CW: If you aren’t comfortable with vaginas, female pain, or just pain in general with a splash of sarcasm, this isn’t a post for you.

Originally, I wanted to spend today writing about how I became a Nerdfighter. That all changed, however, when I noticed that I was in a lot of pain. I mean, a, lot. When you bring up being in pain to most people, they assume you have a headache, or sprained an ankle. For close friends, they safely, and wisely, assume I’ve exacerbated my shoulder again, gotten a concussion, have something eye related, or as I learned today, my body really hates me.
I usually don’t talk about my pains of being a woman, mainly because I don’t really want to spend more time thinking about my uterus deciding it wants to fall out of my body and remind me that I am not pregnant, but also because people have spent so much time telling me “mind over matter. If you don’t mind, then it won’t matter.” Well let me tell you. Screw. That. Logic. My vagina is fucking killing me, and no, it’s not because of my period, though if you’re so inclined to be squeamish about that, then you REALLY should grow up. Remember in an earlier blog I discussed the “more aggressive form of antibiotic”. Well, it’s aggressive alright. So aggressive that my body has decided that giving me the Sahara Desert between my legs is the best way to remind me that hey, your body SUCKS.
The reason that I’m writing about this, besides from the obvious, is that women are often disregarded when they say they’re in pain. I don’t know how many times I’ve been given a low dosage of painkillers for my chronic migraines only because the doctor doesn’t quite believe that I’m in this much physical pain. If you’re on your period, you’re expected to act like it isn’t happening; you’re still required to be the perfect angelic girlfriend, when I know quite a few people who literally would just prefer to curl up and cry while wearing an old t-shirt and questioning God for His obvious mistakes. That is me. I am that girl. Sometimes, I’m right as rain and am still the energetic, sassy, overwhelmingly hypersensitive self. Other times, I am an emotional wreck who would like nothing more but to lay under a blanket, comatose, while my body decides when it wants to get its shit together. A lot of the times, when I say I’m in pain, I, am. As in the case for most women, I don’t just open my eyes and go, “ow, that sure hurts”. When I hurt, I truly hurt, and people should always believe that, no matter who says it.
Funnily enough, John Green wrote in his book “The Fault in Our Stars”, that his female protagonist, (a lung cancer survivor), was “saving her ten for the real emergencies”. That is in referral to the pain scale nurses always ask. I have never resonated with such an eye roll worthy statement in my life. I always say 9 when I want to say 15. I always downplay my pain until it is so unbearable that even my stubborn willpower can’t keep me confined in bed, curled up in a ball. And truthfully, I hate that I do that. I hate that I’m afraid of not being believed, simply because some one wants to downplay all the factors. The truth is most hospitals have downplayed my pain unless I was screaming bloody murder. (remind me to tell you of the time I choked on a breathing tube.)
I am writing this post to acknowledge my pain. It may not be something like a broken bone or a concussion, or hell getting hit by a car, but my pain is my pain. If it makes you uncomfortable, feel free to walk away. But I won’t stop acknowledging my pain because it makes people uncomfortable. My anxiety makes people uncomfortable. My overthinking, hypersensitivity, my PERSONALITY, makes people uncomfortable. Why should I stop talking about my pain?

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