I had another post planned for today. It was Vaginismus Awareness Day yesterday, and season three of Netflix’s Sex Education comes out tomorrow, so I was going to write about how the show’s vaginismus plot-line has made so many people with vaginismus feel seen, but made me feel more broken. It would have been clever and timely and good. Instead I fell apart in public and cried while clutching my laptop to my chest. Instead I wrote this.
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I’ve written about this before. It feels like this is all I write about right now – that I cannot create anything of worth to anyone else and I just keep spilling out self-indulgent essays on how I can’t stop thinking about suicide. In reality it isn’t, it’s the fucked up fog of lockdown and depression that twists time until I’m convinced that I only just wrote about this. And even if it wasn’t, I’m still allowed to write about it. It’s my blog, even if being a suicidal sex writer feels very off brand.
Useless. Lazy. Pathetic. I’m very ill right now and we’re in the middle of a global pandemic, but that doesn’t stop me feeling guilty about everything I’m not doing. I’m burned out and exhausted, but the more time I spend trying to just take care of myself the further behind I get on everything else. This isn’t healthy, I know that logically, but logic doesn’t help right now. (Strap in for a super self-indulgent post, y’all, with a content warning for self harm, mental illness, and poor hygiene habits.)
In just one week I will see my enboifriend for the first time in six months. We have assessed the risks of travelling to see each other during a global pandemic and decided that after spending half of our whole relationship apart, we’re going to be together on our anniversary. I’m super excited to see them, but I’m not without some anxiety. Mostly because my depression means that my sex drive is low right now, and I’m worried that they might not love me if I’m not such a horny slut.
An inability to relax has characterised much of my fucking over the last few months – maybe longer. Sex, in my opinion, is incredibly important and something I take very serious… but it should also be fun and playful. I hate feeling stressed while fucking, but recently it feels like that’s all I’ve been feeling.