In my first post, I mentioned starting a journal-y thing, as part of my quest to find a happier, and hopefully more productive ME in 2015.
WELCOME TO MY THINGY!
Let’s get this ride started with a bit of backstory.
As I mentioned before, I do have a therapist. I know, I know. I should be pouring the disgusting, self absorbed parts of myself out to him. In my defense, I have trust issues. Verified and documented, thank you very much! Plus, the dude is like 120! I feel like I’d be telling my great-grandfather I make regular appointments with someone, (not my counterpart) to perform deviant sexual acts! I can literally hear him rolling over in his grave!
Along with all my other anxieties, and psychoses, I have difficulty trusting ACTUAL, live people. My family has no idea what I get up to. And quite frankly, I don’t want them to. But for whatever reason, I can flop all my vulnerabilities out on the very public, and obviously less secure, internet scene! Oh Yeh, my logic is all kinds of screwy when it comes to these things. I am going to learn so much about myself…And it would seem, so will you.
Hang on, we ALL watch porn on the internet, typically in private settings. We read our erotica silently on our mobile devices. And we hide behind cheeky codenames in fetish chat rooms! We don’t bring out our homemade porn at holiday gatherings, and show it off. Not in my family, anyway… But we, as human beings, (Dear Gods! I never want to see my parent’s porn!) will do so online! I don’t understand the psychology of it, though I am nonetheless it’s victim. Yet, somehow, somewhere online, (where most identity theft, and “secret” sex tape viewing occurs) we feel a sort of safety in our thin disguises. I mean I’m not getting invited to any porn parties, with wall-to-wall, flat screen spanktravison, and orgies that would make Caligula blush! Whoever is in charge of invites, you keep missing me dammit!
Back on target. RIGHT! I am attempting to gather the courage , before my session next week, to broach the sexual subjects with my therapist. I’m no prude. I doubt most people are privately. Publicly however, I think we all hide parts of ourselves. The point is, I simply can’t see this guy saying things to me about my sex addiction, (which he will no doubt call it) that would result in positive, fluffy feelings. I realize I have been paying him to listen to me whine and moan about my anxieties and issues, and prescribe a course of behavioral corrective therapy. I mean it’s basically his job to judge, and change me. However, I can’t just come out and tell him, “I sucked this dude’s cock the other day, and I thoroughly enjoyed it!” His hair would probably catch fire!
I rather enjoy sex. Enough so, that it actually caused a rift between my counterpart and I. He either lost interest, or simply didn’t care to please me. I spoke up, of course. I fought and fought him for sexual satisfaction. But I finally gave up on that battle, and sought out my own satisfaction. Three years is long enough to realize that any war is no longer worth fighting. (Ahem….world leaders)
Don’t judge a woman, until you’ve lived her life! I mean…No spouse should have to do that! Even now, I do not deny him satisfaction. If he doesn’t get it from me, he is welcome to find it elsewhere. Yes, I have told him so. I do not disclose my activities to him, to protect his pride. And I don’t ask him about his activities. Yeh…I know, you don’t have to say it. However, aside from his unwillingness to satisfy me, I give him the opportunity, and means to get his own satisfaction, and I protect him from hurt that would no doubt ensue if he knew of mine. I care about the idiot.
So here I am, (once again) flagrantly tossing my dirty laundry on the front lawn for all to see
And yet, I can’t tell the one guy I pay for help with this sort of thing, about it.
I am so fucked up!