Sexually Deviant

Because writing has always been cathartic to me, and because a good friend has opened the thought process, I am going to try this tonight.  It’s been a long time since talking about this subject made me cry, but it did tonight, which clearly states I have a problem of some sort.

Cervical cancer is caused by HPV.  

When I was 19, I slept with a random guy. As I left his apartment, he slapped my ass and said as casual as can be “Oh by the way, I have warts/herpes” (I cannot remember to this day, or to the minute he shut the door, if he said warts or herpes, but the one thing I knew for sure in that moment, was whatever he said had no cure).  I threw it off as that he was an asshole and pretended none of it happened.  However, two years later, cancerous cells were found on my cervix.  I flashed back, in the doctor’s office, to a summer’s night, two years before.  I caused this.  This is my fault.

So life went on.  I decided to admit that I was a cancer survivor, because what else could I be.  I knew I hadn’t suffered like many cancer survivors, but I had cancerous cells and I was still alive.  I hadn’t dealt with the situation well, so I had to admit something to myself.  I get my PAP every year with trepidation.  And every year, my STI test comes back clean.  The doctor decided I was exposed to HPV, but never contracted it.  Every year since, my PAP has come back clean as well.  Even knowing this, and knowing that the symptoms of cancer that I still have are also the symptoms of endometriosis, which I also have, my heart drops every time I see blood on the toilet paper.  

All of that should have been review, except that I know I caused the problem.

The difficult, and new piece to me, has taken me eight years to realize.  The shame I felt from causing my own worst years in one stupid decision has caused so many ripple effects in my life.

I don’t like sex.  I did for the first couple years of being sexually active.  Then, cancer happened.  I continued to sleep around for a little bit.  Then I dated a man for a year and a half.  We had a strong relationship until I completely stopped having sex.  I used any excuse I wanted, and he let me.  “I’m bleeding”; “I am spotting”; “sex hurts”; “sex makes me bleed” etc.  Without knowing it, right then, I demonized sex in my mind.  This is a psychological barrier which I am struggling to get over today.  A barrier I might have admitted a while ago, but never fully looked at.  I never looked at what it would do to my life.  I didn’t see it then, and he let me get away with it for nine months of our relationship.  I was going to the doctor for checkups and specialist appointments. The great part about cervical issues is that the doctor asks how long has it been happening, and if the answer isn’t three months, it is thrown off as coincidence.   I convinced myself I was dealing with everything.  I wasn’t. I was hiding from it; I just didn’t see it.  Life went on, I dated other men.  If I was honest then, I knew that the relationships failed because I wasn’t interested in sex.  I blamed the men, and many of them were not great people at the time, and certainly not good for me.  However, the failure of the relationships rests on me.  I know you are getting mad at me for blaming me when you hated the men I was with, and they were bad for me.  However, I am not looking at that part right now (I know they were, I feel like I have changed because of those experiences, and I think for the best).  These men cheated on me.  Why? Because I didn’t do my part in the relationship.  I improved myself over the years, and the men stopped cheating.  They did everything they could for me.  I didn’t want sex, I didn’t care that it was “how a man shows he cares” and I certainly didn’t care that it was a normal part of a healthy relationship.  Sex to me, always hurt, wasn’t fun, had nothing for me.  In a totally jerk move, I called “rape” on it more than once.  I wasn’t interested, therefore it was rape.  I agreed to have sex because of guilt trips.  What a cruel thing to say in a relationship.

I don’t like sex.  It does hurt.  I seem to have no sexual desire beyond the original “biological response”.  Once we have had sex a couple of times, I lose all interest in it; even my body stops responding.  To me, the relationship, someone liking me for me, and being there for me, and being my best friend became more important.  I dry out, and lose interest.  I might let you lube me so you can finish, but I am not there anymore.  Sometimes, I couldn’t even let you finish.  I was done and therefore, so was the act.  I have not found sex pleasurable, despite gallant efforts, since cancer came into my life.  I know anti-depressants can lower sex drives, but I have been on and off them a lot in the last eight years.  I don’t see a difference.  I will take my mental stability over a sex drive, especially since I don’t like sex!  People tell me that I need to play with myself more, and learn more about my body.  I have bought toys to “fix me” but I am “still broken”.  The toys go untouched.  Using them creeps me out.  I think that is the best word.  I am disturbed and disgusted by it.  And, why should I fix me when I don’t like it anyways?  I asked myself for years, “why is sex so important”.  I don’t have an answer, but I remain convinced that it is normal.  That makes me abnormal.  This leads me to a conclusion you may have heard lately: “because I suck at dating, I am going to remain single forever, or, I am going to marry a gay man, and have an open marriage with him so that he can still date, but can be my man”  What a sad state to end up in.  What a sad state for a 29 year old woman.  I think I am an incredible person, and I have people in my life who tell me so regularly (Bless you!).  I wonder what’s wrong with me to end up alone.  Sex.  Sex is wrong with me.

However, if I think about it all logically, I am what’s wrong with me.  I have set myself in this place.  The minute my mind has control over my body, my mind wins.  And my mind has a very strong opinion on sex as evil, creepy, and unpleasant.  I didn’t used to be this way.  It all came with cancer.  I knew what caused it, and my mind decided to stop that from happening (except, the body wins enough times to make that logic totally flawed.).  I know that I have a barrier, and that I am the barrier.  I don’t know how to get over this barrier.  I don’t even understand fully what the barrier is.  I don’t know what to do about it.  Go to a shrink and be Freuditized?  I think Freud was an idiot (a brilliant idiot, but an idiot all the same).  Can a regular counselor help? Do I need sexual counseling? That makes me feel like a sexual deviant, which clearly is more pedophilia than a girl that just doesn’t like it!  Is thinking about it and acknowledging it enough?  Do I even need to change? I have spent eight of ten sexually active years not liking sex, so it seems pretty normal to me.  However, I someday want a life partner, and I understand that sex is involved in that.  I can’t afford a shrink, or sexual counseling (pretty sure medicare doesn’t care that I don’t like sex!).  Talking about sex makes me uncomfortable.  You might not know that, I have spent my life pretending to be normal.

Acknowledging this has frustrated me.  I feel like the “whole cancer thing” should be far behind me.  For years I said it matter of factually.  I thought I had dealt with it.   I feel like we have covered every angle, every thought.  I feel like it is old news, and we are all done with it.   Tonight, it appears I hid an important aspect from myself for a really long time.  And tonight, the whole thing has made me cry for the first time in years.  I need help, and I have no idea where to go.