sexual healing

first, thank you for all the wonderful emails of support. i am enjoying the day program. although i am on handfuls of medication right now, i feel much better than i have since moving here (and possibly longer, but don't want to diss the wonderful folks in nyc).

i received a really great email that forced me to process a huge amount in the response. it had been asked of me in several ways by several people, but this time, this morning, i was able to respond. and answer truthfully.

n wrote:
"i've been following your blogs for quite a while and i've enjoyed reading them every step of the way. in my day-to-day life i meet an unfortunately small number of down-to-earth, sexuallly empowered women. out of curiosity, do you feel that your sexual attitudes and practices have played any part in your mental health problems?"

n shared some of her own experiences that i am not at liberty to publish to the greater world. but i thought i would share my response to her question with the rest of you.

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hey, n

thank you for writing and your ongoing support. i know i have used sex in both "good" and "bad" ways. i have always had sexually compulsive tendencies (as long as i can remember anyways: kissed every boy in kindergarten class, always had a boyfriend, quickly escalated to queen of truth or dare, finger fucking at 11, and blowjobs at 12) but i have also found a great deal of strength and control and identity through my sexuality. sometimes it was validating in the sense of: i am convinced i am a horrible person but if they like me/want to fuck me/etc than i can't be all bad or must be wrong. sometimes it was a(n occasionally self-destructive) way to cope with mania and severe depressions: as an escape and forced socialization and chance to abandon the emotional turmoil of things for a while. when i was younger (read 12-15) and first started identifying as a "slut" it was not (entirely) a positive and empowering title (although i admired the strength of rizzo and beauty of ray anne), the title came more from my reputation at a very small school and my self-hatred (at that time invested in religion as well) as a horrible and worthless human being.

but then things changed.

i had an epiphany at 15 (when i was taking myself off mind-numbing drugs and in regular therapy finally), that i was using boys (queer crushes didn't count, i fucked around with WAY too many boys to be gay) to validate my self esteem and self worth. if i ever hoped to heal and be "better" i needed my strength to be internal. independence became my favorite word (and still is, probably). at that point, i gave up dating for three years (although there were little aberrations, i avoided most relationships).

when i moved to college, i found myself without an established identity and with way too much time and coping with a huge transition. i started sleeping around to meet people, because it was fun, and because i had insomnia and was often sex-iled from my dorm room anyways by my roommate's "visiting" boyfriend. i also started studying sexuality and feminism. as i explored i learned the power held by strong sexual women. i wanted to claim that power. but i was also bored and looking for a way to fill the night and relieve the stress from a first year at university.

at the end of my freshman year i was raped. by a date that i trusted. it was actually a third date. i had been so proud of myself for not "putting out" immediately. i was going to do the three date standard. i really liked the guy and had plans for a relationship. but i had been diagnosed with mono the day before. he wouldn't let me cancel the date so we went to a bar that didn't card. after one drink i was swinging off my ass. my hair caught on fire (no shit). i was so exhausted i needed to go home. he was too cheap for a cab so walked me the twenty (okay, they were only street) blocks. then he asked to come to my dorm room or a phone number. i agreed and signed him in. soon after he was upstairs, i lay down because i was tired and sick. he lay down next to me. we were making out and getting hot and heavy. i asked him to put on a condom. he didn't have one. said he never used them. i didn't have one because i was still the girl goddammit. i didn't steal one from a roommate because i didn't want to have sex, i just wanted to sleep. i told him i wouldn't fuck without a condom but he was welcome to stay the night. i fell asleep after that. i woke up to him fucking me. i didn't really feel much of anything. i dissociated and watched. couldn't speak or scream or push or anything. then i felt his fingers in my ass. he pulled back and pushed his dick inside me. i was in shock. i had never had any sort of anal sex before. i thought i was crying but i could see my face that was completely emotionless. after he came, he fell asleep in my bed beside me. in the morning we took a shower together and i signed him out. i was still in shock. i avoided his calls and emails that lasted the next six weeks.

after that trauma i dissociated from my body entirely. i started cutting again. i had a girlfriend that i was completely in love with but if we moved past kissing i would get exceptionally nauseous. i even threw up once, which i'm sure made her feel super attractive.

at new years, i made a resolution to reclaim my body. i quested for my first orgasm (which i've written about before). i also fell in love with a stupid gay (had been out and gay-identified for over three years) boy one-night stand who also fell for me and we tumbled in to one of the most dysfunctional three month relationships of all time with some of the best sex of my life.

even after that relationship crumbled, sex and sexual pleasure became my way to reclaim and connect with my body. i integrated my body back in to my sense of self.

granted: at times of depression i would still compulsively seek out sex as a distraction or coping mechanism. but when that accelerated to the point of worry, i used sex work to manage my sexual compulsivity (yeah, my newest shrink had never heard that one before). if i wasn't getting paid, i wasn't having sex. and when i was getting paid there were no penises in my vagina. the noncommercial sex i was having at the time was my own.

right now, i'm celibate. i do this because i know i could easily start using sex in ways that are unhealthy for me. and i do this because my bonds with my body are strained again right now and i don't want inappropriate sex to shatter those bonds. when i'm ready to build again, i'll jump back in the sack. until then, my hitachi and i reassure my sexual nature just fine.

so: long and short of it - although i have misutilized my sexuality in the past, it is very much a source of strength and empowerment for me. it helps me make it through these very crazy times. on my wrists, over previous cuts, i have tattood, "i could not feel" (left) and "i had to touch" (right). for me, these celebrate the role sexuality has had in my coming back from the dead and embracing my self. granted, i had not anticipated the current plummet when i had the ink done, but at the very least they keep me from cutting again as it would mess up my pretty tattoos.

i hope this answers your question. i certainly helped me to write it.
take care,
jane