I used to love to blog. I used to have a lot to say though. Now I feel like there isn’t much to say. It’s all kind of the same thing over and over again. Or something big will happen and I get so overwhelmed that I can’t write about it. By the time I feel like my head will explode from not speaking, the issue resolves itself. Then there are other things you just don’t feel like talking about. Like my sex life.
I don’t know what happened to me. At one point in time (for many years actually) I had this crazy sex life that involved doing anything and everything I felt like doing. I fucked anyone, any time, any where I felt like. I went a maximum of 3 months without having a man inside of me. That’s it. I had one person in my life who was sort of my “book end” for relationships. I couldn’t ever have what I fully wanted with him though. I could have the crazy passion and the all nighters, but I could never have his heart. In the end it turned out I DID have his heart, but there was so much complication that it wasn’t worth it and ultimately he never would have been able to give me what I wanted.
Then I met Dean and I got everything from him I couldn’t get from my book end. in initially we even had this crazy awesome sex life. Then I don’t know what happened. Things changed. We slowed down. We fought more and had more of life get in the way. There were deaths and accidents and blah blah blah.
Maybe it’s because we tried for a baby almost from day one. There is a LOT of romance that just fucking LEAVES when your only reason for sex is to procreate. You’re there for one reason only: fertilize! Except it doesn’t happen and years and years of trying result in an empty womb. Then you go through fertility treatments and every hormone in your body holds you hostage to mood swings from hell. And then one day you have to stop what you’re doing because it’s not working. Now someone else has control of your fertilization and it’s going to cost you tens of thousands of dollars AND you’re stuck on their terms (ie: weight limits) so you feel trapped.
And then one day you realize that your sex drive is dead. In fact, it died a year ago but you didn’t really notice because of the hell you’ve been putting yourself through. You cry. You cry a LOT. You wonder why you’re such a failure and despite everyone telling you that you’re not a failure, you don’t believe them because the evidence (empty womb) says otherwise. Suddenly nothing feels worth it anymore. You can’t even get up the tingles enough to masturbate. Seriously… it’s been months since I even had a momentary tingle enough to even WANT to find a vibrator, let alone use it. Why bother to have sex? It doesn’t end in orgasms anymore. It’s a lot of work just to get going and then it hurts or it’s over too quickly anyway because it’s been so long in between. The vicious cycle begins and repeats over and over. The gaps in between get farther and farther. Before you know it, it’s been a month since you last had sex with your spouse.
Furthermore, while you’ve gone through hell, your spouse, who’s never been much of an initiator anyway, becomes even less of one. Before you know it, you feel uglier and uglier because your husband doesn’t EVER try to initiate sex. If he does, he goes about it all wrong and sends mixed messages to the point you have no idea he was even trying. So now he feels defeated. Cue arguments.
Oh the arguments. They’re awful. The resentment that builds from not having sex is palpable. You blame him. He blames you. Neither one of you own up to your fucked up faults. You want so badly to be wanted because above all else you still feel like a colossal failure for having a broken body so you just need that reassurance that your sole purpose isn’t just to procreate. You need to know from your husband that he wants to have sex with you just because he wants YOU, not because he wants a baby. You need him to make the moves because you’re terrified that you’re not only broken reproductively, but that that you might be completely fucking broken sexually now. But he doesn’t initiate. When you complain he throws it back on you because he also wants to feel wanted. It’s a valid point, but he’s not the hormonally broken one so why is it up to you to fix it? So now it’s been a month, you feel broken and unwanted, and now you feel angry. Angry because what the fuck, dude? Can you please just be a stereotypical man and be obsessed with trying to get into my pants, please?????
Now you need him to man up. It wasn’t bad always initiating in the beginning, but lately you feel like you do everything even though you actually have everything split up pretty evenly as far as workload goes in your home. In fact, everything is ridiculously fair and balanced in your mind. There’s nothing to fight over other than this gigantic fucking elephant in the room that is your non sex life. It’s not that you do everything… it’s that you’re the failure so you make excuses. Still, you need him to man up and you say as much. He makes the effort a few times, but his timing is off, or you finally feel like maybe there’s potential for sexy time, but then you get sick or the period starts and your body just completely revolts against you. The effort is there and it’s exactly what you’ve been asking for, but your body just isn’t cooperating. Your head can’t seem to shut off either. So fucking cruel.
Maybe I hate myself. Maybe I can’t forgive myself for not being a mom. Maybe I need to get off of birth control and go back to having the worst periods on the planet. Maybe I need to just let go of everything and let my body do what it’s going to do. I’m starting to feel like a zombie anyway so maybe it’s time to go off this medication too. I can’t really win in the uterine department. I either end on birth control that makes me a rage monster, suicidal, or a zombie. OR I can forego the birth control entirely and have horrendously bad periods that leave me taking days off of work because I have to sit over a toilet and just fucking hemorrhage for hours at a time. And the mood swings. And the pain. Oh God the pain that goes with those. But you had something resembling a sex drive when you weren’t medicated or taking fertility shots. Your brain wasn’t quite so cloudy. What is worth it in the end? Intimacy with your spouse in exchange for physical pain, or a physically pain-free existence that causes immeasurable emotional pain? I’m sure it seems obvious to outsiders, but it’s actually one of the harder decisions to make.
So round and around we go. The one thing fucked up in our lives is the lack of fucking. Everything else is remarkably golden. In fact, on the scale of things, you are still winning the husband lottery… but that lack of sex enough to destroy the marriage.