Sunday, January 01, 2006

It's January 1st, 2006. I had planned to write a little something about the year in review-- what the year was to me, what happened, what didn't. I had planned to think back to this day, one year ago, but circumstance leads me, instead, to think about this day three years ago.

Zack and I had just taken a walk through an icy Lisbon, first to see if perhaps the people who lived in the old church were dropping a ball from the steeple again, and when we found that they were not, I thought I remembered there once being fireworks over the Androscoggin on New Year's that could be seen from the bridge, so we made our way down a slippery main street. We slid past the mill and onto the precarious bridge, where we waited around for some time to see nothing, then began our careful and catastrophic walk home. We must have fallen a dozen times, between the two of us.

Earlier that night, I had gotten the feeling that I might want to try something we'd never tried before, so as we walked home, there was a surprise for him in my pocket.

Later, in my bedroom, we were laying down together. I remember the red glow from the lava lamp next to us, together on my futon mattress on the floor. I remember us kissing, my pulling his body to the top of me and taking off of his shirt. I remember looking at him in the red light-- he always looked so good in red. I remember steathily taking the condom out of my pocket as he kissed me, but I don't remember how I presented the idea to him-- I do remember a moment of confusion before he understood what it was I wanted to do.

If you do the math, I suppose it had been four and a half months we'd been togethe before we tried it. The feeling of readiness wasn't overcoming and urgent, just a quiet idea that grew into acceptance. Zack was the person I loved. Zack was the man I was going to marry. Zack was the one I was going to give myself to, for first time.

Of course, to spare the frustrating details that I've probably gone into too many times already, it didn't work. It hurt, on more levels than imaginable, and it continues to today. Today, the three-year anniversary of Me and Zack and Vaginismus.

Vaginismus has now remained my active and unrelenting enemy longer than people remain my friends. I have seen or consulted with more than twenty professionals about it, doctors, gynecologists, social workers, hypnotherapists, and Karen, who deserves recognition as being my physical therapist and personal hero-- if only she were able to help me deal with the psychological aspect of the problem, then I'm sure I would have been cured some time ago. I've written dozens of odes of frustration, talked one-on-one about it with most of you, even given a speech on it to a class at Andover. I've read the words of fellow sufferers, and met one. I've purchased products, videos, and books that were supposed to help and done more research on this than other topic I can think of, even started my own seperate blog about it, albeit, a very rarely updated one.

But I cannot honestly say that, in all of that, I feel as though I've made any real progress.

I want to write more. To discuss the questions and come the answer. To make this post a neat, tidy little package, give it closure, give it a point. Bring this thing to an end.

But I have no way to do that. So, on with it.