Not Sexy: Part IIPosted: April 18, 2014
(You can read Not Sexy, Part I, here)
Shame–I feel it.
Now that I am not constantly riding a sexual high, or living my life searching for my next hit, shame is back–and it is brutal.
I don’t know how much of it is merited, and how much is just the misplaced guilt that is a classic symptom of depression.
I hate myself right now. I hate pretty much everything about myself.
I hate the way I look.
I hate the way I parent.
I am a terrible excuse for a wife, and though I have not yet started my new job, I am certain I will fail–so much so that in my worst moments I think I should just turn it down.
I am a terrible housekeeper, and horribly incompetent at this thing called adulthood.
I want to quit, but because so many people are depending on me, I can’t.
This is shame.
I wonder how much of it stems from who I have been over the past year–the things I have done. I have allowed an addiction to take over my life. I have put self-gratification over everything else.
My son has a cavity? Well, I might have caught it if I wasn’t so obsessed with finding my next screw.
There’s baskets of dirty laundry in each bedroom? Should have been taking care of that instead of getting laid.
I have seriously considered selling my camera, guitar and engagement ring to pay off debt, because the relentless pursuit of my own pleasure has interfered with my responsibilities as a grown up human being with a husband to love and minions to raise. I don’t deserve to derive pleasure from anything until I can right the wrongs I have visited upon my family by becoming an addict.
Am I thinking rationally? I have no idea. All I know is that I live under the consistent weight of guilt, and I want it gone.
Part of me thinks I am slipping back into my old religious mindset–that I can’t just resolve or change to do better, I must atone. Rooted with that guilt is the idea that I must banish my sexuality–maybe that is why I don’t wear nice clothes or do my make-up anymore. Because being attractive is what led me to this place, so I should avoid going there by making sure no one ever hits on me again as long as I live.
I was taught sexuality is bad, that it is dangerous. This has been a part of my belief system for as long as I can remember. I can’t experience joy or passion or happiness because when I am feeling good I might start to feel frisky, and then who knows what could happen? If I live my life as a shell of my former self, with no feelings, if I do nothing but meet my obligations, then there is no chance that I will make a connection that will lead to more.
I know that sex is good. I know that humans have evolved to be able to experience intense sexual pleasure, for a reason. I know that it is not any more “wrong” to have sex with 100 different partners than it is to limit oneself to just 1. I know all of these things in my head, but deep down inside, I hear the word “whore.” I hear the word “slut.” I hear the word “dirty.”
I imagine my children one day finding out about my extra-marital activities and telling me I am disgusting. I picture them disowning me and telling me I am going to hell. I picture everyone reacting that way. My lifestyle has been non-traditional, and maybe deep down I have always worried that that means that it is not legitimate.
I have failed to maintain balance and I have failed to remain functional, so I feel like I have failed polyamory. That I have proved everyone right when they say that monogamy is the only way. That I have betrayed myself by straying from the well-beaten path of the mainstream.
I am addicted, and with addiction comes shame. How can I embrace my sexuality when it is something over which I have no control?
Not sexy, because I can’t be.
Not sexy, because it has hurt me.
Not sexy, because of shame.