I don’t even know if I enjoy sex - I don’t think I do.
In-between loosing my virginity (fifteen) and getting sober (eighteen), I’d never had sex while not under the influence.
Between eighteen and twenty I hardly had sex; I was trying to focus on my sobriety.
Now at twenty-one, my sexual pursuits have largely been selfish, and it’s not the conquest or the orgasm I seek. It’s that for the short time I am having sex, laying in bed with someone, kissing, touching… my panic goes away. It’s the only thing that makes my chest stop aching, that takes the dizziness away. It’s the only thing that stops the tingling sensations from surging throughout my body leaving me in disbelief.
Sex has become my form of therapy. Lately my medications have not been helping as much but am trying to keep it together. I go to work and am able to mask the intense fear that keeps my chest pounding. I have become a master at the art of being ‘alright’ in the eyes of others.
Sex has become a necessity to sleep. Without it, I toss and turn until my body overrides my racing mind and I drift into unconsciousness for a few hours.
I don’t enjoy these sexual pursuits. I am scared of them. I understand the dangers of multiple sexual partners - emotionally, physically, and mentally.
A healthy way to solve this would be to find someone to be with, but I never find the right person. I never find a person that I can develop feelings for. Let alone a person who is interested in a neurotic, recovering drug-addict/alcoholic that is doped up on lithium, klonopin, and lexapro.
I’m considering upping my dose of lexapro.