Flare Follow-up

I think I trashed my baking soda a couple months ago in a fit of "Why is this packaging so awkward!!!" So Catfish ran out and got me some yesterday. I was going to go get it but was -- in reality, if I can keep my head in reality and not expect superhero powers of myself -- marooned on the toilet. I mixed about a teaspoon into about 4 ounces of water and chugged it, and maybe 45 minutes later I was able to walk around again. I was able to WIPE without the mere PHANTOM of tissue contact making my cooch hurt five times worse.

Baking soda doesn't always work, but I'm thankful it did yesterday. It allowed me to clean and pack today for the trip. I had an old cantaloupe in the fridge and I ran it through the juicer so it wouldn't list for four days -- it is DELICIOUS but that juice is cranking up the burn. I don't know why this stuff happens. I wish I did. It reminds me of how much I CAN do to eat better, the way that I have for a few months at a time, very strict -- which often seems like way, way too much for a manageable life. And it reminds me of how mysterious this stupid disease is even though, at least in me, there's an observable connection between my gut and my cooch.

I know I give up on eating well in part because I get confused and my belief starts to flag. It's wishy-washy. I have no corroboration from the medical community, no corroboration from others with vulvodynia; I'm making it all up myself. And do you know how hard it is to eat well when everyone around you doesn't? And not even doesn't -- my parents are good eaters. They hardly eat any treats and never keep chips, Coke, indulgences around the house. Associating with them should make eating well easier for me. But still, their diet isn't GOOD ENOUGH for my SNOBBY SNOB SNOB crotch. And they're probably the best eaters in my little sphere.

If I knew why, if I had a group, if I could maintain the belief that good diet means behaved crotch, all of this would be much easier. Instead it's down to my willpower. It's down to whether I'm convinced that that salsa will irradiate my crotch, convinced enough that I won't eat it. And if it ALWAYS bothered my crotch, every time, that would be another story...

All this is besides the sex. I still have sex. It hurts like splintery wood, but I still have sex.

Apologies for the disorganized post.