Warning: there’s some talk of sex and rape down the page a bit, after I start talking about BF. Feel free to skip it if it might trigger you.
I’m hurting today. I feel sad and alone, and I just want a hug. I think it’s the combination of being sick, the aftermath of Mother’s Day, and some triggers I accidentally ran into the past few days.
I talked to my mother yesterday. I’m ashamed to admit that–for the past couple months, I’ve been in touch with her sporadically. I think I’m afraid people will see me as weak for going back on the no contact. But to be fair to myself, I’ve gone into this with no illusions. I think the years of no contact let me get the distance I needed and grow up enough that I no longer think she can be a mother to me, no matter how sweet she acts. I see her for what she is now. When I told her I was sick again and my liver might be in trouble, she said, “Oh, that’s too bad” and then went on and on about her upcoming neck surgery and her troubles with her and her husband’s insurance companies. A small part of me wanted her to be concerned about me, but I wasn’t crushed when she wasn’t. I didn’t give her personal information about my life that she could use to hurt me later. I mean, she knows I’m working for the Democrats, which used to terrify me, but I’m done looking for my family’s approval. (The way I described it to A, in talking about going to my sister’s wedding and talking to the adults in my family was, “I GET DEMOCRATS ELECTED SO FUCK ALL Y’ALL!”) She may be my mother biologically, but I know now that she’ll never really be a mother to me. I’ve come to terms with that as much as anyone can, I think.
But it still hurts. There’s this hole inside me that will never be filled. Therapists and self-help books talk about how you have to reparent yourself, but I think that’s probably bullshit. It’s not going to fill that yawning empty hole or all the pieces broken by my parents’ years of abuse. I think maybe that’s something that’s supposed to hurt so you know, without a doubt, that what they did was wrong.
I don’t want it to hurt, though. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be sick. It’s beautiful outside, sunny and warm and summery. The birds are all singing. And I’m stuck in bed because I don’t have the stamina to do any more than that. Last night, I couldn’t stand up long enough to boil pasta–I collapsed on my kitchen floor, occasionally pulling myself up on the counter to see if the noodles were soft yet. I can’t afford to buy enough frozen dinners to last me the whole week, but cooking doesn’t go well when I’m this sick. And not eating makes me weaker, but eating hurts. Fuck ulcerative colitis.
And last night, I went to bed exhausted, but then I started thinking about BF and how much I miss him, and then I couldn’t sleep. It’s been four months since I’ve seen him, even though New York isn’t that far away. He was doing the play, and I’ve been busy with the campaign. But we don’t even talk that much anymore. When I was in the hospital in Baltimore, he called every night, even though he couldn’t always get through. (22 patients, 3 phones: you do the math.) When I was in the hospital in Texas, he called every night, and we talked for at least an hour every night. (We had our own phones there.) He was my lifeline in that hellhole, the only thing that kept me sane. He even flew down to Houston for the weekend to see me. And now it’s been 4 months. We text and Facebook message. He hasn’t called me. Of course, I haven’t called him either. I’m too afraid of rejection, even from him.
I want to spend the rest of my life with him. He wants to spend the rest of his life with me. I even want to have kids with him. I never thought I’d want that with anyone, but I do. I just don’t know if it can work. I’m asexual and sex-averse. I’d be willing to try to overcome that for him, for us, but I’m not sure it’s even possible. I don’t think my asexuality can be changed, but I’m okay with that. It’s the aversion to sex I’m worried about. I honestly can’t imagine having sex without it feeling like rape. Hell, it even feels like rape when he kisses me and pushes his tongue in my mouth. Even though I say it’s okay, anything even vaguely sexual feels like rape to me. Is it even possible to overcome that?
But I don’t want him to just have to bend to my needs. He has already for all this time. I want it to be a partnership, so he shouldn’t have to be the one who sacrifices all the time. That’s not fair to him. I want him to get what he needs, and for him sex is a need in a marriage. Plus, I actually want to have at least a couple of kids with him, and that kinda makes sex necessary. I think I could just lie there and let him do it, but that’s not what either of us wants–I want to be able to participate, you know? Because I love him. I don’t want to feel like he’s raping me. I don’t even know for sure that it wouldn’t make me flip out or dissociate. I’ve never had consensual sex, so I don’t know for sure how I’d react. (I know, I’m 27, but please don’t judge.)
I know there’s therapy that can help with this. BF and I have discussed doing couples therapy before, and whenever we finally move in together, we will do that. But a lot of this stuff belongs in individual therapy. It would crush BF to find out that anything remotely sexual we’ve done has felt like rape, and I don’t think he necessarily needs to know that. And dealing with this would have to involve details of my abuse that I don’t particularly want to discuss with him–I want him to see me as I am now, not as that broken, abused little girl. I discussed some of this with A before I fired her, but even discussing it with another person triggered some dissociation and severe anxiety. Will I ever be able to get past this? I don’t want to be alone forever. I want to spend my life with him. There has to be a way, right?