A time for healing Life beyond HSV2 BY SUSAN JARVIS
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aying goodbye to 2013 was one of the happiest moments of my life. I had finally extricated myself from a long-term relationship with a beautiful Bogan-man. Seven years of good times and lots of great sex wasn’t enough. My brain needed oxygen and I was starving. The last three years our relationship can only be described as flapping about like a goldfish gasping for breath before being put back in the tank (that’s code for great sex) only to jump right back out and start gasping again. I was the goldfish. In the end, it was easy for me to end that relationship but not for him. In between romantic, over the top gestures to ‘win me back’ there was childish petulance, anger and sobbing howls of “I love you, why can’t you love me?” I despised him for putting me through that emotional crap. I’d spent years telling him what I needed in our relationship and years suppressing my inner light and dreams so that I could maintain a level of sanity to be with him. In the end, I just couldn’t live his bong Bogan life anymore. I was thirsty for culture and intelligent conversation, sick of pretending to be something I wasn’t (a bogan) and I could not bear to watch life from a couch any longer. Time, gentlemen, time aka, Run, Susan, Run. Fast forward six months and I was living on my own and on the cusp of relocating my life from North Queensland to new adventures in Brisbane. I had
plans. Huge f*cking plans to reinvite myself and invest time in ME. I was looking forward to living a single life and taking a lover (or two!). I wasn’t looking for a deep relationship, I wanted a male friend (either straight or gay) to accompany me on day trips, music gigs, theatre, movies and comedy shows. I was also looking for someone to guide my journey of sexual exploration from vanilla to spice. I was a hot blooded woman on fire with excitement for her new future. So hot that I sizzled! I kid you not, I was glowing with happiness from the inside and out. I was finally going to live my life for me and do it my way. This was my new chapter and at the age of 47 I was going to embrace it and ride it by the fucking horns. And then, just like that, my life changed with a burning sensation in my vulva. My life was suddenly smashed sideways and the rug ripped under my feet. What. The. Fuck? I went straight to my wonderful GP, Dr Michelle. (Fuuuuck): ‘Susan, I’ll need to do a swab to confirm however I am sure that this is HSV2’. Me: ‘What, I’ve got a Holden in my vagina? I’ve always been a Ford girl!’ (That was me trying to bravely hold on to humour to stop me from bursting into tears).
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