Stages of Grieving

I masturbated again.

Not that I’m ashamed of it, but I don’t really know why I did it. I wasn’t especially horny and my parents are going out of town soon, so I could have just waited a few hours and done it without the feelings of fear or embarrassment  in potential interruption. But I did.

I’m not addicted by any means. But it does fall under routine of habit so I suppose it was….I’d say normal. But that is….quite funny that I say normal when considering how strange it really is. Because I can’t really masturbate anymore.

It’s been almost exactly 4 months since I broke it off with my Ex. I was elaborating the constantly changing array of feelings I was experiencing post breakup with a male friend, and he pointed out that they were following the supposed “Stages of Grief”. Despite the fact that no one died, these stages work for any type of loss. They fill every situational mold; whether in dealing with a loss of a life, a loss of a relationship, a loss of a job, or what have you. The stages usually go something like; Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and healing.

I was grieving.  I thought I was just filled with regret. I never thought I’d miss him. Not after feeling so free after saying it was over. But here I was missing him. Stage: sadness.

Right after the breakup the first feeling was a surprising sense of relief. I’d done it. And I was HAPPY with my decision, which is rare. I was so proud that I could say “no”. I felt like such a failure with “no”. And I didn’t miss him. Not for the longest time. I didn’t see him much. It was finished.

One night I had to text him for school related things. We were in the same club. I was furious that he quit his position (not surprised one bit, but still furious) and left the responsibility on my shoulders. I was even more furious that I had to contact him. So the text conversation quickly delved from a stern business lecture about my lack of respect for him for ditching his responsibility, into a very personal trashing of each other. He definitely got under my skin.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to insanity than at that very moment. Phone in hand, I shook violently, quick of breath, under the covers with only my tiny cell phone illuminating the expression of madness on my face. I remember feeling complete apathy, no, not apathy, DESIRE, to destroy him, and if I was destroyed in the process than so be it. I hated him. I hated him.

Cruel words were exchanged. I don’t really remember mine. I remember his. They hurt. I laughed.

After that it was anger. I was filled with regret and anger for the longest time. I worked through a lot of it with a counselor. I never thought I would go from being so introspective to so self denying. But I did. I denied how I felt in attempt to create a hologram, a rosy vision, of my life.

When did the anger turn to sadness? Who would have known that I’d start missing him. Who would have thought that I’d try to text him? What does this have anything to do with my masturbating?

Well if you know anything about sex and Pavlov then this should make perfect sense. I trained myself to feel sad after sex. Orgasm was the bell and sadness replaced drooling. Here I was, masturbating as usual, and as I orgasmed. I saw his face. Mind you, I was thinking of someone else during the process, but he came to mind right then, and I thought to myself “NO”.

“NO. NO! NONONO! PLEASE NO! NOT AGAIN.”

But by then the floodgates were opened and my chest swelled with a familiar wave of sadness. An ache, a pain in my chest. Physical pain. What’s different about this particular climax is that I realized just how normal this post sex sadness had become. I realized that I would be sad as I finished because it was so normal now.

Nearly every time I had masturbated after the breakup I was left in tears. I couldn’t help but think of him because our relationship was sex. Sex and videogames. Any other perspective would see that combination as heavenly, but for me it was hell.

BECAUSE NOW I CAN”T FUCKING MASTURBATE WITHOUT CRYING! HOW LAME IS THAT? CAN YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE? GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT OF MY HEART! I DON”T WANT YOU HAUNTING ME ANYMORE!...sorry. I’m done.

And that’s pretty much it in a nutshell…..

But there is another kicker to this story. A secondary note is that I didn’t always think of him. But I was sad, because I knew just how wrong I was before about sex. I entered the relationship thinking about sex casually. But sex was never going to be casual for me.  Maybe it could have been. It could have felt safe but I feel so damaged now. I feel like I’m downloading to healthy, like I’m watching the load bar creep to 100%. It’s excruciating. But I had sex with him after only 3 weeks. I didn't want to. But at the same time I was so numb. I didn’t care until later. But later is too late.

He was a chemical, he blocked all the feeling out. My fear made me numb. And I hated myself for that decision. Because I didn’t know who to blame. But trauma isn’t about blame.  It’s about the fact that I tried to convince myself that, it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a big deal and he wasn’t the right person and it wasn’t the right time.

And I hated myself because it was like a drug. Like a girl who gets drunk and sleeps with some guy and regrets it in the morning. But I didn’t take any drug. I was just. Drugged. I literally can’t remember that scene in color. The first 2 times were grayscale. Yet it was my responsibility. It was my fault. I didn’t say no. I didn’t say no then.

I knocked over a cup of water at his apartment one time and I wanted to cut myself. Not that I was afraid he would be mad, or that he’d hit me, I just felt so…. Incompetent. I never was myself with him. I was lying. I was acting. I was so scared. I didn’t feel safe to be me. My friend’s say I was the most depressed they had ever seen. And that was before the sex. It took me 5 months to realize things weren’t going to change.

He’d kiss my arms after sex. I thought it was the most romantic thing. It said: “Thank you, I love you.”

He never actually said those words. Now when I look back on that memory I think about how even if he said I love you then I wouldn’t have it accepted it. I wouldn’t have heard him if he said it during sex, or right after. Maybe I would have right before. But he never had to say that to get me in bed with him. Now I look back and I see him kissing my wrists and it looks more like a Native American ritual. I learned in Elementary school that some Native Americans would thank the tree for its sacrifice before cutting it down. I felt like that tree when he kissed my wrists.

But now there is the nicest guy in the world. And he likes me. And he really likes me but every time I try to like him back there is SO MUCH FEAR. I feel like an abused dog. One that you get so close to petting before at the last second it gets too scared and runs away. My parents were gone and I invited him over. We could have banged. And it would have been….if only you didn’t screw with my chemistry. He is so nice.