Today was a bit of a scream fest in joint therapy. The therapist got to the point of saying, “I’m hearing this as non-negotiable.”

I’m trying to figure out how to talk about what is non-negotiable here and historically speaking I have not been willing to talk about it at all so the fact that I’m getting to the point of being an asshole and maybe saying more than I should is complicated. Historically the problem is that I won’t say enough about this topic. When I start arguing I’m being nasty.

I don’t know how to have these boundaries.

I have not been good at saying no to sex I don’t want. I have not been good about saying, “Yes today is a good day.” I’m shit at this. Beyond picking up a new person or avoiding them… I’m utter shit at these boundaries.

It is hard to not feel like our sex problems are all my fault. If only I could communicate better then it would be easier for Noah.

I know things have improved. I know you are trying. Yeah, trying doesn’t cut it when I still sustain damage.

I don’t think Noah only has terrible sex with me where he is selfish. I really don’t. I have not tracked these things largely on purpose. I don’t want to see him that way. If I could have tracked, once upon a time, that 70% of our sex life was really crummy for me that would have been super duper hard. At this point it isn’t 10% of our sex life that is shitty. I know. I know it has improved. I know you are trying.

“But it only happened once this month and I worked so hard at getting you off the other times.”

You did. And I sound like an ungrateful bitch.

After years of not knowing what I was going to get from sex, whether it would be pleasant or painful and awful, I don’t relax for the first several minutes of intercourse. I’m tense and paranoid that it’s going to be over in under two minutes and I’m going to be left with a sticky ripped up cunt and that’s what I get.

I know you have been much better for a long time. I’m still scared. Because only happening once a month means I can’t stop being scared. Intermittent reinforcement is a much better teacher than constant reinforcement.

It isn’t fucking fair that I’m so wounded by all this. But after so much sexual assault the fact that a lot of my marriage has involved a ripped up cunt…

I’m not handling this any more. I’m just not.

It isn’t fair that this one issue is so big for me. It really isn’t. I know how hard Noah works to support me in a variety of ways. I feel like the biggest ungrateful bitch on the planet. Does it really matter so much if my crotch burns and itches? Really?

Yes. Yes it fucking does.

It does. It does. It does. If I matter at all it fucking matters that I should not have to submit to sexual contact that hurts me.

Noah keeps telling me that if it would make me feel better I could hurt him sexually. No. No that wouldn’t make me feel better at all.

I’m angry and resentful and all kinds of other feelings. I may feel some desire for revenge in a way… I definitely think I’ve been stomping my feet and screaming, “My sexuality matters TOO” in a way that has not been kind or considerate.

But what I want is more pleasure for me not more pain for Noah to get even. Even the idea of that makes me so sad.

It isn’t fair that Noah can get me off 24 times in one go round of sex and that doesn’t make up for the times when he fucks me without warm up. It isn’t fair at all. It should make up for it.

Noah has gotten way better at noticing, “Oh shit I shouldn’t have started” and he is withdrawing without completion. Which is awesome for the itching and… does nothing for the burning if I’ve already torn.

So he’s trying. He really and truly is. He has made steps towards greater consideration that are not about me stomping up and down and screaming and saying be considerate. I see that.

But it still burns. And after 32+ years and counting of my cunt burning because men want access to it…

I’m so broken.

I have no more give left. I am out of consideration and patience. I’m out of forgiveness. I need this to god damn stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

I feel like somehow there was something that changed in some substantial, structural way on the road trip. I had such an extensive break from sex I didn’t want that it changed how I felt. I wanted sex I didn’t get on the trip. The sex I had with Noah was great. When he was with us on visits we had as much sex as we could arrange and I’m not complaining about how that went.

And then I came home and it happened again.

And I fucking lost it.

And I started fucking everyone.

And Noah fucking lost it.

And here we are.

I know that part of this change has to come from me. I have to find words in the most small and scared place I have in my mind. That is excruciatingly difficult.

Know how I have a torrent of words most of the time? I did that to myself. I overcame the desire I had to be silent because no one wants to hear from a loser whore anyway. Now I have to find it in me to believe that when someone wants to have sex with me and I don’t want it I can say no in the moment and not be raped.

I don’t think there much of my subconscious that is ready to take that risk.

I don’t say no.

There is this huge problem in needing to know that the person you are married to can rape you.

Now I know.

I know.

I’m scared.

Should I be scared?

Cue hysterical shrieking laughter.

I’m a monster married to a monster. I know what I did to myself.

But he’s the nicest god damn monster I’ve ever met. I consider my life to be supersaturated with monsters so I’m actually doing some comparing and judging here. Hell, I think Noah is nicer than most “nice people” I know.

He’s something.

Noah is nicer to me than any other person on the planet. I feel like an ungrateful bitch for complaining about him. But the sex without prep has got to god damn stop.