This dreadful feeling in my stomach was right. Li, as quick as she entered my life, was gone. She freaked out because, as she said, I was “ready to fully commit.” Which is somewhat accurate, but not quite. I remember kissing her and thinking “Hmmm, this is not a kiss I could marry.” So yes and no. committing, yes. To her… Probably not.
I cried a couple of days ago in my therapist’s office, when she asked me what I wanted in a potential partner. I weeped out of frustration. With Li. With Trine. With all my exes. My tears dropped in disbelief of how simple and plain basic was what I wanted, and, yet, how the fuck I have not been anywhere near to getting it in my whole fucking life. “I want someone… I want somebody who I just enjoy being with… And that she enjoys being with me…”
I’m hardly awake this morning, after yet another sleepless night. Anxiety, since I left the pills, have been much stronger than I anticipated. And it’s become harder, the last couple of days, since I agreed with my therapist to quit all the dating apps, in an attempt to working on myself and not defaulting to seeking in love (or flings) an immediate gratification; an escape to my everyday suffering.
“Fuck these fucking apps,” my therapist said. And I felt hopeful. The last 4 years I have exclusively met women through Tinder, Bumble, Hinge, Feeld and Happn. Is that what my life’s come down to? “All you want is being seen and loved unconditionally,” my therapist continued; “All you are looking for is everything you never got from your mother: acceptance and unconditional love. So that’s why you then become frustrated with women; this acceptance has to come from within. In a healthy upbringing, this should have come from your mother. These women aren’t your mother, but subconsciously you keep seeking in them that feeling you never got from her. You have to stop trying to find this validation in others. It’s time you realize that you are ‘good enough.’ Because, Eduardo, you are more than enough.”
Oh, therapy. Money well spent.
So here I am now, on this lonely road. Completely alone (and single) for the foreseeable future. Trying to talk some sense into my fucked up self-esteem. Convincing myself that, contrary to what my mom and my exes taught or showed me, I am -indeed- worthy of love. Not only that, I am fucking enough. It only took 39 years to get here, to this conclusion. Not bad, huh?
According to my therapist, my borderline sex addiction is nothing other than a clear manifestation of my inner child’s innate need for love and approval. So this time “out of the market” is going to be tough, because lil Eduardo wants the warmth of arms around him; the comfort of cuddles and words of affirmation. Even if only for one night. Even if someone who’s, otherwise, a fucking cunt. Lil Eduardo is a loveless boy. And I can already feel his pain within myself. As I reach for an absent warm body by my side, in all my insomniac nights. Lil and I want the same. A bit of love. A tad of care. Skin on skin, with sex being just a medium to an end, rather than the end in itself.
I don’t like myself when I’m sex deprived. Being “skin hungry” is the worst, specially now when I need every single happy hormone I can inject in my bloodstream, to cope with this fucking anxiety. But if I can heal myself from this devastating disease of the aloneness, of rejection, of unfair judgement; well, so fucking be it. Let’s get over to the other side, healthier and, hopefully, happier. Lil and I would appreciate it, very much so.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published.