I always felt sexy, like I could be wanted and someone else would love to touch and get me.
I felt confident and strong, naked or dressed up. i am knew I was hot, and I knew whoever I was with knew it too.
I don’t feel good anymore. When I look in the mirror, I’m not happy with what I see. It’s no different from what I used to see; It’s body good enough. It can even do a lot more than it used to be able to do. Exercise that has been seen. I can lift a lot more than I used to, but it’s still not good enough.
I fell in love with my face. Not the attractive face I used to see. It’s just marshmallowy. At a stretch, it’s cute, and cute is not sexy. not desirable
I wanted to kiss all the time, thought about it several times a day. Now if I want release, I do it as fast as I can on my own. I don’t feel sexy anymore; I just feel tension that needs to go away.
I didn’t think my desires or my opinion of myself would depend so much on what someone else thought of me.
After three years of trying to make you want me, I lost the will myself.
After being frustrated for so long that you delayed your bedtime past me and removed the opportunity for sex, I now find myself frustrated on the rare occasion that we go to bed together. Whether we fuck or not.
Because if we don’t, I’ve lost that opportunity to rub myself. And if we do, it’s always in the back of my mind that it’s only happening because it’s been so many days, so many weeks, since the last time. It seems absurd, like you’re allowing it to delay yet another “discussion”.
I hate that I’ve lost interest in sex, I hate that I’m starting to resent all the cute hugs and pecks you still shower on me every day. I don’t want to kiss my roommate. I don’t want to be the friend who hugs. I don’t want to be nice. I want to be desirable.
I wish you could barely keep your hands off me every day, but you could barely bring yourself to kiss me on the lips.
I can’t believe I feel weird and awkward and anxious about sex with a man I’ve shared my life with for years.
I can’t believe I’m starting to feel the pangs of panic in my stomach when you remind me that “you’re stuck with me.”
I can’t believe I let myself try so hard and get so deep with a man who so clearly doesn’t like me.
Friends? Roommate? Family? Either of these seems a better label than lovers.
I was reading a question to sex therapists the other day, and my answer saddened me.
“Do you imagine each other?”
I know you don’t. And I realized that I couldn’t anymore. I just annoyed myself. I know you’ll never want me the way I want you.
I fear that any change now will be too little, too late. I lost my appetite and trained myself not to think about you that way. How can I turn that switch back on for an hour, knowing that I’ve tried so hard to keep it off for so long, and it could be weeks before I’m allowed to turn it back on?
I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions. I want a life with you, but I don’t want to bury that sexual part of me, and it seems like that part of me already has one foot in the grave.
How can I plan forever with you that two weeks will become a month, a month, a year, never?
I am sorry, I cannot continue this fight alone.
