My Self-Imposed Sexual Sabbatical

I don’t remember the exact moment my sabbatical from sex began.  Or even why it happened.  I love the sex.  After my divorce several years ago, I had all the sex.  I was sexy in every corner of my fair city.  Ask anybody.  Or everybody. I had a blast.  This time, not so much.

After my last break-up I thought I’d once again hit the sexy party girl road.  I didn’t.  The comfort of men was somehow not so comforting this time around.  I had had enough.  Enough bullshit. I felt, I don’t know, empty?

Empty and angry
Angry at men
Furious with men

Men lied, and cheated, and lied again.  I couldn’t get past the anger and feeling of betrayal toward men, not even for one night.  How could any man excite me when every man made me cringe?  I dreamt about it, the sex.  I wanted so badly to be held, to be touched, to be told I was wanted, needed. But the thought of actually letting a man touch me was like a blow to the gut.  I couldn’t do it.  I have a couple of close male friends who took the brunt of my non-sex-man-hating-anger during this period.  I love them for that.  I truly do.  I had to get over this non-trusting of men.  I had actual hatred towards men.  I knew this was not normal.  Not all men deserved my hate.   It was making me miserable.  It was making me miserable to be around.

Eventually men happened.  The sex happened.  I found little joy.  I found lots of problems.  I could not be happy.  The men weren’t making me happy.  They used to make me happy.  What had happened to me?  The touching, the kissing, the handholding, the closeness, none of it made me feel like I wanted to feel.  Why wasn’t it working?  It had to work.  I wanted to have sex.  I wanted company.  I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be like everyone else.

I pushed it all away.  The men, the sex, all of my chances for happiness were pushed away.

I woke the fuck up

I was no longer happy with me.  Self-esteem no longer existed within me. The emptiness I felt was because of me.  Not happy with me - I was not familiar with that sentiment.   It had been years since I had been unhappy with me.  I like me. This did not feel like me.  This was wrong.  Something had to change. I had to be happy with me before I could be happy with a man; before I could have sex.  For me to be happy I had to start doing things for myself.  It began with little things: going to dinner, hanging with friends, plans that didn’t revolve around a man.  Then the things got bigger: concerts, day trips, festivals, theme parks, vacations.

I was having fun
With my family
With my friends  

There were no men.  No men to hate.  No men to distrust.  No men to make me feel like less of a person. No men to bash my self-esteem.  No sex.  None.  This was a good thing.  I needed time to like me and to find my sexy.  I needed to feel worthy of being liked.  I needed to do all of that so I could stop the man hating.  I needed to do all of that so I could move forward.  I needed to do all that so I could enjoy the sex if and when I allowed it to happen.

Fast-forward

I like me.  I cried, I laughed, I had fits, I hid from people, and I stomped the hell out of my feet to get here.

I cried but I did all the things

But, I like me.  It was worth it.  Because I like me, I no longer hate the men.  I determined that my man issues are worse than I originally thought.  Trust issues.  I still have problems believing that men (people) are sincere, about anything. I continue to believe that all men have ulterior motives.  This is my problem. There's no one to blame.  It's just me. Yes, I am damaged.  Yes, I am working on it.

I continue to abstain from the sex. Once it wasn’t a huge deal; it wasn’t a huge deal.  And I’m terrified. I'm absolutely dark, creepy house at the end of the block when I was 6, terrified.  It’s true. I’m scared shitless to allow a man to touch me. I can’t even imagine sex. No night time put-me-to-sleep-smiling thoughts, no sexy after I hit the REM sleep, no daydreams of hot, half naked men on the beach rubbing me down and then "you know".  It’s almost as if sex no longer exists for me.  It’s not easy. It's sad.  I am in pain. I am raw.  Sex will hurt me both mentally and physically.

I still have a sense of humor.  Always a sense of humor.

I want it; I need it.  Once I believe what comes out of the face-hole of man, the sexy-time issue will be a non-issue and all will be well.

PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence.  She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life.  She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at Princess Bananaland.  She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words.  Eventually when she’s done being sloth-like, she will write a book.  Be afraid.