Maybe I Just DidPosted: June 2, 2014
I have been thinking a lot lately, because the thing that made me go back to this life might not be what you’d think. It wasn’t raging hormones. I wasn’t experiencing torture at the hands of my libido. What I was experiencing, in a nutshell, was total numbness. I felt nothing. I had no personality. I literally lost the ability to feel the sun on my skin. It was like when, after my abortion, the sedatives made me feel like I was cocooned on all sides. It was like having my ears blocked during a really bad cold–I could hear, but the sense was seriously dulled. I did not not want to feel that way.
I think about sex. I like it. I want it. But, something has changed. When I went to meet my current lover for the first time, I wasn’t drowning in desire. I wasn’t desperate for his cock. And it kinda continues to be that way. The sex we have is great and I can’t get enough when I’m with him but honestly, I love our dynamic. I like going out with him. I like hanging around and watching a movie or talking while he makes me dinner. I like the random questions we ask each other, and I like my reaction to his answers.
I’m not sure what I’m saying. It is so hard to write when I feel like what I am actually doing is defending myself from various detractors. People who would say that monogamy is the ONLY way to have any depth–as though the maximization of depth is more important than fun and lightness and just giving yourself permission to be.
It’s like the quote I posted earlier–I don’t care about the meaning of life, I want the experience of being alive. Don’t show me two people who haven’t left each other’s sides for 40 year of marriage and hold them up as my example. Sure, they have developed virtue and discipline, but frankly, so what? Why is commitment and discipline automatically worth more than happiness and adventure? Who cares how strong you are at the end of your life if you never enjoyed any of it?
Say whatever you want about the wisdom of seeking outside relationships to improve your current one–I’ve realized, that isn’t even what I’m doing. It has nothing to do with improving my marriage. It’s about my life. I am a person worthy of having her needs met, period. But at the same time, I feel like my needs are perhaps more nuanced than I had originally thought.
I can breathe. And I’m not just holding my breath and waiting to be pounded–I can breathe. I find pleasure in spending hours outside in the sun while my children throw frisbees with the neighbourhood kids, swapping scooters and tricycles. I can eat a good meal with my husband and actually taste it. Music moves me again. I can get through a day at my desk without wanting to shove pencils into my eyes.
I am not always thinking about him–it is not about that. It is about balance. It is about more. It is about not ping-ponging back and forth between work and home like an automaton. Yes, I know–friendship. I should have that. I am working on it. I have gone out with new friends here and there since the move, but I find that in platonic relationships you are so much more likely to play your cards close to your vest. I just want to be open and to be accepted.
I tell him Cancers always expect the worst case scenario so he should get used to it.
I tell him he should be careful because birth control has the potential to make me batshit.
I tell him I terminated a pregnancy.
That I went to sex addicts anonymous.
I tease him about his age and call him Daddy in public just to see the look on his face.
It is easy to moralize or rationalize or say what you want about taking it slow…until you realize you are talking to a drowning person who is grasping for a life raft. Don’t tell me to go slow. Don’t tell me to wait. I know I don’t need a man to save me. I know I’m going to have to save myself. But, whose to say what that looks like? Maybe I just did.