Committed.

I lost it.

I committed myself to the hospital, after crying in the fetal position for about 26 hours. I’m actually feeling miles better already. (3 days since discharge, 2 days into partial hospitalization program.)

But the overwhelming response I’ve gotten from friends is “why didn’t you say something?” “Don’t scare me like that!”

So I wrote a poem about it,

like ta hear it, here it go!

When you ask me why I didn’t call

When you ask me why I never share

When you say you’ll catch me if I fall

When you hug me and tell me you’re always there…

It doesn’t help, it makes it worse.

It covers my depression with a layer of remorse.

‘I’m so sorry’ I tell you.

Sorry you felt scared

Sorry you were worried

Sorry I never let you ‘in’

Sorry I can never tell when days like these are coming, these days of mental HELL.

These days are not about you, and how I may have failed.

These days are for me, to think and to feel. A day for me to regain my senses, decompress and heal.

I can’t open up, I can’t phone a friend.

I can’t turn the clock back and change how it ends.

My story’s just a sad one no matter what I do, so don’t make me say ‘I’m sorry’ when I’m coming back to you.

Boudoir Beauty.

I’m the lucky winner of an amazing 90 minute boudoir photography session, complete with makeup and hair!

Most women would be a little nervous but more excited than anything else, right?

***the following is an imaginary conversation with my imaginary therapist***

“Identifying what a person *should* be feeling in any given situation, seems to insinuate that if a person is feeling anything outside of ‘normal’, their feelings must be weird… or wrong… or maybe even bad? I’ve heard it said that feelings can’t be right or wrong, feelings are only a temporary experience directly connected to one’s own thoughts which can, in great contrast, be right or wrong, true or false and even in some cases, good or bad.”

I feel like a fool.

I feel like no matter what I decide to wear or not wear, I will end up looking like a fool.

“Are those FEELINGS or thoughts?”

Well… they’re feelings created by thoughts and those thoughts have been developed over time, after years of living with a poor self image and a nasty case of PTSD.

“Wah Wahhh, victim card!”

Ok, but the self image thing is real, and that’s all mine. Right?

“meh. Do you REALLY BELIEVE that you’re ugly?”

No. Not really. I mean… not ugly, but far from perfect.

“Really? WTF is perfect? It’s really easy to say something isn’t perfect, but wtf would ‘perfect’ actually look like?”

😐 damn good question.

“So then, what are you REALLY feeling?”

Pretty sure what I’m actually feeling is fear.

I think, I’m afraid because I’ve never done this before and things we’ve never done before are almost always scary at first…

Just thinking

We’ve decided to keep working, and there’s a lot of work to be done. But we really do love each other, so much. It’s just really hard.

Being married, being joined with another independent person, committed… it is hard. It takes work. Sometimes we get tired, and sometimes we’re lazy.

But I think the way it’s supposed to work, is that when one of us is tired, or lazy… the other one of us picks up the slack. We’re supposed to take turns. I think part of the trap that a lot of married people fall into, is that sometimes we forget to give our other halves THEIR turn… one of us will absorb all of the extra effort, for a super long time, and the delicate husband/wife balance gets offset.

Because we are naturally selfish beings, we start to play the entitlement game “I deserve better” “I’m worth it” “I’m not being valued in the way I deserve to be” and eventually we talk ourselves out of the commitment we’ve made, and often times into the arms of another someone… someone who’s easier, someone more appreciative, someone who holds us less accountable and feeds into the “I deserve this” mentality. Or maybe they just let us escape from our own reality for a little while. Either way, I think that’s what happens to a lot of marriages and I do not want to let it happen to us.

What I really deserve, is whatever I get… what I choose to do with it, is what will prove my worth and only God can decide what I deserve after that!

This book is SO GOOD!

“The Naked Marriage” by Dave & Ashley Willis

-undressing the truth about sex, intimacy and life-long love.-

So first of all, WOW.

The day I started this book, I was standing in my kitchen baking cookies. Hubby and I had just gotten home from a marriage conference through our church, which just happened to include a session led by this couple (Dave & Ashley Willis). I enjoyed what they had to say so much that I searched for their book as soon as the session ended! Found it on audible, read by the authors!! It’s basically like listening to an extended version of their session from the conference! LOVE IT!

There are so many amazing concepts in their words, but by far the most mind blowing concept for me has been ‘your spouse was never meant to complete you, only God can do that. Your spouse may compliment you, and become an integral part of your life, but you will never be complete without God at the center of your marriage.’ ~I’ve paraphrased here, because I’m not really a verbatim kind of girl, but you get the point.

The book goes on to explain that holding hands and going for a walk together, can be just as intimate as lovemaking. Talking with your partner, every day, sharing details and dreams. Being present and invested in them, can make all the difference in your marriage.

It also talks about something they refer to as ‘the love seat’.

I LOVE THIS!

The explanation is simple, picture a loveseat and two chairs. Some couples choose to sit together on the loveseat, invested in each other. Attentive to each other, and close together. Seated in the LOVE seat (DUDE, GOD IS LOVE) so the couple seated here, is seated in GOD! #mindblown

Some couples will choose to sit in their own separate chairs, with plenty of space between them. Space for lots of things to GET between them. Things like money, fancy homes, jobs, choices, friends and even space for extra marital affairs.

But the saddest situations are the marriages where one spouse is choosing to sit in the loveseat, while the other is choosing to sit in a chair. Even if it’s the chair right next to the loveseat, there is still space between… enough space for satan to play his evil games. Space for separation between the two who are made one flesh. Space to make the couples challenges feel like HIS problems, or HER problems, instead out OUR problems.

While the spouse seated on the loveseat can try endlessly to convince their partner to join them on the loveseat. Praying, loving and tirelessly waiting. The spouse seated in the chair, the spouse who needs their space, the spouse who isn’t fully invested in the marriage, could make it impossible for the couple to ever experience what Adam and Eve had.

“The man and his wife were both naked, and felt no shame.” Genesis 2:25 NIV

(Probably goes without saying, but this nakedness that the Bible is referring to, it’s a lot more than just nudity 😉

Get the book y’all. It’s awesome.

Unexcused Absence

Can I just say that, while being married to my husband is an enormous blessing- and I thank God for him, all the time… It’s also super freaking hard, being the only damn member of his family who actually takes care of him in any useful way.

Fact is, sometimes it wears me down. Sometimes I want to call them and scream at them… Where were you when we needed you? Where were you when he needed rides to 4-6 appointments a week? When we were going broke paying for Uber rides? Where was all this “support” when we were selling off our belongings to pay for his vision therapy kit? You wanna call and act like some kind of loving parent???

Fuck you! Fuck Nevada! Fuck Maui! Fuck California! If you wanted to help your son, you’d be HERE in Ohio. Watching him writhe in pain, from the headache that never goes away. Holding his hand as the nurses place yet another IV. Reminding him for the 300th time that he has already checked the mail, and the chickens are out. Calming him down when he thinks that the cashier at Kroger was being rude and he wants to “rip his tongue out and shove it up his ass”, or when he is so completely FINISHED with waiting for the doctor to come in, and he just wants to walk out of the appointment (but that particular doctor is the best TBI specialist in the state, so you just HAVE to wait!)

If you only knew the man that I live with and love, the man that I care for and tend to, every single day… maybe you would have an ounce of respect for me, and all that I do for him. Instead of always acting like I’m some kind of neglectful monster wife, and you’re the most super duper person ever to grace him with your presence. 🤬🖕🏻

Wanted

Sitting at a traffic light watching the cars turn the corner in front of me. As each one goes past, I look at every single male driver and silently question… would he? Would he want me?

Would I be able to turn him on? Would his body respond to mine? Would he be repulsed by me? Would he?

Fat men, old men, young, skinny, lanky boys. Is there a man who would think I am good enough? To classify me, as fuckable, wantable… how far is the reach to beautiful? Is there a man who wouldn’t need pharmaceutical intervention, to force their body to respond to me? Is there a man who would want feel passion for me?

Is there a man who could act that way, rather than just say the words.

‘I want you’

Do you?

‘Yes’

But do you really?

We tried again last night.

I think it might have been the last time I’ll ever try.

He took 2 prescription pills. Got what looked like a very healthy erection… I got so excited and stripped down quickly so as not to miss my chance.

Penetration felt like a miracle.

But almost immediately the blood began to escape his penis. Almost like the microscopic blood cells were running in the opposite direction. Running away from me.

“You’re pushing me out!” He says.

“No, I’m not!” I cry, trying to hold him in, focusing all of my energy on pulling with the muscles of my pelvic floor. All to no avail. Our feeble attempt came to another heartbreaking end. Only this time, I don’t feel patient.

I don’t feel sorry for HIM.

I feel sorry for me. I feel angry.

I’m sick of this shit. The invisible line is too bold to be ignored. This isn’t my problem it’s his, and I can’t go on this way. I can’t AND I won’t.

I told him I don’t want to try anymore. I won’t do this again. Involuntary or not, I can’t be made to feel like a “boner-killer” any more.

It’s just not fair.

Alone beside him.

I woke up from a dream about you.
You were taking me from behind.
Your hands gripping my hips, the left hand a little more firmly, pulling me just the right amount to the left that the skin of your sack gently brushes against my clit intermittently.
Periodically.
You’re rhythm is so perfect, like you’re playing a song. Our song. The song of sex. Sweet, salty, smooth and slapping. Slick in and slick out. The way that your face looks, mouth open in awe. My body is exactly what you want, precisely what you crave, there is no where else you would rather have your dick. Just me. Just as I am. As I look. As I feel. As I slept, as I wake. My body writhing and bending, craving you. I open my eyes and you’re gone.

You’re gone and I’m here. Alone beside him.

Dirty hands

My lover, you have dirty hands. 
Strong, steady, skillful and swift. With a flick of your finger my switch is flipped on. Clean bright fluorescent light flickering to life, clearly revealing all the years of neglect, all the corners and edges where the cobwebs and dust bunnies collect.
You turn back the clock with those filthy hands, make me feel young and free and fun. Every time you skim the tips of those sullied fingers over my skin, the flesh starts to dimple and prick with excitement. Anticipating your focus, but not knowing your drive. You want me, you like me. 
You just want inside me. 
It’s magnificent to know I’m the object of your lust. I’m the fuel of your fire. I’m the one you desire. 
Your tireless twiddling brings me to climax, over and over, crashing and burning. You rub and you coax and you squeeze and you stroke. Raunchy fingers bend at the knuckles and flex into my curves. Then dip into the folds of my perfect wet pussy. Slick and soft, sweet smelling and salty. The scent stays with you… until you come back for more.
There will never be enough soap to clean those dirty hands.

Spiritual attack is real

When I came up with the idea for this blog, I had world changing aspirations, as I’m sure a lot of bloggers do. I dreamt of breaking the stigma of shame around impotence, and the general expectation of failure surrounding marriages that experience it. I wanted to create a source of hope, for couples who want desperately to stay together despite the odds being heavily stacked against us. A place where marriage is still forever, where intimacy is more than penetration…

Love is more than sex.

I believe this with all of my heart. I love my husband with all of my soul. He is a GOOD man.

Having said all of this, I feel compelled to also mention that I believe I am a good woman. I have stood by my husband through several crises, helped him heal and nursed him lovingly and patiently through so many hard seasons, I’ve lost track. I’ve tried to be the best wife I could.

This past two weeks though, I believe I’ve never been closer to giving up. I’ve felt hopeless and immeasurably sorry for myself. I’ve been walking around with this huge sense of entitlement. “I deserve to be wanted”, “I deserve sex” “I shouldn’t have to live this way!” Some of my thoughts have been lustful (see my previous post Lust) but most of my thoughts have been feeding an anger that I’ve suppressed for so many years, I had forgotten it was there. The worst kind of anger. The anger with no one to blame and worse yet, no one to forgive. Anger that inevitably ends up being directed at my husband, who’s just as angry and undeserving as I am.

I work really hard to believe that this condition doesn’t just belong to him. Although it only directly affects his body, when I said “I do” and married this man, it meant that we became one. Two halves of a whole. “Let no man separate what God has brought together” I actually really meant all of that, we both did! Actually we both really do mean it.

I live with this condition just as much as he does, and we both have clear and present cause for upset. Neither of us asked for it, but both of us are forced to live with it.

He is forced to watch me, as I cry.

When I’ve done all I can to wake up early enough in the morning, coax his penis into a semi-erection, and attempt to climb on top of him… only to have my glimmer of hope return to it’s “normal” flaccid state, as soon as I assume the position. When he’s taken a double dose of whatever PDE inhibitor we have to try this month, and all it does is make his heart beat out of his chest. When we’re shopping in the skeezy adult toy store, to try and find a penis pump, and cock ring that might trap the blood and give the appearance of an erection… When that same f*cking cock ring also cuts off the circulation so badly that he can’t feel a damn thing, scaring us to a point where we actually consider contacting EMS.

He’s forced to watch me blame myself and cry, because regardless of any fact in existence, I simply cannot shake the thought that it could be that I “just don’t do it for him anymore.”

He is forced to accept that there’s a chance that someday, I could eventually stop trying. After 4 plus years of trying everything, I struggle constantly with just that very thought. “Should I stop trying?” “Should I just find someone else?” “Should I divorce him and just move on?”

But seriously… should I?

Should I stop sharing the seemingly life sentence, of his impotence? Should I draw that line between myself and my other half?

I could.

But if I did, could I actually live with myself?