Tuesday, March 18, 2014

This is why I have sex with my eyes closed

Note: This post started off as one thing and turned into something completely different and unexpected. It wasn't my intention to sit down and write a scathing account of a past relationship, nor is it my intention to drag someone's name through the mud. There will always be two sides to every story, and somewhere in the middle is the truth. I ask that, as you read this, you try not to make judgements against the person who isn't here to tell his side of the story and focus simply on the personal feelings I experienced and the healing I need to do. This is my side of the story. This is my truth.

A discussion with a friend today got me thinking about the attraction to "crazy." We all know people who consistently date "crazy" people and spend most of their relationship fighting and dealing with drama. Maybe you do that. I know I've done it. But why do we put up with that kind of irrational behavior and why do we keep coming back or repeating the pattern?

First of all, I'd like to replace the word crazy in this instance, but not because I take any offense to its use. We do casually use that word all the time to refer to people with various mood or mental disorders, and I can understand why some people would object, but that's not something that bothers me or that I intend to address. No, the reason I want to use a different word is that I think it's inaccurate. While it can be difficult to be in a relationship with someone who has a mood or other mental disorder, this does not automatically mean turmoil. I think when people refer to a person in a relationship as crazy what they really mean is intense. This person doesn't do anything mildly. Every emotion is experienced (and displayed) with an intensity above and beyond what most people experience. When that intense emotion is bad, such as with jealousy or anger, it is extremely chaotic and damaging. This is when the fights, the crying, the yelling, and the "crazy" comes in. But when that intense emotion is good, such as with love or sexual passion, it's absolutely intoxicating. It can get you as high as any drug, and can be equally as addictive. You become willing to suffer through the episodes of bad intensity just for the chance to get the rush of the good intensity.

Most of the romantic relationships in my life have been very healthy. Even though many didn't work out, I still look back on them as good times in my life and have a lot of affection for the people involved. But there have been a few doozies. Three, to be exact. All of them were emotionally abusive and full of turmoil, but they all also shared those moments of intense happiness, love, and sexual passion that compelled me to stay much longer than I should have. The longest and most damaging of those relationships lasted, on and off, for about 3 years. From the very first night there was an exhilarating intensity that I couldn't get enough of. He made me his world, and I - in the beginning stages of what would become my most severe depressive episode to date - soaked up that passion with every fiber of my being. It was the only thing in my life that made me feel good. It was the only thing in my life that made me feel anything at all. It wasn't long before I was neglecting everything else in my life - a loving boyfriend of 2 1/2 years, my friends, my hobbies, and even my beloved husband - just to get my "fix" of this intense new love.

I'm not sure when the fighting started, but I don't think it was very long after we started dating. In those rare moments that I tried to spend time alone at home or with other friends, he would make me feel guilty and accuse me of lying about what I was doing.  And when I did finally try to date other people - more an act of escape than desire- - he would act as if it was something I was doing to him, rather than for myself. No matter how much time I spent with him in a given week, any time I spent with another date was time I was taking away from him, and I was accused of prioritizing casual dates over someone I loved. He convinced me that I was an awful person who thought only of herself and lacked respect for the people she was supposed to care about. And yet, I couldn't figure out exactly what I was doing wrong or how to change it. I was simply trying to be the person I'd been before we'd started dating.

To make matters worse, he also exaggerated or twisted situations to convince his friends that I was treating him poorly.  I'm still not sure if he truly believed the things he told them,or if he purposefully twisted the truth just enough to elicit sympathy for the intensely bad feelings of jealousy or anger he was experiencing. He almost seemed joyful to report back to me what insulting things his friends had said about me, although he conveniently left out what new story he'd told to get such a response. But even if he hadn't told me, I could feel the contempt from his friends any time we were around them. At first I tried to ignore it and show them that I wasn't completely bad, but eventually it became too hard to bear and only added to my contempt for myself.

We broke up and got back together several times over our 3 year span, and each time it was me that pursued the reconnection. You'd think I would have been happy to be rid of such a damaging, tumultuous relationship, but I didn't see it that way. What I saw was that I had finally become such a horrible person that I'd driven someone I loved away for good. And the only way I could prove to myself that I was worthy of being happy again - that I was worthy of being alive - was if I could just get him to forgive me and take me back. I would grovel and make promises and apologize with tears streaming down my face, but none of that ever made the difference. There was only one thing that ever got him to forgive me, and that one thing worked every single time: Sex.

It wasn't long before I began using sex to settle every argument and resolve every fight. If he was angry about something I'd done, I'd have sex to get his forgiveness. If he was jealous that I was spending too much time with someone else, I'd have sex with him to prove he was the most important person in my life. If he was being moody and wouldn't tell me what I'd done to cause his bad mood (because, of course it must have been me), I'd have sex with him to make him feel happy again. Eventually I'd been using sex as a tool for so long that when it came time to have sex for pleasure I just couldn't bring myself to do it. And that, of course, would cause more fighting so that eventually I would give in and end up having sex with him, anyway, to just make it end. I got to the point where I couldn't look him in the eyes during sex anymore because it felt like I was lying to him. I didn't want to be there. I wasn't enjoying myself. I wasn't even mentally present. I just wanted to get it over with so the fighting would stop.

To this day I can't look my lovers in the eyes during sex and it makes me both angry and sad that I still carry some of this shame around with me. Even as I celebrate a renewed love for sex and fill my life (and bed) with wonderful, supportive people - people who make me feel beautiful and smart and worthy of love - I struggle with feeling like I deserve the happiness that I feel in those carnal moments. I'm terrified that if I look too deeply in someone's eyes during sex I will open myself back up to the intense emotion and vulnerability that allowed me to suffer so badly for so long. So, for now, I'll just keep my eyes closed and hope that someday I will trust someone enough to let myself be vulnerable enough to actually make love again. And that person I need to trust is myself.

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