Well it is a week. I feel drained, exhausted and weary. I feel like I can’t do anything right. I feel like a fuck up of the first order. I feel like communication is pointless, tiring, and futile. I feel like if something could be good, I will wreck it. Because I exist. I guess that means I’m not a narcissist.

Noah keeps telling me that all he wants is to be with me. I keep coming back to: but I am so selfish, petty, and small. Why?

We are lost children together. Lost children aren’t usually nice, not as a rule. Lost children are brutal, nasty, and cruel.

That has been my personal experience at least. I’m sure someone else will say no: children are sweet and wonderful.

Sure. Maybe to you.

It isn’t helping that there have been non-dating upsets in the last month too. I feel like dog shit.

My therapist was trying to be cute when she told me that marriage is about doing what your partner wants sexually for the rest of your life. I freaked her out a little bit when I started screaming and flailing THEN WHY IN THE MOTHER FUCK DOESN’T THAT INCLUDE DOING WHAT I WANT?! WHY IN THE MOTHER FUCK DOES BEING MARRIED MEAN I HAVE TO BE A FUCKING FLESHLIGHT?!?!?!?!?!?!? She decided it was time to invite Noah to a session after all these years.

I’ve tried to communicate about this issue. I’ve had calm and reasoned discussions for years. I’ve cried. I’ve explained in great detail how much physical and emotional pain it causes me. And 10 years in I get, “Well I guess I just need to get better at foreplay.”

Burn.Everything.Down.

Recent conversations involved Noah telling me that yeah, part of my initial appeal was that I didn’t have a normal girl’s boundaries. I didn’t say no to things that other girls said no to, because I was habituated. Just yesterday I was paging through a sexual assault recovery book and one of the chapter titles was, “If It’s Painful, It Must Be Sex.” I wanted to put my head through a window.

I am so tired of having my cunt hurt. So tired. So tired. So tired. So tired. I am so tired of being a hole.

My most recent attempt to deal with this was through having sex with other people. Because if I am more regularly stimulated by a lot of people it’s easier to get me going even if the sex is kinda shitty and then it doesn’t hurt me.

But that attempt failed in a big fiery crash.

I am freaking out.

And I’m going to have a hard time with the fact that for the next few months the entire narrative around sex is going to be hurry up and get off so that your cervix is more open for sperm.

Oh. I. Feel. Sexy.

I am not just a hole. I am an incubator who has to hurry up and provide service.

I want the baby. I even like breeder fantasy shit. I’m a sick motherfucker that way.

I’m still having a very hard time. I’m having a hard time with the fact that for most of my marriage my pleasure has been an afterthought at best and often not thought of at all. I’m here to serve his pleasure.

I’m not wired to think that is hot. I feel empty. I feel like I was the child of rape created to grow up and be raped for the rest of my life and it really doesn’t matter how I feel about it.

I’m feeling incredibly sad that I’ve wanted this baby this much for this long and now it will be created under these circumstances.

Shit.

I feel like a fucking asshole because my life is pretty close to perfect. Other than the fact that I have a ton of sex I don’t want and don’t enjoy. It hurts. It hurts physically and it hurts emotionally and I don’t shake it off. Because I owe it to Noah in exchange for him doing chores and being nice to me and the kids.

It’s not like I do other things in trade. It’s not like I’ve managed his money for years. It’s not like I do his laundry or ensure that his car is maintained or clean his house or homeschool his kids. The deal is I owe sex.

And I feel like I am the stupidest whore ever created because I set my rate so low. I give up so much of myself for this. I feel like someone built a bird roost right over my soul. So that I can be shit on all day long as everyone takes flight off to do more interesting things.

I know this sounds melodramatic.

I’ve been struggling with the sex stuff for a very long time. Everything I’ve tried to fix it has failed. Because I can’t make someone else be considerate or care. That has to come from them and Noah has used up his consideration and care outside of sex.

I get what he has to give. This is what there is and he’s doing his best so say thank you and don’t be ungrateful. Don’t you know how much he has done for you? Shut up if your pussy hurts.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

It’s just a pussy. How much can it matter anyway.

I’ve spent a lot of years trying to suppress how much of a problem this has been for me. Really my whole life.

I know how to bed hop and find people who will be nicer to me. I do not know how to inspire it in someone who already has used up their nice putting up with what a fucking bitch I am.

I feel like I should figure out how to be ok hiding in a small dark place then only coming out when I feel like I can behave. And when I’m there I really need to stop smoking so much pot and typing. Because baby.

Just shut up and stop making people feel so fucking inconvenienced. You are too god damn demanding. You want too much. You want a partner who cooks for you and gets you off? Get over yourself you fucking bitch.

It’s not like you do enough to deserve that.

He does get me off sometimes. When I catch him in the right mood and I’ve born enough constant unsatisfying sex that he has some lasting power.

It’s my fault if it goes quick because I haven’t been putting out enough lately. Duh.

If I can’t get off fast enough, that’s my fault and my problem.

I know.

I feel really bad.

The trouble is this resentment builds up and it impacts all the time. It is hard to appreciate Noah’s company when I’m seething or hurting or both.

It doesn’t help my feelings of resentment or seething that I know that if I go too far out of bounds I will be scared until I stop. I am angry that I have been asking to not have someone bang the wall next to my head to silence me for ten years and it is still happening.

I know I’m a contemptible bitch. I put up with the screaming. I put up with a lot of having to agree all the time that you are right and I am wrong and I am wrong and I am wrong. I know that it is the deal.

But I’m fucking tired of the wall hitting. It is scary as shit. You are going to fucking miss and you are going to fucking hit me. The last time was what, 6″ from my head? Don’t fucking act like you have control of this, motherfucker.

You have escalated a lot in your desire to shut me the hell up.

If you need to not hear me so bad get up like a god damn adult and leave the room.

Stop scaring me into silence. You want to find out what it feels like for me to hate your fucking guts? Keep doing what you’re doing.

Yes. You win in the moment. But every battle you win that way loses you long term trust and love and affection.

I’m not saying I’m doing well in how I’m trying to figure out my side winning some of these battles. I’m being a fucking asshole. I know it.

I know I’m scorching earth I need to use to grow crops. I know I’m hurting myself. And so are you.

I don’t know what to do right now.

I’m not talking very much. I’m writing less than usual and after today I shouldn’t write anything big for days again. I’m crying a lot. Like the loser white bitch I am. Recently I was reminded how completely contemptible I am because I’m another crying white woman.

I feel like shit.

Fuck everything.