This was written a few nights ago. I’m going to cut it from the page because it’s a bit … not graphic, but … personal.And fuck I can never recall how to use the cut and I lost all I typed out. So trying again …
I am Dead Inside.
After sex. Sometimes it was good. And sometimes it felt like being used. So I died.
I lay there for sometime [afterward] feeling no emotions. I could feel the come dripping down my leg. There was an awarness from him [our partner] that something is not quite right. There is an unspoken wish that I get up and exclaim the goodness of the sex. But, I am not in my body. I cannot make these things happen.
Finally I do move. Sitting on the toilet, wiping my vulva dry- a chore I’ve always hated. For some years as a kid I did not. I hate this part of myself. Then again is it really part of me? I don’t feel like my body is attached.
I put purple Hanes on -bikini cut. And a white cotton dress that I use for pajamas when the weather is hot. There is an irony there. Donning virginal white. I think it might amuse me elsewhere.
There is a sadness. Loneliness. Isolation. I cannot explain. No one wants to hear that sex ends like this- sex with them ends with such …- unhappiness. With being checked out of the body. Even when I explain it’s not the OTHER body, person who caused it fully. No one can understand the experience. And I do not have the energy or ability. I cannot explain.