ashes and dust
April 02, 2008 (b)
Allow me to make no secret of the fact that I have been used for sex. Not just once, mind you, but several times. I have not only been physically “fucked” but mind-fucked as well. Is it any wonder why sex scares the living piss out of me?
I am not just a body. I’m a pressure cooker full of emotion…and a lot of that emotion spills over into the sexual realm for me. For the most part, I equate sex with deep connection…with love and care for another person. I view it as an essential part of a healthy relationship, a form of nurturing even. Am I boring you yet?
If I give myself over to someone…someone whose physically closeness and emotional closeness I crave, I heavily desire…I see this as a very special thing. And having it twisted and used against me as a weapon is, in my mind, unforgivable.
To not even have that connection recognized or acknowledged is even worse, cuts even closer to the bone.
How many times has this happened? More than I’d like to admit…
I try to see all of those past experiences as steps in the learning process, but what happens when it hurts so much that it becomes almost impossible to lay that past to rest?
There are two people in particular who broke my heart in so many pieces, I have a feeling that I will be cleaning up their mess for years to come.
The Boyfriend says I act prudish. Which to me is funny, because I’m not prudish. Not at all. I just haven’t reached the point of being comfortable enough to let myself go. How can one just dive into perfect ponies-and-sunsets intimacy when one has been hurt so deeply so many times?
It’s not easy for someone like me to go from the ruins of a desolate, one-sided relationship to this new and very different love I’m in. And I AM in love. The words have been uttered. No turning back now, and no denying it… So why am I still looking constantly over my shoulder at the ashes of what will never be? Or, I should say, what never really was…?
And how long will I be asking myself these kinds of pointless questions?
