A Leep Procedure is pretty common, but I somehow feel so alone in it. Maybe because I am uncomfortable talking about the reason why those cells were there in the first place.
I caught HPV at some point in my young adulthood. There are several different strands of this virus. Some give you genital warts…I got the kind that gives you cancer. I can’t say which one I would rather have. Neither, probably. There is no way to test for HPV in men, and since many of the strains have no symptoms in women, it is estimated that 80-90% of sexually active people encounter and catch HPV at some point in their lives.
Despite all of this…I feel super ashamed of myself for catching this extremely common virus.
I guess I have been promiscuous. I don’t think it was ever my intention, but I learned early that the only way, the easiest way for me to get attention was to be “sexy”. Combine that with a C cup at age 10 and there was no other option I felt than to embrace that role. To own it. It was a sort of power I had. The only power I knew how to wield.
I wore this like an armor, but honestly, I was still very much a child when I began to explore my sexuality, and always with people who were old enough to know better.
Old enough to know that the relationship should be kept secret.
The first person I fell madly in love with was 21. I was 16. It’s been such a process to acknowledge that our relationship wasn’t “real”. That it was wrong. That he should have left me alone…like he said he would at the beginning. I don’t want to think of him in the same way as my abusers, but the truth is, that he took advantage of me too.
I kept searching for someone who wanted to spent time with me in the sunlight, but all I found was that I was only “good enough” to be an object. Only “good enough” to be a lover. Only “good enough” to take home in the dark. It’s what I was “built for” after all.
This is also a role I played. I pretended it didn’t bother me. That it made me independent. That I “belonged” to no one. That I was content with having multiple boyfriends, or lovers, or hopefuls waiting in the wings.
I gave my body looking for love, but always left the bed with nothing. Searched for self esteem in hands and mouths and drank myself stupid trying to numb myself into consent. If I had been a different person, it wouldn’t sound so depressing. I wish I could have faked my blasé attitude until it stuck. I always admired the friends I had who truly lived “free”, but for me, it became, like so many other things, just another form of self mutilation. Just another excuse to feel like there was “something wrong” with me. People wanted to have sex with me…but no one ever wanted to have a real relationship with me.
Even my current relationship began this way. It might have stayed that way had we not gotten pregnant. 10 years making love to one of my childhood friends and not a single date. Just a perfect child. Transitioning from mistress, side chick, whatever to main squeeze has been the only thing I have ever wanted, yet still I feel like this is all just a sham. That sooner or later he’ll realize I’m still not good enough to stand beside.
I really wish I had learned different lessons. That things had happened differently, but I am able to see this now. I am able to see that all of that shit I told myself about who I was and how “good” or “not good” I am or how I am just a slutty slut and will never be anything else, was all a bunch of bullshit anyway.
I did not catch HPV because I was promiscuous.
And it is ok even if I was slutty.
Being slutty doesn’t mean that I should have been treated like crap.
Because I am so worthy of love.
I always have been
So fucking worthy.
(Ps…sorry things have gotten real on this blog lately…part of my healing process…actual poems will return soon, I promise)