toys go
untouched. Using them creeps me
out. I think that is the best word. I am disturbed and disgusted by it. And, why should I fix me when I don’t like it
anyways? I asked myself for years, “why
is sex so important”. I don’t have an
answer, but I remain convinced that it is normal. That makes me abnormal. This leads me to a conclusion you may have
heard lately: “because I suck at dating, I am going to remain single forever,
or, I am going to marry a gay man, and have an open marriage with him so that
he can still date, but can be my man”
What a sad state to end up in.
What a sad state for a 29 year old woman. I think I am an incredible person, and I have
people in my life who tell me so regularly (Bless you!). I wonder what’s wrong with me to end up
alone. Sex. Sex is wrong with me.
However, if I think about it all logically, I am what’s
wrong with me. I have set myself in this
place. The minute my mind has control
over my body, my mind wins. And my mind
has a very strong opinion on sex as evil, creepy, and unpleasant. I didn’t used to be this way. It all came with cancer. I knew what caused it, and my mind decided to
stop that from happening (except, the body wins enough times to make that logic
totally flawed.). I know that I have a
barrier, and that I am the barrier. I don’t
know how to get over this barrier. I don’t
even understand fully what the barrier is.
I don’t know what to do about it.
Go to a shrink and be Freuditized?
I think Freud was an idiot (a brilliant idiot, but an idiot all the
same). Can a regular counselor help? Do
I need sexual counseling? That makes me feel like a sexual deviant, which
clearly is more pedophilia than a girl that just doesn’t like it! Is thinking about it and acknowledging it enough? Do I even need to change? I have spent eight of
ten sexually active years not liking sex, so it seems pretty normal to me. However, I someday want a life partner, and I
understand that sex is involved in that.
I can’t afford a shrink, or sexual counseling (pretty sure medicare
doesn’t care that I don’t like sex!). Talking
about sex makes me uncomfortable. You might
not know that, I have spent my life pretending to be normal.
Acknowledging this has frustrated me. I feel like the “whole cancer thing” should
be far behind me. For years I said it
matter of factually. I thought I had dealt
with it. I feel like we have covered
every angle, every thought. I feel like
it is old news, and we are all done with it.
Tonight, it appears I hid an
important aspect from myself for a really long time. And tonight, the whole thing has made me cry
for the first time in years. I need
help, and I have no idea where to go.
