p.s. four…

Some days, I hate you. Some days, I wish you were something different. I cannot control you. Like the tides, you are unpredictable and change whenever you please. You are sensitive and easily irked. But other days…most days, I adore you. You are a part of me. You make me who I am. Set me apart from fifty per cent of the world and join me with the other half. You are the source of life. You make me feel both empowered and vulnerable. A channel of desire. A passage of two ways; giving and receiving. You cause me such anguish and distress and yet bring me indescribable pleasure. You are completely unique to my person, a part of me only I know. 

You’ve been with me through it all. Through every change that has evolved us into the woman we are today. But you have betrayed me in the past. Seen fit to humiliate me and trick me some days, leaving rose-red brands on my skin and clothes. Because of this, I felt ashamed to be one with you. And other times, I’ve felt fearful to call you mine. 

Weak and exposed. You are the constant reminder that I am different. As we grew, I came to realize that this part of me that stays hidden unless I want it to be seen can be wielded like a weapon. I blamed you for feeling frightened in the dark streets walking home alone. You became my Achilles’ heel; the thing that set me apart and left me open for attack. And one day, you didn’t belong to me at all but to someone else entirely. 

For a long time, I didn’t trust you. We became disconnected and I felt resentful towards you. For if you weren’t a part of me, I would never have been hurt. But time heals wounds and time helped me realize that it wasn’t your fault at all. It isn’t what’s between my legs that makes me different. It isn’t what makes me weak or what led to my trust being betrayed. You never betrayed me. If anything, I betrayed you. 

Truthfully, neither of us is to blame. Not me, young and naïve. And not you, an innocent participant that was abused. You do not make me vulnerable. It is the world around us that has made me think that. Made me think I need to feel ashamed of you. Society’s atrocious standards and victim- shaming agenda. It has made us believe that you are the problem. That the crown at the base of my thighs is my weakness. They lie. 

This part of me is strength. You can bleed for seven days and survive. You can give birth to life and thrive. You can be betrayed and stay alive. I will not be ashamed of you any longer. I will not be made to feel that you and I ever need to part. You are what makes me different. You and your idiosyncrasies. What you want is what I want. To be appreciated and adored. To be respected and never be ignored. I won’t let the world tell me that I am less because of you. I won’t let another person use you against me. I will never be ashamed of my strength again. You are perfect just the way you are. We’re in this together, Vagina. We are one and don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

{This post is part of a series of anonymous submitted letters both written here, and read via the Collective Podcast limited series: PostScript.}

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