Private Horror

 It's a feeling of dread, really. A feeling that something is seriously wrong, and I know that I don't have the strength or the courage to face it.

 

I sobbed during sex last weekend. My face was twsited away from him (to already conceal the grimaces that I couldn't fake as pleasure) and I just started - sobbing - and even now, I'm still not quite sure why.  It might have been because it didn't really feel GOOD to me - I was faking from the very beginning, and I kept on faking and kept on letting him fuck me because I didn't feel like dealing with the emotional sandstorm that would appear if I had gathered my energy, sat up, and shoved him away from me. But - it didn't feel like that - it felt like what I would picture being raped feels like - like someone stealing from you something very personal and precious and not being able to prevent them or even speak out to let them know what you've taken.

 

Since then - I don't know what's WRONG with me. At this point, I've honestly almost given up on ever satisfying him sexually - it will always be more than I want to give and less than he wants to have - and I'm sadly sucking up the feelings of disgust and following him into the bedroom for a mere fifteen miutes of humping - less if I am smart enough to suck him off first. Yet- at the same time I got throughly wet off of watching some skimply clad chicks on tv, and have used my vibrator TWICE. But - the very thought of him touching me, kissing me, fucking me - and I shudder and lose all interest. Hell - the thought of OTHER people having sex makes me feel sick.

 

We haven't even been married for three months - I shouldn't FEEL like this. I shouldn't have this low cloud of loathing that taints my heart - not already. I shouldn't feel like I want to be anywhere BUT home on his days off. I shouldn't daydream about what I would do with the mere 20K I've got him insured for if some crazed driver runs him off the highway on his way home from work. I shouldn't - I shouldn't be THIS mad already.

 

and even THINKING about it twists up my stomach into knots. And it scares me that I don't know WHY I cried - I'm not much of a crier, but something so deep in my head and heart was going on just then - something that is painful enough that I can't even CONSIDER it awake and sober without shying away - something is bubbling inside me, deep in my subconsious, and honestly, it's freaking the FUCK out of me.

 

I daren't - I don't WANT to talk to anyone about this....and it's not totally because of the shame. It's more because I feel like I'm failing - like I'm not living up to my side of this unspoken agreement - like once again, it's just NOT enough. And then I wonder, how the hell do I think babies come about? As many kids as I want - I'm going to have to learn (again) how to enjoy this, otherwise each one will be a bitter memory of me squeezing my eyes shut and chanting in my heart 'Cumcumcumcumcum'.

 

And then - that's the thing that scares me even more - the fact that I KNOW that I was once just as hot and horny as the next girl - spicier than I wanted to be. But then - if I think about those times now, I know that I was running - running away from something, running towards something - I'm not sure. But for the longest time sex - pure and raw and without thought - filled the gapingly empty space inside of me that I had actually managed to ignore. And - I wonder if the scab I built over that spot was really thick enough to resist me - shifting. I wonder if my discard of sex means that I'm healed - or does it mean that I'm hurting even more?

 

I don't KNOW. And this - this entry is the longest I've thouht about it. I - I sometimes wonder if I was abused as a child and blocked the memories somehow. That - to me at least - woud explain why I can't remember my whole childhood - why I crave the touch of strangers - why I'd much rather feel dirty and treasonous and bad about sex than do it the one way that most people agree is 'right'.  It would explain my attraction to baby boy bits - it would explain much ( I think) of what is odd and twisted sexually about me - it would explain why I was always so curious about sex and why I went through a promiscuous time and why I cringe at the thought of my husband touching me - but I don't want it.

 

 I want - I want my marriage to work. And - deep in the very lowest parts of my consious mind, I know that if I can't/won't have sex with him, I might as well write up the divorce papers there and then. And while I would be free, I wouldn't really - because the demand that he makes are sensible ones. Or are they ? *sigh* I don't KNOW!

 

And I'm so lonely. And so tired. and so sick of doing everything everything everything with others - another - in mind that I'm ready to scream FUCK THE WORLD and do MY gotdamn thing.

 

And it's not that I'm so very unhappy. I'm actually not very unhappy at all. I just wish - I just wish I wasn't here. For the first time in a long time - I'd much rather be living someone elses life. Just so that I can break out of the heartache that mine seems to be turning into.