My Very Own Vagina Monologue

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I grew up when I was fourteen-years-old.
The morning I woke up a child
and went to bed a woman.
The day I was informed of a time I never would remember.
A day I now wish I could easily forget.
The day that everything changed.

It started with a touch.
A touch I never remember feeling.
A touch from a man I do not remember,
I cannot remember, I will never forget.
A touch, a kiss, a taste.

I needed protection
Separation
Division between several state lines, even.
From a man in my life whose job it was to protect me.

A man whose job it was to love me
And love me, he did.
The touching. The kissing. The tasting.

I could barely walk
Could barely speak,
Daddy loved me so much.
And I was hardly three.

I may have been too young to remember,
But knowing it happened still changed everything.
Knowing that he didn’t have to pay for what he did
Because the same thing happened to him by his own father.
And so the cycle continues, yet another generation.
I vow to break that fucking cycle.

I call bullshit that he couldn’t control himself.
Bullshit, that he could not control himself from violating his daughter
His little girl.
His princess. Me.
From taking away MY womanhood
Before I even knew how to pronounce it.
Before I could make the decision myself
to become a Queen.

I rarely touched my vagina after that day
The day I became a woman at fourteen-years-old.
I didn’t even want to look at it.
It was a constant reminder of him,
Of where his mouth had been.
The same mouth which expressions of his love for me exuded
Over the phone, In my Birthday cards, In my vagina.

I hated the phone.
I hated my Birthday.
I hated my vagina.
I hated myself.

There are plenty of people who actually remember:
A touch. A kiss. A taste. A nightmare.

I felt stupid for feeling something.
I’d give anything to not feel:
Blame. Shame. Guilt. Hatred.

I broke up my family the day I became a woman.
I was my father’s mistress,
I was “the other woman,”
The seducer.
And his wife, my own mother,
took my side anyway.
I split up my family because of my vagina.
I hated my vagina.

My vagina was the reason
That I grew up without a father,
That I haven’t seen my half-sister for over seventeen years.
That my mother was always so unhappy,
That I could never fill that void in my heart,
With purging, cutting, running.
None of that could make my vagina go away.
None of that could change what happened.
My vagina broke my family.
My vagina broke me.

It started with a touch.
A touch I never remember feeling.
A touch from a man I do not remember,
I cannot remember, I will never forget.
A touch, a kiss, a taste.

So much about my life has changed since that day.
The day I decided to speak out about my vagina.
It’s been two years of healing, of therapy, of heartache, of sharing.
I learned to relinquish the feelings about myself that my father should have felt.
I’m blameless, guiltless, and not at fault.
My vagina is not the perp, it has done nothing wrong.
It is deserving of love, as am I.

Forgive and forget? Fuck no.
I say start healing and remember.
Share your story.
So that others, too, may share their stories
and no longer have to live in silence.

 

 

Comments

Spresswood88

That was amazing. It takes so much courage to be able to confront something like this- because ppl tend to really try to ignore what has happened to them and they unknowingly confront these same issues when self hatred and shame surface. That was very awesome- and continue to keep writing- ppl need to hear this and break the chains that keep them emotionally bound.

marie

Hey spresswood88, we totally love that you're giving harper166 feedback, but we ask that users protect their privacy (as they would on Facebook, Twitter, etc.). Please don't share personal information, such as location, email, or social network usernames.

cowgirl4life

Wow I bet that took alot of courage. It's awesome that you can find the strength to share that.

harper166

I appreciate your comment, cowgirl4life.  My hope is that sharing my story can be a catalyst for others (men and women) to share their stories of sexual assault/abuse or stalking, so that they, too, can begin their healing process and go from victim to survivor.  That's how I found the strength to share it.  As far as having courage goes, I'm still terrified of it being posted (but don't tell anyone, though). :)  Thanks again for the feedback! 

harper166

Thank you for your comment and feedback, PostcardPoet.  I really appreciate your words.  I'm so glad our paths crossed those some odd years ago.  

 

MandyMay

know the feeling except a 14 year old brother when I was 4 and an 18 year old brother when i was 13

harper166

I'm really sorry that you experienced that, and I really appreciate you sharing.  Have you gotten to be open and share your story with others in your real life?  Sometimes, often times, sharing the story (as long as it is with an appropriate person and you know you can trust them) takes a weight and burden off that you wouldn't believe. Hell, writing about it and sharing it has even made me feel lighter. 

The National Sexual Assault hotline is a great resource, or if you just need someone to talk to about it (I'm not aware of your age or circumstances now). You can call this number.  1-800-656-HOPE

If you haven't started your healing from that experience, then I hope that you can begin to start your healing process soon.  *hugs*

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