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At this point, after failing at every corner, I felt like a failure. [just reliving this experience has me in tears right now, but I swore I was going to be honest about this]  I felt like I had let my husband down. After all he was a healthy 24 year old male with a normal sex drive.  I felt guilty because there were times where the thought of getting better scared me to death because I knew the journey there would be a painful one, and it might have been selfish of me…. but I didn’t want to take it.  My husband tried to be supportive, I know he did, but he would lose his temper with me and accuse me of not wanting to get better, and I was to big of a coward to tell him that he was right.  I DIDN’T want to go through endless hours of using dilators, numbing creams, anxiety pills… I didn’t want to constantly feel like I was broken and didn’t work the way I was suppose to.

I didn’t want to keep disappointing him. So my first appointment with the physical therapist, I walked into the office trying to keep my emotions in check.  I tried to be positive, but all the while thinking that so many things we had tried didn’t work… I didn’t really have high hopes for this either… but i was tired of being a failure, so I held my head high and walked in the door.

Fighting the urge to run.

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