In case you were wondering how I feel about this..
Yesterday was just plain awkward…
After he called yesterday, and I sounded more pissy than ever, he came home as if he was walking on the thinnest of ice. I swear to you that he literally tip-toed into the house, set down my coffee without so much as a word and then went and sat as far away from he as he could.
I ignored him for a good long while. Then, I had casual friendly conversation with him about my day and the cute things the kids had done. I joked and laughed and he awkwardly sat in silence, obviously unsure of what he was supposed to do.
Then, sometime after dinner, I went upstairs to my room. I never do this. Never. The kids of course flocked upstairs, and I ended up dozing off with one of the kids sleeping next to me. A few hours pass and I wake up from a pain in my knee and go downstairs. He’s fallen asleep on the couch. He never does this. Never.
I go back to bed, deciding that we’ll just spend another day in awkward hell, who cares. About an hour passes and he comes upstairs to grab his cellphone charger – good thing too, otherwise who knows how he would’ve gotten up this morning. Even though he knows I’m awake, he pretends like I’m sleeping, still on the tips of toes.
I awkwardly blurt out, “So, is this how it’s going to be then?”, and he stops dead in his tracks. He stops and stares like a deer caught in the headlights and I say that I can’t stand this silence for one second longer. I should not be feeling like I’m being punished simply for expressing myself.
I know he’s feeling terrible and guilty and just as awkward, if not more, than I am. I’m trying my best to be sensitive to that, while also fuming because this should not be a hard conversation for us to have. We’ve had it so many times before. It’s what happens when one person is kinky and the other isn’t.
We end up coming back downstairs and the conversation really gets going. First, I bring up the fact that I know he’s been sneaking around to watch porn. At first, he lies and says that he hasn’t watched porn since the last time we watched it together. This raises my anger level to an uncontrollable level and I shout at him, sarcasm seeping through every syllable, “Are you kidding me? No, someone just happened to use the internet browser on your cellphone two days ago to watch YOUR porn!”. Every inch of my body was shaking. I yelled more about how I knew absolutely that he was without a doubt lying to me.
He eventually confessed. Then he lied again about where he was watching it and how, but I decided to let that go to talk about the heart of the issue. I began, “I just don’t understand how here you have the most sexually open girlfriend in the entire world, and all I’m asking is for a little bit of honesty about your porn habits, and you can’t even try. I tell you about every single time I watch porn, every time I masturbate, every fantasy I have. You shut me out of that stuff. And it makes it feel like we’re disconnected on the deepest level.”
He defensively responded with two points, not related to the porn but related to my sexual frustration, and I sat quietly and let him have his moment, even though I was raging. I listened to him tell me, “I just haven’t been interested”, more than once last night. And I was delighted when my silence didn’t deter him from continuing to open up.
We talked about so many things in that three hour awkward conversation on the couch. How I find the type of porn that he likes appauling, how he’s just so exhausted sometimes that sex does just seem like another job he has to get through, how I look at sex as something so much more than sex and that’s why I get so upset about it, how he doesn’t feel what I’m feeling.
I held back tears, so many times, as I tried to explain to him how he can make me feel so insecure. How one night of a lack of sexual desire on his part can make me feel undesirable in every aspect of our life together. And I turned my face away and held my hand over my quivering lips, as he praddled off his ideas of how we could fix this problem – including me buying lingerie, me being more forceful, me kicking him off of games earlier, me wearing a bra (so he has something to take off, not that he takes off any of the clothes I currently wear…), me doing this and me doing that and me working my ass off to make him attracted to me.
He might as well have said, “Lose about 30 pounds, get some bigger breasts and a tighter ass, and be as overtly sexual as you can – and then maybe you’ll turn me on.”
“I just haven’t been able to get interested”, he said and I nodded in understanding, “That’s why I’ve been watching the porn…” and he said, “I mean, it’s probably going to sound mean…” and I stopped him. I said, “I don’t want to hear this next thing. I’m almost 100% sure that I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. Once I hear it, it becomes real and that is not a reality I can face right now.”. I knew he was going to suddenly confess that the lie he had told earlier about where he was consuming his porn was exactly that and instead that he watches it right before we have sex, to get himself going. That is not a truth I can face.
Because what do I do with that information?!? I mean, even now, it’s the one part of the conversation – next to all the work he thinks I should do to even just attempt to get a chubbie out of him – that just keeps playing over and over again in my mind. He watches porn immediately before having sex, sneaking around to do it because I cannot like teen porn, and then comes to me with that. All I keep thinking is “How dare he!”.
He had gotten himself quite worked up talking about teenage breasts and the idea of me shoving him up against the wall and just having my way with him. He asked if we could carry on the conversation up in bed and I agreed, my mind just spinning. We laid down and I said quietly, “I just don’t think it’s fair that you walk into the room, and without even doing anything or saying anything, I feel immediately turned on by you. And I have to remind myself that right now I’m mad at you. But I have to go buy lingerie and bras and basically rape you for you to feel at all turned on by me.”
His body slumped and I could feel him fighting the urge to roll over, guilt consuming him. If he could’ve, he probably would’ve crawled into a dark hole. I rolled to face him and said, “Since you’re the one that gets out of the house every once and awhile and has all the money, why don’t you buy me lingerie or bring me home sex toys? If you want those things, you should get them, because I don’t need them and they’re not for me…”.
Who knows what is going to come out of all of this. Today, I’m going to bet that he’s going to act like we didn’t just spend the last day in hell. He’ll come home today and all will go back to normal for him until the next time this flares up again on my end. He’ll walk in and sit next to me, he’ll figure we sorted it all out and all of it is over now. And I’m not ready for it to be over…
If anything, last nights conversation has added more fuel to the fire and I have even more grievances to air, because what I thought was the problem was only a small fraction of the problem. So now it’s all about figuring out what I’m going to do with all this new information and how I’m going to handle the coming days… I still just keep thinking that I am just so done…
Yesterday was mostly not a good day and I am just still absolutely reeling from it. I tried to sleep most of the day away today so that I wouldn’t have to think about it all, though only made it to noon and very restlessly at that.
It started with all the walking. For some reason, the knee pain that hasn’t been bothering me in almost four years, is back with a vegenance. Walking from our house to my Mom’s, to Wal-Mart, back down to Mom’s and back home was just too much for it. I spent most of the night complaining.
Then, I chose last night to finally be beyond frustrated at my sexual situation. He stayed up late playing games, I stayed up late working on computer stuff. Then, I asked if he wanted to take a shower with me and he was game, but kept procrastinating. Generally shower together = sex. I had hinted at him, both subtely and overtly, many times during the day that I had every intention of getting laid last night.
I decide I’m ready to get my loving on, and head upstairs and say forget the shower. He’s barely awake enough for sex, let alone shower and sex. So I crawl into bed and stick out my ass as far as I can, hoping he’ll snuggle up against it like he normally does and we’ll both turn each other with the grinding and warmth and skin-to-skin contact. Except, he puts his hand on my leg and immediately, I can tell he’s going to fall asleep. No movement in the hands, no trying to reach up to touch my boobs, just flat flaccid fingers.
So I kick my feet, “Baaabbbee!!” and he knows exactly what I’m going to say and immediately you can feel his whole body sink. He hates when I complain about our sex life. And the venting began. I don’t even remember all of what I said, the contained words and emotions just bursted forth. I remember yelling out, “I know you don’t care about sex, but I DO!” and with clenched jaw calmly, “It may be enough for you to have sex every 4th or 5th night, but in my world there is no reason why we can’t be having it every single day – hell, multiple times a day!”. I was absolutely in no control of what was coming out of my mouth, it just continued to spew. I’d stop myself and try to silence that voice in my head, and then without even being aware, words would just start jumping. That’s what happens when I let it fester too long.
I finally finish, all the words now escaped, and my heart is pounding heavy in my ears, my palms are sweating profusely and all I keep thinking is “Say something, say something, say something!” – not even to the tune of the catchy song, just an unending repeating line. In the silence, insecurity grows. In what felt like hours, but really only amounted to minutes, my thoughts became so distorted. I couldn’t even remember what I was attempting to do when I started it all, and I felt like we were worlds away from each other, even though he was mere inches away in bed! “Say something, say something, say something!”.
The issue was no longer his sex drive, the issue was now mine. The frustration was no longer about wanting to have sex, it was now about how much of a freak I was for wanting so much sex. The problem wasn’t sex drives at all, the problem was my appearance. And once I get to that one, it is officially a point of no return. A point where I can’t hear what he has to say, because it’s all lies (even if it’s not, my brain will not believe it). I can’t see anything and every thought immediately goes to “You’re fat”, “You’re ugly”, “You’re undesirable”, “You’re unwanted” and it just spirals and spirals and spirals.
I’m not typically a girl who cares much about what other people think about my appearance. Yeah, when you call me names or whatever, I’m likely to cry, but be truly and profoundly upset by it – to the point where it screws with my psyche – it’s pretty rare. I’m very accepting of my weight, I don’t hate my curves or the extra padding around my hips. Yes, I have acne and frizzy straight hair and I’m well aware that I’m nowhere close to a supermodel. But do I really care all that much? Do I spend a lot of my day considering those things? Not really.
However, silence… His silence… During a point where I’m sexually frustrated… Insecurity grows and grows and grows until eventually it’s so loud and so big that you can’t ignore it no matter how hard you try. Every little flaw that ever even flickered through your mind, wasn’t even a lasting insecurity, just flickered there, every single one comes rushing out of the recesses of your memory and suddenly, you are the ugliest, fattest, most undesirable, disgusting, low-life, worth nothing piece of crap.
And I know that this is not realistic. I know that this is the abuse cycle coursing through my veins. I know that he thinks none of those things at all, because he IS NOT Alfie. I know that his silence doesn’t mean anything more than him processing. I try everything to control this irrational insecurity.
I turn playful, because apparently this is my new defense mechanism. If I’m smiling or joking or laughing, or poking or prodding or tickling, then all is good. I feel protected and I feel like I am protecting them from the craziness that is me…
I grab at his arms and wrap my arms about him, my heart still pounding, and nuzzle into him playfully shaking him, “Say something, anything. What are you thinking?!?”, my voice trying to sound encouraging, supportive, communicative – even though I can feel myself crumbling to pieces the longer he doesn’t repond. And it took forever before he finally made any movements like he was going to do or say anything.
He said exactly one sentence. He says it everytime I try to have a serious discussion about my mounting sexual desires and his declining sex drive. “I just know everything i say is going to get turned back around on me”.
Now, I’d like to take a second to point out that (1) This is not something that I used to do. He said this the first time we ever had a serious discussion about anything, before anything had ever gotten “turned back around” on him. (2) That what he means by this exactly has never really been defined. Apparently, from what I can gather at this point, it is any response you may have to what he says. You can tell him he’s right, you can tell him he’s wrong, you can change the subject, it does not matter. Whenever you respond with anything but silence, this is considered as you turning something back around on him.
I am not saying anything negative about the way that he is expressing himself. I’ve been with him long enough to be able to read through the figurative lines here. I know that he feels beyond emmasculated when I pick apart our relatively great sex life and I know that he has no words to express that feeling. I know that he’s feeling vulnerable and needs support even when I’m criticising him. I know that his communication methods are deeply flawed and so does he. So I assure him that I won’t turn it “back around” on him, that I will do my best to just keep my mouth shut.
Often, I’ve discovered, after three days that mounting sexual frustration gets to be too much for me. And my way of dealing with it is to playfully whine to The Boyfriend, “You suck” or “You’re a dink!” and when it’s real bad, a very much joking and I would even argue, flirtatious “I hate you!”. Again, it’s that protection and self-preservation. I don’t want to say what I’m really feeling, like “I feel undesirable”, so I say, most commonly, “You suck!”.
So he blurts out, “It’s because you beat me down, like with ‘You suck’ and stuff like that.”. Again, this is a common phrase that he throws out. He is a master deflector. My jaw always drops, no matter how many times we have this discussion. It immediately puts me on the defensive, because I’ve explained numerous times to him the reason I say “You suck”, as opposed to pouring my broken insecure heart out to him… I begin to explain that to him again and in the process, turn the whole thing “back around” on him.
Silence falls between the two of us. My heart is pounded the loudest and fastest rhythm I’ve ever heard, and his breathing quiets until he is officially asleep. I’m left wide awake, fuming, reeling, on the verge of puking from the mini panic attack I’m having at the deep and awkward, uncomfortable silence that lingers in the air.
I went to bed, the only thought in my head, re-playing itself over and over again, lulling me to sleep, “I’m done!, I’m done!, I’m done!”, over and over and over.
When his alarm went off for work this morning, I threw it at him harder than I had meant to. When I woke up next, he was gone to work and “I’m done” was still streaming through my head. When I got out of bed, he called minutes later and I… am… just… done!
What that means… I couldn’t even begin to tell you. My brain cannot even get anywhere past the word done. I have no idea what it means, or how I’m going to figure out what it means or anything. I have no idea… I’m just done…