Read this piece with “Girl Blunt” by Leikeli47. Add it to your playlist. Put it on repeat. Play it several times. You’re welcome.
Transparency.
Transparent.
adjective
1. open; frank; candid.
2. free from pretense or deceit.
I always get told that I’m transparent. I get thanked and praised for being transparent. The blogs are so transparent. Thank you for the transparency. I’m transparent? I type words on a computer and press publish. I air out all my fuck ups, all my fuck overs, my hot fucking mess of a life. I blab. I tell on myself. I basically put all my business on the world wide web. And I’m actually ok with that. I live in my truth.
That’s transparency? I’ve said this, but when I created Your Curlfriend she was designed to bring forth hair tutorials. Fail. When I wrote Let’s Talk About Sex Baby it was a defense mechanism. I wouldn’t give the young man who it was about the satisfaction of thinking he could hold something over me. So bloop I put out a read. A great read. A read I brag on. A read that changed Your Curlfriend’s platform. Fuck hair. I love my hair, but I suck at tutorials, what works for me, works for me. I wish I could be of help to the naturals out there, but teaching isn’t my gift. Writing is. Expression is. Your Curlfriend transformed from hair fails to fuck boys, but on the deeper level its solely real life. The black girl in college. The virgin navigating her first year of sex. It’s raw. In every sense. Raw. Honest. A platform for women and men alike to learn from mistakes. To laugh at jokes and misfortune. And my truest and most proud desire: To grow. If you get nothing else from my baby, my blog, please get growth from her. Growth from me. Grow.
I am transparent because I have grown. I have grown and I am nothing but appreciative for the growth. Anything that I went through is fair game to share. Without the moments who would I be?
So, the first definition of transparency is: Open; frank; candid. Let’s get open, frank, and candid.
I had chlamydia. Open. I have the highest risk strand of HPV. Frank. Today my doctor took several samples of my cervix to test if they are cancerous. Candid.
How did we end up here? I had unprotected sex. Frank. Who doesn’t? I lost my virginity in December. I liked dick. If you eat chocolate for the first time and you like it, you’re going to eat it again. And though you may run the risk of developing diabetes, it’s just a risk you take. You exercise and try to stay healthy but some days you have cheat days. The difference between chocolate and sex is, you normally won’t get diabetes or have a heart attack by missing one day of working out and indulging in chocolate, but you expose yourself to a plethora of STDs and even a baby the one time you slide a condom off.
You normally should get tested whenever you get a new partner. Whenever you go back to a partner after a while apart. Every couple months. All that. The bottom line is to get tested often. OFTEN. More than necessary honestly. Always be in control of your health. Yes you’re horny. Yes the moment may seem right, but condoms don’t protect from everything. Oral sex transmits diseases too. THINK. Think for a second. You can always cum. Candid. Buy a vibrator or rub one out. But you can’t always be healthy. A quick pit stop to the drug store to buy condoms won’t ruin the mood as much as a “Heyyyyyyy, I know you’re working, but I went to the doctor and got tested and blah blah blah go get yourself checked out.” And that’s if you’re ballsy enough to make the calls.
Towards the end of July, something was tugging at me. Pulling me to go get tested. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was off. No symptoms. I was spotting a tad between periods, but I chalked that up to my body just going through menstrual changes. You can’t tell me God isn’t real. There was a voice. A voice screaming at me to go get checked. And like I said something was literally jerking me around to get a doctor’s appointment. I finally set an appointment. I got into fights with my mom. Imagine. I don’t go to the doctor. I don’t even have a big girl doctor. So here I am, saying I have no symptoms, but yet asking my mom to help me set up a physician appointment, an OBGYN appointment and an STD test. She thinks I’m lying. Wouldn’t you? Why do you suddenly need an STD test? Who have you been having sex with? How many partners have you had? Uncomfortable. Sad. Needed.
Though these moments were painful with my mother. I NEEDED to have them. I needed to grow up. If I was grown enough to have sex, then I was grown enough to take care of myself. I scheduled an STD test, a doctor’s visit, and an OBGYN appointment. All without my mom. I had to. I needed to.
A week after my STD test, a nurse called me and told me I had chlamydia. I played big girl, made my phone calls and even went with a young man to the health department, offered to hold his hand. I was responsible. I was caring. I was damn good. I popped two pills and breathed. It was over.
Lesson learned. You fucked up. Do better. I could have had HIV. I could have had a baby. Ruined my life. I had too much going for myself to ruin it by being stupid. I took it as a warning. Chlamydia is light. Easily contracted. Easily cured. The most common STD. Pop a pill and it’s gone. Hell some of yall reading have probably had chlamydia. Stop lying. If not kudos. Still keep a condom on you. It was a warning. Get your shit together. It’s about to be senior year. You have Cell Biology to focus on. A possible MCAT to take. You have shit to do. Get it together Jess. Get it together.
I went to the doctor. Boom you’re anemic. Great. What is up with my body yo? But God is still watching me. I’m still highly favored. He told me I needed and STD test. I did. He told me I needed a doctor’s appointment. I did. I found out I was anemic. My doctor gave me Vitamin B12 and iron pills. Now I’m full of energy. I never crave ice and I don’t need 4 naps to get me through the day. I am much more productive and feel amazing. My God keeps me.
I went to the OBGYN. Not comfortable at all. Not pleasant. Be necessary. Extremely necessary. I got a pap smear and went on about my life for a good week until BOOM. “Ms. Fuqua you’re pap smear came back abnormal and we need to see you as soon as possible for a biopsy.” A biopsy? A fucking biopsy? I have cancer? From niggas? Don’t let this nigga come back for Homecoming, because I’ll kill him. If I have to die, I’m taking the nigga and his dick with me.
That’s crazy. My mind was in a crazy state the entire time the nurse was talking to me. And all of this happened before my first midterm. Thinking back, I need to ask that teacher if I can retake that midterm, because those test results really shook me. I honestly couldn’t focus at all. But backing up, after my midterm, I WebMDed myself to death. A biopsy doesn’t automatically mean cancer, but I wrote my tomb stone that night. For a week, I lashed out, cried, ate air and was a ghost. I walked around campus in workout clothes, no makeup and a head scarf. I was death.
Today I picked myself up. I did my hair, put on makeup, finessed free homecoming concert tickets and went to the doctor. My parents worried me to death. My mom sat in the examining room with the saddest look on her face. My doctor told me my pap smear was abnormal as it gets. She told me I had HPV. The highest risk strand of HPV. She told me it was rare to be this young and have such test results. The results shook her so much she had them tested twice. Now what do you do with that information? You sit and nod. Because what else can you do. Accept what it is and try to leave it to God. That sounds hopeless. I laid back and let her take the samples she needed to test. Unpleasant. Uncomfortable.
Am I mean? Am I horrible? Do I deserve this? Is this what I get for being a bad child? A spoiled brat? Arguing with my parents? Leaving Andriana at the War Memorial? Not voting for girls to get in WOE? What did I do that was so horrible that after 6 months of sex, I end up here? I was a virgin for so long
Blah, blah, blah. The simple truth is. It doesn’t matter if I started fucking at 12 or 21. The fact is, I had sex and now we’re here. It’s a curse to God to question his path for me. We were promised no days without pain. No days without rain. All we have on Earth are the days we are given and each day is a blessing. Learn from your mistakes. Learn from your flaws. Every single thing you go through is for a reason. To make you stronger. To make you wiser. To grow you into the person you’re meant to be.
The second definition of transparency is: free from pretense or deceit.
I want to change that and focus on the word free.
I am free. I have learned to become smarter. HPV is the most common STI there is. 75% of sexually active Americans have some strand of HPV. HPV has several different strands. Everyone who is sexually active will contract some strand of HPV in their lifetime. Often times it will go undetected. Even if one has HPV, you can test negative for certain strands that are often tested for. If you are sexually active, schedule an annual pap smear. Despite age. Request one. Own your health. Be responsible for your health. Wear and use condoms. Correctly. Form genuine bonds with your partner. Casual sex can come with major health risks.
That was my sex ed spill. Back to freedom. I recently reconnected with God. At first that was difficult to say. I felt embarrassed that I had fallen off in my spiritual journey. But it’s true. I strayed. Now I’m back. For the longest I would never set foot in Mount Zion in Nashville. My friends and I called it Club Zion. A Broadway production. Praise dancing, flags, a huge choir at every service. A mega church. You can tithe by text. It just wasn’t what I was used to. But Mount Zion would host College Sunday at TSU every year. And every year Bishop Walker’s message always resonated with me. I call him a psychic because EVERY SINGLE SERMON is like it was written for me. Just me. It like he follows me around during the week and Sunday’s sermon focuses on the exact message I needed all week. So one day I just got up and went. I’ve been in a pew every Sunday since. I pray daily. Meditate. I journal often. I try to walk with God always. Freedom. Free of old things that used to bother me. Free of fuck boys. God cut out every young man in my life. Free of negativity. I’m happy now. I’m free.
All I can do is pray and wait on my test results. My life has far too much purpose for me to sulk or pity myself. I’m fine. I’m healed. I’m claiming that my life is so much bigger than this valley that I’m not even claiming to be in.
Homecoming week is next week. I’ll be drunk all week. Don’t mind me.
Play Yo Gotti’s “That’s What’s Up” to close out this piece.
Grow and wear condoms!
