As a warning before you read this, this is an emo blog post. I have no one I feel I can talk to about this period, so this is for my own well being. More than likely, it will make no sense to anyone but me. But, if you happen to decipher it, please do not comment with sad faces and internet hugs, this is not what I'm after. I post this only as a way to bring an inner demon of mine out of my chest and into tangible black and white. If you do not agree with anything I write, once again, please don't comment. A happy blog post will come another day and I will resume being my normal self, I assure you. But as of this moment, I am at an emotional low, and this is me building the stairs up and out of my darkness.
Thanks in advance.
To have a peaceful relationship, what lengths should one strive for to make that work? Is sacrificing the things you want and most desire the appropriate path to take in order to keep the waters calm? In an endless argument, is it best to swallow your pride and disregard your own needs for the greater good?
That's the choice I'm faced with.
In matters of sex in relation to the importance of a partnership, if we're speaking honestly, it's pretty up there. We all get to that comfortable point where we are past the honeymoon phase, but have not yet plateaued onto abstinence. It becomes a game of cat and mouse, a game of scheduling and sleep.
Our only argument has been over sex. We don't argue over money, or who's right and wrong, it's always bedroom related. At the beginning, it was fabulous. A never ending onslaught of passion of fervor. This feeling, as it turns out, was at its peak before its prime. After the "I do's" and a 400+ mile move, sex went from frequent to an immediate downhill sled race to nadda.
Honestly, the frequency isn't an issue for me.
It's the passion.
The feeling of being wanted, to know his eyes are watching my every move, thinking every move is beautiful. Growing more and more in need of my touch. It's very easy to write this off as a fantasy feeling. Something you read about in literature, see on the television. Ladies--if you're claiming to have never felt this once in your relationship endeavors, you are lying to yourself. You know it's real, and you know it's intoxicating. For a man to want you and no one else, it's gold, the Midas touch.
When trying to conceive with the pitfalls of infertility, sex can be routine. Nothing strips the fun out of the bedroom like, "We have to do it at this time, in this position. Don't be late or you are fired." As females, we are built to feed off the emotional aspects of physical love. Face it--the sex is not spectacular if you are not there mentally. Truth, simply put.
This single feeling, or lack there of, is driving me crazy. Every time I bring it up it's never a pleasant conversation. It's a snarky remark, an argument, an "I'll just sleep on the couch then.." kind of night. As he put it so bluntly and repeatedly, "I feel like we have this same argument all of the time."
Truth is, we do.
Is it wrong for me to want that emotional connection? I'm not asking for the moon, the stars, or even a kidney. I just intensely desire the feeling of being wanted.
I want to know he's thinking about me.
I want to know that when I'm in his arms he's doing more than scheming the best strategy to kill x amount of monsters in x amount of time on Dungeons and Slayings 5.
It's like a drug. I had it, and I was addicted.
The desire, the fulfillment. It quenched every starving ounce of my soul and body. But then like that, it was gone. Stripped from my bones and left to nothing. I was in rapid detox, and not coping well.
In my mind--it is entirely my fault.
I am failing. The first thing my demon says is that I am a failure as a woman. I can't give him the baby he wants, so the chemicals in his brain are rejecting me. I am not the most suitable partner, I cannot produce the strongest offspring. His natural instincts are driving him away from me and my dis-functioning ovaries. It's just nature in motion.
So then, the rest of my conscience turns on me. Look at you. You are short, weak, pathetic. You are overweight. You have no job. You are not a robot wife that keeps the house sparkling clean. You can't even put the laundry away. What good are you?
As I cried tears of self resentment, I really feel like a part of me died. Maybe I am expecting too much from him, from the situation. Perhaps none of this was even real, that I imagined the whole thing. It is then and now that I feel the demon has won.
I know my husband loves me.
This is a fact that has brought me from nothing, to here.
He is supportive, he is a provider.
When I look in his eyes I know that he is mine, wrapped around my finger 100%.
But to love, and not lust after, this is where the demon wins.
Do I dismiss my own feelings, in order to keep the peace of our relationship?
Do I disregard my desire to keep the pond from rippling?
Do I burn my needs and shut my mouth, for the greater good?
Questions I'm asking--Answers I'm seeking.
The battle rages on.
