I had another post planned for today. It was Vaginismus Awareness Day yesterday, and season three of Netflix’s Sex Education comes out tomorrow, so I was going to write about how the show’s vaginismus plot-line has made so many people with vaginismus feel seen, but made me feel more broken. It would have been clever and timely and good. Instead I fell apart in public and cried while clutching my laptop to my chest. Instead I wrote this.
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No. The short answer is no, no I shouldn’t be embarrassed that I wet the bed last night. That didn’t stop the horrified shame that spread though me when I woke up to find that while I’d peed in my dream I’d pissed in real life as well. For the first time in almost two decades I’d wet myself.
I’ve written about this before. It feels like this is all I write about right now – that I cannot create anything of worth to anyone else and I just keep spilling out self-indulgent essays on how I can’t stop thinking about suicide. In reality it isn’t, it’s the fucked up fog of lockdown and depression that twists time until I’m convinced that I only just wrote about this. And even if it wasn’t, I’m still allowed to write about it. It’s my blog, even if being a suicidal sex writer feels very off brand.
Useless. Lazy. Pathetic. I’m very ill right now and we’re in the middle of a global pandemic, but that doesn’t stop me feeling guilty about everything I’m not doing. I’m burned out and exhausted, but the more time I spend trying to just take care of myself the further behind I get on everything else. This isn’t healthy, I know that logically, but logic doesn’t help right now. (Strap in for a super self-indulgent post, y’all, with a content warning for self harm, mental illness, and poor hygiene habits.)
We’re finally talking about mental health. Not as much as we need to be, sure, and politicians will tweet #TimeToTalk while cutting the funding to NHS mental health services, but we’re at least started the conversation. But even though now we all know that it’s #OkNotToBeOk, it’s still really fucking hard to actually admit that we’re not ok.