I have been avoiding this topic, because it’s triggering for me, but I feel like I am in a good place today and it’s been on my mind lately. So I figure since it is a vital part of my struggles, I’ll write about it. The good thing about writing myself is that I’m in control over what I write. Even so, there will be mention of some unpleasant aspects of what is part of my sex experience, so if you are sensitive to that, please read with caution and stay safe.
Okay, so I guess what I’m writing about is what a sick puppy I am in regard to sex.
Sexual abuse was an ongoing part of my family experience growing up, and that’s all I’m gonna share about that for now, because I’m still uncomfortable facing those experiences more close up than just knowing they are there. What this is about is the mess I am in now in regard to sex. An inventory of where I’m at, so to speak.
When I’m in a good place emotionally, having a good day, I am not interested in sex at all. I don’t have sexual feelings, I don’t flirt, I don’t think about sex, don’t want to think about it. I even feel repulsed by it and like I’m going to be happy ever after if it never becomes a part of my life again. I shy away from thinking or talking about it.
When I’m in a less good place, however, it’s one very different story. Negative emotional upheaval is dangerous for me with regard to sex. I find myself nursing thoughts of sexual scenarios and they all include things that I feel repulsed by when I’m in a good place. Violence, humiliation, punishment, pain, getting used and dominated – that’s what I think of then, and what I get aroused by. It’s hard to describe it, because it’s not even a positive kind of being aroused, but a form of self-harm, I guess, similar to the desire to cut. Only instead of a razor blade, I go looking for destructive, degrading sex, because I feel turned on by it, even when that’s sick. Sex with repulsive guys, old lechers, creeps who are into sick shit, fantasies that involve family members and impulses to act upon them . . . everything, whatever opportunity comes along.
I have come to a point where I don’t act upon those desire anymore, but it’s still very much there, and a really terrible thing, because being very sexually aroused yet knowing I mustn’t act upon my sick fantasies to stay safe is awful. And afterwards the shame and guilt and self-hate for feeling aroused by those sick scenarios in the first place is overwhelming.
It is one more reason why I really should tackle that stupid basement of mine, as I guess all the unresolved childhood trauma and the sick connections it left in my brain play a big part in this mess. I literally feel like two people about it. One side, the side when I’m well, wants to have nothing to do with sex, feels repulsed and everything and does not have any sexual feelings whatsoever. And the other side, when I’m unwell, gets up to no good in the blink of an eye, aroused by the sickest sexual shit. That’s a conflict that’s really hard to live with.