My heart is in my throat. We had a big blow out last night. He mentioned sex and various things he wants me to do and I just had it. No completely straight woman would put up with this but here I was just placating him with my body. He was complaining about how stingy I am in bed. I was fuming. I jumped up out of bed screaming “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!” I left the room. The couch seemed more inviting than this.
I cried. I said “I feel like I am your drug.”
He replied “You are.”
That’s all I am. His drug of choice. Fucking hilarious.
He then went on about how he loves me, but having sex with me is the only bright thing in his day. It’s the ONLY thing he looks forward to.
“Sad, huh?” He asks.
“Yes,” I thought, “It is sad.” There is so much out there to fill his life with and all he ever thinks about is sex. Oh, the fucking irony.
I laid there, silent tears streaming down my face. I don’t hate sex. I don’t hate sex with him, but I don’t want to be expected to perform on command like some hooker. He wasn’t getting it.
He asked why his feelings weren’t valid. I told him that they were as valid as my own, but we both have to be complicit during sex…It doesn’t work any other way, without hurting someone.
We both laid in silence. He rolled away with his back to me. The Cold Shoulder. I get it almost every time I say no after he paws at me to no avail. He turned back momentarily to apologize for wanting it so much and hurting my feelings. I said thank you. He rolled back and fell asleep.
I was wide awake. Extremely tired, yet wide awake. My mind was reeling.
Do I really want to go on being his drug? I am his sole source of happiness and it’s pulling me down his rabbit hole. I definitely don’t want it to go one like this. I can handle a lot of stuff, but I am not here to placate someone else. I don’t even have a handle on taking care of myself, how the fuck am I supposed support someone else’s happiness? I can’t.
So there it is. I’m depressed. I was sick but now it’s just fucking depression. I was just finally lifting myself up and getting back in the groove, going to Yoga and running… I just gotta keep my head up right? Ugh.
Sometimes you just want to hide. Not explain yourself to anyone. Just crawl under a rock and hide so no one can make you do shit for them. So you can lick your wounds and figure out what to do next. It is easier to hide from all the crap that people throw at you when you’re already in your own personal shitstorm. The problem is that when I face it, my arsenal is low. I don’t hang on to baggage like most, so I rarely have anything to hit them with. I let go too fast, so I don’t feel it in the moment. I don’t hold on to pain, I give it away almost as soon as it comes to me. I lick my wounds and move on. It sounds great in theory, but it makes it easy to forget why you are so depressed. When you live so much in the moment that you cannot bear to step forward and acknowledge pain. You forget to embrace it. Pain is what keeps your hand a safe distance from fire. My hand has little memory of the burn.
Perhaps this burn will spark something more. It hurts. I can feel it fade though. Will I remember my pain in a week? A month?
I hope so. I hope I hold onto this pain, at least for a little while. I need to feel something.
This has some pretty interesting info on hypersexuality… http://psychcentral.com/lib/hypersexuality-symptoms-of-sexual-addiction/00011488