Not Shutting Up

Someone posted a nasty comment on the most recent post over at Life with Vulvodynia, accusing Quinn (and me) of being a pity-party blogger and of spreading negativity about our disease.

So, first, WHY would someone drop a comment like that on the blog of someone with SWINE FLU AND AN IMPENDING WEDDING?!?!? DO NOT LISTEN TO HER, QUINN!!!!!!!!!!

But more importantly...you know, I wrestle with this too. If you look back through my posts, you'll see that they have gotten a LOT more negative (and a lot less funny-attempting) over the past three months or so. I spent almost three years fighting vulvodynia with everything I had, seeing doctors, taking medications, taking supplements, changing my diet, etc., etc., etc. I can't speak for Quinn, but as far as I was concerned, I NEVER accepted my disease as permanent. EVERY TOMORROW I would wake up without it.

Denial? Maybe.

As I've lost my mind over the past month (with bipolar disorder as collaborator), I've been wondering where CRAZINESS fits in the stages of grief:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

Yeah, I'm DEPRESSED.

I'm so depressed that I have never ever come close to this level of depression before in my whole bipolar life. I'm so depressed that I can't begin to tell you how depressed I am. To say that everything has lost meaning doesn't even touch it. I do not understand the point of human life anymore, and if I fell into an endless black pit right now I wouldn't see the difference.

If Quinn's (anonymous) commenter has a problem with that, so be it. Maybe she's not there yet. But this is how vulvodynia is for me, RIGHT NOW, and I have a right to tell the world how it is. I'm not spreading negativity; I'm not suckling negativity. Quinn and I can't tell tales of recovery because WE AREN'T THERE YET.

I expect that someday, I will climb out of this trauma mind and move on to a better state. I will accept my vulvodynia. I won't stop seeing doctors, and I won't stop looking for an answer. I DON'T believe vulvodynia is permanent. I believe, in fact, that it has a TANGIBLE source that someone someday will detect, even if not in me. But in order to detect it, WE NEED ATTENTION, and in order to get attention, we need people to know how very, very shitty this life can be.

Because otherwise vulvodynia is exactly what Quinn's commenter thinks our depression is: discomfort, to be dealt with by bucking up, a.k.a. shutting up.

Nuh uh, honey. I'm not shutting up. But I do hope that you, and all of us, find our answers, and if you ever need support you can write me.

P.S. Quinn's blog is the reason for this blog.