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Hangovers & Heartbreak.

I feel that heartache serves a very potent and intense reminder that you’re still alive – and then subsequently makes you wish you weren’t. This is the first time I’ve felt anything close to a serious romantic connection with someone. I’m not meaning the ‘I’m kind of into you’ way, but more the variety of ‘how did I become this broken, jaded, worm of a creature?’ type of way and it’s exhilarating, albeit painful and kind of stingy – sort of like an emotional STD.

For years I’d be travelling through this sort of emotionally dented region of my life. Where, thanks to medication, I never felt much of anything other than self-loathing and anger. But now, after this new medication has kicked in, I feel as though that part of my life is well and truly over as I can now feel things, like actual things that real everyday people feel. Things like happiness, sadness; rage, compassion and empathy. All of these are making me a lot of more curious about life, to the point where I can no longer watch porn without analysing the possibly abusive childhood some of the stars may have had or how they maybe go home alone, despite all the action they get on set. Emotions have ruined porn for me, but possibly made me a better human so, win some lose some.

So now that I’ve been victim to the venomous sting of love I have realised that my behaviour over the last two/three months has been self-destructive and not who I am. All I want is the warmth of being wanted, but without the terrible flashbacks of dick, balls and spit that play on loop after any sexual encounter. I don’t even like the actual act of sex that much. The string of events leading up to it sure; I like how attentive the guy can be, will he kiss me won’t he. That immediate private bond that is formed when both of us subconsciously agree you’re going home together, as though you’ve been in each other’s lives for years not simply hours (yet somehow you wake up total strangers.) The acceleration of your heart when he touches you, the shudder inducing unbuttoning of your jeans; the not-so-elegant struggle to get out of said skinny jeans. The sweet nothings whispered to each other. All of that I love, but the actual sex itself always feels kind of bland to me, like I’m ramming a sponge into a mason jar. Everyone has had that kind of sex where you contemplate keeping your shoes on in case you need to make a swift exit during the act. I think I am past that stage now.

I don’t want to share another ill-fated evening of lovemaking with someone I barely know, or don’t have any real attachment toward. These nights out that lead to intercourse are an excellent study on how revulsion and low-esteem can lead to desire providing you’ve drank the right amount of alcohol. The events and feelings that lead up to sex are what I’ve been addicted to (an emotional one-night stand.) I am always disappointed with the sex or how hard the guy’s lips are, or how silent they go once they’ve got an erection.  Perhaps this epiphany I’m having is because I am currently sporting a nasty case of heartache. Which I could argue is a just and deserved shot from the cosmic correctional officer that is Karma; a way of balancing out my morally ambiguous behaviour of late. A sign that this on-off sex that’s growing increasing perverse  in its execution isn’t going to bring my anything real.

I’m very fortunate to have a few solid friends in my life. Although they aren’t all at immediate reach – due to distance and the fact that adult life seems to sever certain social ties – but I know they are there, in my universe, patiently waiting to stick a plaster on my next injury. My flat mate is one of these people. He’s one of the best people I have ever met, and I feel that especially this year he’s been a rock to me. A very patient rock that’s somehow manages to pay attention to all my obsequious rants and rediscovery of emotions.  I am thankful to him and to the others that support and continue to support me. There’s another emotion – I can now be thankful.  Sadly, there isn’t an immediate cure for heartache, you just have to, much like with a hangover, to wait it out. So here I am. Waiting, feeling, being human.

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