Identity Crisis

I sometimes (maybe most of the time) envy those who can say with certainty and assurance, "I am ____________________." Fill in the blank with the words that we toss around so casually: submissive, slave, masochist, horny, sexy...

I have the worst time these days filling in the blank at the end of that simple declarative sentence, and not being afraid that I will be challenged to prove it (and possibly be unable to make good on the claim).

I know, intellectually, that I am just supposed to (by now) have made my peace with the outcomes of the medical realities, and figured out how to go on. Most days, I determine to not look at the "losses and limitations," and focus on what I have. Because, after all, I am loved and I am healthy. I don't have nasty periods anymore and I don't have to deal with PMS. I am not in pain, and I am not at risk from the consequences of out of control anemia. Plenty of people can't say the same. So, continuing to mourn seems -- whiny and self-absorbed, and needlessly negative. It surely doesn't accomplish anything. So, I try really hard to deal with things the way I learned when I was ten years old: if you never let yourself "want" anything, then you can't be disappointed if you don't get it, or can't have it.

He sometimes asks if I am "turned on." I can hear the hopefulness in His voice, and I hate it that I disappoint Him with my answer, but the truth is that my body doesn't seem to DO that anymore. I don't know if it would under some sort of "just right" stimulus. I doubt that I'm ever going to find out. I seldom even fantasize in any particularly erotic ways anymore. I used to have a vivid fantasy life, but it is as if the fantasy "library" has taken all the stories off the shelves and packed them away somewhere. I can't seem to find a single one most of the time.

Which is too bad, because I still have a fair number of nights when I am AWAKE for big chunks of time at 2 or 3 AM. -- just lying there staring into the darkness completely unable to go back to sleep. There was a time when I'd have simply grabbed a vibrator and enjoyed the opportunity to blast off into orbit, but more often than not, these days, the vibrator and I can still be at it at 5:00 when the alarm goes off for me to get up and head off to school -- having achieved absolutely nothing but frustration.

And it isn't as if the desire for sexual release and gratification is gone. It isn't. Just the ability to actually achieve it. But, there's no going back. So.

It would, maybe, be easier to deal with losing that part of my sexual identity, if it weren't for the absolute fact that I've gotten wimpier and wimpier in the masochism category as well. With very rare exceptions, I struggle and gut it out through every single session -- even the ones where we are doing something that I initially thought I might have wanted (and He really doesn't like that "gutting it out" thing). I panic in the earliest moments. I get angry. I feel cheated. I feel lost. I feel unsupported. I feel like it really doesn't matter what I do because it won't change the course or trajectory of all of this. I'm less and less rewarding for Him to play with, and He plays with me less and less. I surely can't blame Him for that. I'm not the eager, happy masochist He brought to Himself five years ago, so we don't play like we used to -- or at least that is the way it is left between us. We have no circle of friends to play with, and if we did, I'd be terrified at the comparisons. We'll be going to play in public in a couple of weeks. I can't imagine how I'll ever get through it.

He keeps telling me that I could CHOOSE to be happy -- that He believes that I am somehow "determined" to be unahappy and depressed. He periodically mutters that I'm clearly depressed, and that we won't be treating that since treating it depressed me, but it is still the truth. What can I say? Mostly, I just sit quietly. If I don't say much, maybe I won't sound depressed or depressing, because I can't stand the thought of more medication and more sessions with the shrink. I know that if I am just strong enough, I can stay out of the pit of darkness that makes it necessary for me to do all that other stuff.

Slave? Submissive? I try to stay in that mode. To serve. Cook. Take out the trash. Deal with His laundry and ironing. Carve out the time to clean the bathrooms and the kitchen and run a vacuum cleaner and dust rag once in awhile. Try and keep Him supplied with the cold beverages that He likes, with His coffee made in the morning, with the oatmeal cookies He loves. Manage the C-Pap and the prescriptions and get the bills paid. Rub Him and scratch Him and be where He needs me to be. I hope its good enough.