Don’t worry hun, you’ll find someone else
It’s just a phase babe, you’ll be back to normal soon
Sooo, any naughty single life stories? Any naughty men?
You must be loving single life, are you on Tinder?!
Now I can live vicariously through you!
Fuuuuuuck ooooooff!!! Why do people presume that getting laid is the ultimate goal? That fantasising about
the hot guy/chick that poured your pint on Thursday evening is the “normal” state to inhabit? Like anything else is just a tricky period that you’re going through, like the time you bought rock boots at 14? Is it? Is this just a phase, or is this me for the rest of my life ? (if it is though, I’ll tell you now friends that I will live a life ten time more creatively productive than when I’ve been a serial dater) Am I frigid? Have I somehow become socially awkward? Have I somehow become not only unattractive, but un-attracted?
Why are these the default topics of conversation? Am I guilty of the same general gossip around someones’ relationship status, sexual appetite or library of dating apps?
Since I became single just over a year ago, during the hot sticky summer of 2018, the idea of being intimate with another human makes me what to jump in the bath and scrub every inch of my body. I feel coldness seep out from my gut at the thought of it, and an instant sensation of dirtiness. I don’t feel uncomfortable in my body, in fact I am most at ease when moving, connected to being physical and present in myself. So why does the idea of being in active closeness to another person fill me with such dread?
The words “You look like a shit” float through my mind (my minds ear? is that a thing?) not “Like shit” but “A shit” an actual turd. Is that even possible? Do I have a lump of sweetcorn sticking out of my head?
You know why we’re not having much sex at the moment, don’t you? Why I haven’t wanted to? It’s because of YOU. You’re not sexy enough. Why don’t you wake me up wearing suspenders with breakfast prepared, and then suck my cock whilst I eat pancakes?
Why don’t you? I should have replied. Do you realise that the reason we haven’t been shagging like rabbits might actually be because I don’t want to? It hurts your pride too much to realise that doesn’t it? Do you realise how exhausting and draining and ultimately boring it is being pummelled from behind whilst your hair is being pulled back so tightly that it’s hard to breathe? Do you know how unsatisfying it is to be fucked 1 whilst your fanny is dry until your mate cums, and then that’s it, he’s telling you to get in the shower and wash whilst he prowls around, pride gleaming from his very skin, like he’s the owner of the worlds’ most supreme penis, not realising his fucking style is more akin to an aggressive windup dog?
This is how I should have replied, but I didn’t. I just felt smaller, dirtier, less sexy, shrinking inwards, and then started searching for underwear sets in flattering colours.
It’s a hard thing to look back at your own behaviour, when it goes in perfect contradiction to all that you stand for and believe. It’s hard not to feel spineless. The shame runs thick. Of course I know the effects from emotional coercion at the hands of another human being, but this doesn’t always make you feel better about giving him all the credit, despite the phrases “You’re the worst woman I’ve ever met” “You don’t even know how to dress yourself” “You’re disgusting” “You’re cheap” still ringing in my ears, feels even more disempowering. Yes I was a victim to shitty behaviour, as are so many of us, but relying on the sensation of victimhood somehow did not help me. Recognising the effects has been important yes, but clinging to them has not. I do not speak for every person who has found themselves in this situation of course, just from my own experiences as a heterosexual woman, my own patterns of behaviour, and my own discoveries of what I found helped me claw my way out.
My current aversion to sex and intimacy I presume is a part of this healing process… or is it that I am now just so over all the crap that I’ve lost interest? Bored of the bullshit?
Exhaustion envelopes me at the thought of beginning a new romantic relationship, but yet at the same time some part of me is anxious about sharing this incase it makes me less appealing to the opposite sex, for that potential distant moment in the future when I might comprehend fancying someone again. What a ridiculous paradox. It also makes me feel at a juxtaposition to the positive sex movement that is growing these days, an attitude that I support wholeheartedly and passionately, but currently am unable to apply to myself. Perhaps
I’ll get a vibrator for Christmas and start to break the ice…No, whoever you are reading this please don’t send me a dildo, even that is making me nervous! I think for now I’ll be sticking to my evenings saturated with books and colourful jumpers, whilst I curl up with my kittens and a hot water bottle. I will however be trying to bring awareness to the way I talk to and about other people, their sex lives, connections, and relationships, with consideration and respect for the stories that have brought them to this moment.
As I write this I am eating chocolate buttons, whilst wearing a rainbow cardigan, yellow knitted socks pulled up to the knee and a furry muffler around my head. Becoming a crazy cat lady never looked so good.
