I've had another bad week. One of the things no one prepares you for is how annoying it is to go through a divorce. Not only are you emotionally bruised, battered, and financially girded by the actions of someone you love, but you are also expected to perform all matter of tasks that you were getting really good at putting off. For example, I hate moving. I hate picking up boxes, I hate fitting things into my little Yaris and I hate the constant bending and lifting and everything else that happens when a person has to relocate. This week, I had to go to the storage unit Gino and I have had most of our possessions stashed in for two years and extricate my things from his things, and while doing this try to locate our marriage certificate (which I know is in there) so that Gino can start the process of filing for divorce. I know I will sound like a brat no matter how well I phrase this, but I just fucking don't care any more if I do. I hate this and I cannot get out of doing it, so I did most of it, fitting everything I could fit into my hatchback and leaving the rest for another day that wasn't so humid. I got three bruises and a few scrapes out of it as well.
The other element that made my week (and, I suspect, next week will follow suit) difficult is the loneliness I cannot just get over or ignore. I have friends, great friends, who I could not exist without, but there is still that empty space in my chest that I cannot stop noticing.
I hate that I am having so much trouble being alone, that I cannot just exist without existing for someone else. I am also having trouble not having sex. I hate this even more because I always had a twisted kind of pride in my sexual history, or, rather, lack thereof. I did not enter into my relationship with Gino as a virgin, but it felt almost as if I was because I was so innocent. I had some practice, but not that much, and there was so much I still had left to learn about not just sex, but about being intimate, sleeping next to someone and not feeling that I should leave at 2 in the morning. Gino was so open compared to the boy I had just been involved with, so receptive and affectionate. I fell hard, and I was still falling hard until just recently.
Knowing that I might be tacking on more people to the short list of men I have been with is nervous-making for me. I really liked having sex with my husband, even though it was not always thrilling in the most recent months. He wasn't distant exactly, just selfish and impatient, and uncaring about it if I didn't get to come. It was such a fast turnaround from not even six months ago, when I had a broken fibula and my leg was in a cumbersome boot, and one afternoon he insisted that we had to have sex- NOW, and I was more than happy to oblige.
I wish it was no big deal for me to not know when I am going to have some kind of physical contact again, but it feels like not knowing when I am going to eat again. I know I can survive for a long time without it, but not forever. Even now, I feel twitchy and empty, like I do when I skip two meals and have too much coffee, but on a deeper level, below the skin, below the organs and bones that keep me together. I feel overly defensive when friends of mine try to dismiss it, in that Samantha Jones way that grates on my nerves, as, "You need to get laid." It's not just that. I have gone from having someone to talk to, eat meals with, have sex with, sleep next to, and who I was comfortable enough with that I could pee in front of them, and I don't know if I will ever even find that again. If all I needed was a penis in me, I could solve that in two seconds.
Tony and I were talking about how women are always branded as sluts, even if they only have sex with one person and then that person tells everyone. I just don't want to be labeled. I also don't know how to not be a slut. I've spent seven years being slutty for one man, and a lady to everyone else, because that's how I was comfortable. I am afraid of coming off as too forward when I do start dating again, because I don't have an accurate measuring stick. Subtlty is an art form that falls by the wayside in a long-term relationship. If you want something, you have to ask directly or you will not get it. Maybe this could give me an edge with men, because I won't be trying to throw hints and get them to pick up on cues. What I am afraid of, though, is that too much honesty can be threatening, and I will scare away anyone I try to get close to.
Maybe I am trying too hard to put out fires before they've even started because I am so determined to be happy after this horrible upset. I know this, and I know that I might fail at everything, but I need to remind myself that it won't be the end of the world if I do. So what if I end up having sex with someone who is really terrible at it? So what if I have sex with someone who is the best ever, but they won't answer a text? Or (god forbid) if I never have sex again? No one will die, after all, and I will still be alive. I need to remind myself of that all the time now.
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