Ever since my serious bout of depression, I’ve been a person who spends a lot of time analyzing my emotions or problems or symptoms, until I can understand their source. I don’t think I was ever taught this particular tool in any of the counselling I had ever been through – usually the focus was on eliminating the worry entirely from the get-go, like the common “worry about it later” strategy. I find the whole method flawed because eventually, I have to let myself worry and then what do I do with that?
So, I decided to spend some time with my worry. Really get to know it. Get to know it so well that it can’t hurt me anymore. I’ve figured out all the possible scenarios, from the good to the absolute worst, so there’s no surprises (though I’m not saying, in anyway, that I don’t come out of it surprised every time!). And while the whole process of worry is probably the worst part of my day-to-day struggle, because I tend to worry about the stupidest things, and while the analyzing only helps to a degree on comfort levels, it’s my process.
So, for weeks now, I’ve been dealing with this lowered sex drive issue. I’ve spent more than a few hours of almost every day contemplating the source of the change. I’ve tried writing so many posts about this, especially through the last few sexperiences, and I just keep getting completely stuck because I haven’t figured it out yet. I haven’t figured out what happened, what changed, or what’s causing it.
The first few days, my theory was one of two things: (1) It burnt out. My sex drive had been in overdrive for so long, I had been so wanting and so desperate for so long, that my body and mind needed a physical break and so I burnt out or (2) It faded away. For even longer than I’ve been blogging, I’ve been talking about a strong desire to have kinky sex and my inability to receive it. I’ve blogged about my complacency towards my “authentic sexual self” on many occasions. I had been so neglectful and so disappointed so many times, that my soul said no and the drive faded away – since it decided it wasn’t being used anyways…
Last night, I was browsing through my Tumblr. And it occurred to me, as it usually does anytime I’m viewing any type of porn, that it’s almost impossible to find stuff that doesn’t involve anal sex in the mainstream easy-to-access porn world. And as you all know, because I talk about it all the time, I’ve always desperately wanted to be an anal whore but the reality is that I don’t really like anal sex very much. I find it to be an uncomfortable experience, both physically and mentally, and I can count the number of times I’ve successfully had anal sex on one hand. As I scrolled through at least a hundred pictures of girls taking it in the ass like champs, it occurred to me that my “authentic sexual self” does not include anal sex.
If I’m being truly honest with myself, the mere fact that The Boyfriend has been able to sustain my interest via his interest for so long, is a serious shock. I have a rule – try everything thricely – and once that’s done and you’ve decided you don’t like it, abandon it. Well, I did my three times, I did more than my three times. Trying to force myself to stay interested in anal sex is keeping me further and further away from being my “authentic sexual self“, especially being that I’m not getting any of the “taboo” things that I want. I’m giving and not receiving and that is not in alignment with authenticity!
Yesterday, The Boyfriend spent the whole day talking about how he has intended to have morning sex and various things have held it back, mostly the fact that I’ve been wearing pants for the last few days. So, he hinted heavily that I should ensure that I made it easy for him and that I did. When he crawled into bed this morning, I felt uninterested. Highly uninterested and half-hoped that he would just fall asleep. I’ve never experienced that before. Although, I’ll have to say that I’m glad that he didn’t!
When he first touched me, I didn’t feel anything anywhere, except for comfort at his touch. No arousal. When he reached between my legs, I was absolutely flabbergasted that I was wet, because I had felt like I was completely un-aroused and dry. The sex was amazing, even as I was half asleep and he was exhausted, the morning spooning is always a great time. We slept for many hours after that wrapped up in each other’s arms and it was a wonderful way to end/start the day (depending on whose perspective you were viewing the day from).
I went for a drive with my Mom this afternoon and sat staring out the window, contemplating. I came home and woke The Boyfriend up and sat, contemplating. Then, a thought came to me. It’s as if my mind and vagina are not communicating at all right now. When I’m aroused mentally, my brain isn’t sending that signal to my vagina. And when my vagina is soaking with arousal, it’s not sending the aroused signal to my brain. It’s as if I’ve disconnected the two organs – where they used to work in tandem and now they’re working separately.
I thought back on the last few sexperiences and how I struggled to describe the type of disconnectedness I felt through the whole thing, even though The Boyfriend was working as hard as he ever does and even though it was enjoyable sex, I just felt so disconnected from the experience of it. And maybe it’s this huge combination of all these things.
Maybe I’ve been too complacent about becoming my “authentic sexual self” and maybe that has caused a major change in the way my brain and genitals communicate. Maybe to correct the situation, I need to re-discover who I am sexually and what my sexuality means. I mean, you do have to take into consideration that sometime ago, I went from defining myself as being “bi-curious” to now defining as “unsure” across the sexual board. Maybe it’s time to be un-unsure!