I had an insatiable need to write tonight. For some reason, this makes me feel guilty. I don't ever want to feel guilt for writing. I've been putting it off, because I tell myself that I should be in bed. Last week, I knew I needed to do laundry, the week before was another excuse. My husband will be up soon and I'm sure he'll wonder what the hell I'm still doing up. So now it is 3:58 AM. I came across the picture above when I googled "Am I Crazy". When I say that out loud, it's embarrassing. I mean what will people think? I don't think I need google's verification that indeed, I am different, but sometimes it's interesting to see what comes up. I probably am crazy. Why would I question myself if really I didn't already know. "It" runs in the family. I'd rather think of myself as a thinker. An "out of the box" thinker. I have never felt "normal". Maybe because my momma always told me I was special. I was a hyper and needy child. I would do anything for attention. I groomed myself to be polite, charming, and charismatic. Mom made me believe I was caring, smart, hard-working, and intuitive. I don't remember her ever telling me that I was beautiful or pretty. I'm certain that she did, but what I remembered was that she said I was kind, loving, and smart. And I believed her. Maybe I wasn't. I'll never know. But because I trusted and valued her, I grew up attaching these qualities to myself.
My journey growing up made me question myself. I was faced with choices and opportunities that I believed to be unique to me. Indeed I had tough situations that forced me into a life I knew nothing about. I'm sure all teens go through this, at least to some extent. But even my young self had so much volume, and I think that quality created a damaged psyche. My own personality enhanced the unfortunate events I was faced with. My bad choices left me in an inescapable state of guilt and shame. My mother calls me an empath. I do feel deeply...mostly from others. I feel a person I do not know in a room. I can't read their mind, but if they are feeling anything strong, I usually feel it too. It doesn't mean that I can "feel their pain...or joy", I just feel an energy. Sometimes it makes me nauseous. I have to at least consider the fact that maybe I was just an emotional child. Others could say that I am dramatic. No one wants to be labeled as a drama queen. I have made many choices. I read into them, then out of them. Then I dig back in to try and give myself closure. I started to realize that every time I tried to excavate...the walls got thicker. This makes things easier. And it make things harder.
As a teen I was capable of loving deeply. Giving myself. Putting 100% into the physical and also emotional side of a relationship. Emotionally, I was usually more mature than my partners. Sexually, I was more mature than their last partner. The physical was really the only part that made sense to me. Most of the boys I was involved with were eventually turned off by my intense attachment. Some fell in love with me. I never liked the ones that were nice back. Actually, I loved them the most, but knew that I didn't deserve them. Even in abusive relationships I felt some kind of commitment to please. I would do anything. I was my husband's dream. I would never say no to anything. This opened up the door for abuse and humiliation. I took pride in sacrificing myself...over and over...and over. I thought this would bring me an equal amount of commitment, loyalty, and love.
All of this "logic" put aside, I still have memories of feeling sexually uncomfortable in many settings and over time. As I research, I discount my gut...women WILL remember abuse, they just don't want to admit it. Amnesia from trauma is highly unlikely. If something happened to me, I would remember. Especially since my memory is so vivid during most of my childhood. Right?
So my sexual expertise at 11 is natural. Hiding in my bed under the covers with my panties off with my teddy bear's mouth in my vagina must be "experimenting" when you are 6. Waking up in my babysitters room that she shares with her husband and feeling extreme shame as he orders me out of the room is probably just me sleepwalking. After being ordered out, I wandered into the playroom and wished upon a star that my mom would get off early and come get me. I cried and cried. I remember the conversation she had with my mom. " She sleepwalks a lot". Maybe that was it.
On another note, I have memories with great grandpa. Spoon feeding me Rum because my cough is so bad. Sitting on the counter in his t-shirt, gagging. I see the bottle, and I see the spoon. I see his baby blue sheets and his messy bathroom. I remember wishing that grandma Alice could come back and sleep with Grandpa. I remember crying in his bathroom. But I trust my Grandpa, even in his passing. Although the circumstances make me question things, really I know that he was just taking care of me when my Mom was working late. He is not the perpetrator.
All of this regurgitation has been triggered by my husband's innocent and subtle request for answers. He sent me an innocent article reminding of a sex life. Initially I was really aggravated, sex is so superficial...like a nice car or a new couch. It feels good for a minute, but then it's over. Then I realized that my need for knowledge, expression, and meaning in life that is my feel good, is his equivalent to sex. If I love you, and you love me, and we are attracted to eachother...not only that...we adore eachother...why does it seem impossible for me to show even a little affection, let alone desire sex with my loving husband? Why the fuck am I so crazy? Why do I resist sex after commitment has been made?
Is it my way of controlling my environment? Am I a narcissist? I hear they like to have their cake and eat it too. I feel selfish. I tried counseling (more than once). In my first marriage, and in desperation to find a cure for my sexual dysfunction, I sought out the only licensed psychologist in Cedar City. I arrived in his office like a deer in the headlights with a $100 bill in my pocket. I confessed that I do not have a desire to have sex with my husband, and I don't know what to do. Here's what he told me:
Does your husband go to work? Yes. Does he go everyday? Yes. Does he provide for you and your children? Yes. What if he decided one day that he just wanted to stop. He stopped working, stopped providing. Would that be fair? No. Well, you have a responsibility to your husband just as he has to you. I left his office in tears and genuinely pissed off.
This post will go on...but for now I am tired. My family is tired as they have felt my sadness over the last few months. I need to energize the positive, and let it lift me up...otherwise I will surely fall in another hole.
