Its the end of the world.

The words "Yes, you do have vulvodynia" sounded to me as "your life is now over, please go home and crawl up into a ball, preparing for death." My diagnosis was hard. real hard. My partner clicked on pretty quick that sex was painful for me. He demanded I see a doctor. Nervous, scared and embarrassed, I took my best friend for support. First she made me take my pants off while she examined it. That was awful. It hurt and I felt disgusting. She made me explain the pain. At first I could only say "it hurts, alot" but finally words like burn, sting, acid, ripping and itch come to mind. She turned to her computer, opened google and typed in Vuvlodynia. I felt ripped off. She was an expert wasn't she??? and she was using google? Admittedly she had the right word. She printed off a document and said that was what I had. She gave me no medication, just a diagnosis. I was scared. It was actually the one I linked on the last post. Reading through it, it sounded right, but it didn't mention a cure. What it did mention was the sexual abuse. I was angry. I stood there yelling at him. I didn't care if anyone heard, or that he might not be able too. You see he killed himself when I was 11. He never was punished and I could never get justice. Instead I yell at him. I say nasty things. And I make him know that he is not my dad. I was distraught. Not only had he hurt me as a child, not only had it effected my mind, not only was I suffering flashbacks, now he had given me an illness I could never get rid of. I talked to my partner that night. It was hard. He encouraged me to get a second opinion, at least then I could discuss possible treatment options. I went to the sexual health clinic in Hamilton. The woman I saw was wonderful, but at the time I didn't know that. Instead I got mad, and upset. Again I was diagnosed with Vulvodynia. That was when I heard those words. "your life is over." It was only in my mind, but I could have sworn it was true. I went to see my partner for lunch. I was a mess. I couldn't stop crying. I told him that it was okay if he wanted to leave me, that I couldn't expect a 19 year old boy to cope with this. Instead he held me tight and told me he loved me, and we could get through it.
 They gave me medication. Pills called amitrypline. They were awful. At first I was upset I couldn't drink on them. I was 19, at uni and had a very active social life. I withdrew from friends. parties didn't happen anymore. And that was the end of me drinking, forever. To be honest, I think it was the best part of it. My family is a family of drunks. My uncle is an alcoholic. My mother is an alcoholic. My father was an alcoholic and a heavy drug. user. Even my grandfather drinks way too much. And my little sister (now 18) drinks every night til shes drunk. I think I dodged a bullet. 
That wasn't the only good that came from the vuvlodynia. While I heard "your life is over" what it really meant was "you've just been handed your lifeline." I kicked the alcohol. Woo. But  I also got a new meaning for love. You were a teen once, or maybe you still are. What was one of the main parts of your relationship at that age. The time you felt closest to your partner? The first sign it wasn't working? Of course, sex plays a big part in a new relationship, especially at that age (for a lot of people). For me, it was no longer an option. I was counselled in other things we could do, but I just couldn't handle it. Instead we connected on a different level. It to me was love. It was sharing our emotions, our lives. It was experiencing things together. It was being there for one another. It was simply spending time for one another, with one another. And it was wonderful.
I also got a new spark for "I can do this." I couldn't sit, but I am now less than 6 months from a degree in psychology. I couldn't ride a bike because of the pain, but I learned to ride a motorcycle. at the time I was diagnosed I was studying law, and not enjoying it. I knew it wasn't me. I have a diploma in law now, but it was then I realised I wanted to help people. I decided to continue with psychology instead.
 And the best thing about the vuvlodynia? It is a signal. A nasty one, but a helpful one. It signaled when I had worked through the sexual abuse. When it was finally over. It signals when I am finding something too stressful. It signals when I need help. Now it is there as a warning. When I get too worked up, stressed out or depressed, it pops up and says "hey, I think you need a break." Its like a forced relaxing bath. 
For a while I hated it. refused to accept my bits as mine. I compared them to my partners cat, Meg. She was temperamental. You would see her sitting on the chair, and go and pat her, then next thing she would hiss at you are scratch you then take off. Some days just seeing you enter a room was enough for her to lash out hissing, while others she would wait for a pat or a hug. While it seems like a perfect analogy, what I forgot was that it was part of me. And while its not great, and while I wish it wasn't there, its not the end of the world. Its awful, but if I work with it rather than against it, I can get through it and my life will be even better than before. Because Vulvodynia isn't something that happens to you, or something you have to live with. Instead it is a part of you. It is you getting sick of being ignored for life, and finally taking a stand. Its you yelling at yourself, "hey, Can your bloody well listen for once." For me it was that I needed to address my childhood trauma, and to take action against stress. What is yours? What is your body telling you? Is it your diet needs changing? You shouldn't drink so much? You should get yourself a more comfortable chair?