I'm writing this on the eve of a two week vacation, and it can't come soon enough. I was mildly entertained by the idea of leaving at first, but now, I NEED to get away.
Tonight, I ended up putting myself in a position to relive recent romantic excursions with my ex. I understand why, but there are two distinct moments in which I felt both immense satisfaction and fullness, and then complete obliteration and grotesqueness. The former, came before things became sexually involved, but at the first kiss. Earlier in the night I had almost cried when I wanted to be close to hir, but fought the urge. The latter, came at the end of the sexual escapades when I asked if this changed anything. I already knew the answer, as I'm sure you all can infer as well.
The two expeditions were separated by a brief period of solitude in a bathroom for me to wonder what the fuck I was doing. I knew what I wanted, but I also knew that the odds of it being how I wanted, were slim. As things became more sexual in nature, I knew early on that things felt different. Compared to earlier during the first kiss when I felt that fluttering joyous panic of happiness, here was only forced interest, routine, mandated petting, and a distinct lack of passion. Wherein I knew that was a sign to stop, I nevertheless charged forward, ignoring my instincts.
Where does that leave us now, well I've cried, and still have a good amount more to go, but after going from regret to shame, to anger, I've felt the quick drain of any love I had there flow out of me only to be replaced by spite and resentment. I feel used, overexposed, taken advantage of, unappreciated, dumb, embarrassed, contaminated, dirty, hurt...just hurt.
Tonight, I ended up putting myself in a position to relive recent romantic excursions with my ex. I understand why, but there are two distinct moments in which I felt both immense satisfaction and fullness, and then complete obliteration and grotesqueness. The former, came before things became sexually involved, but at the first kiss. Earlier in the night I had almost cried when I wanted to be close to hir, but fought the urge. The latter, came at the end of the sexual escapades when I asked if this changed anything. I already knew the answer, as I'm sure you all can infer as well.
The two expeditions were separated by a brief period of solitude in a bathroom for me to wonder what the fuck I was doing. I knew what I wanted, but I also knew that the odds of it being how I wanted, were slim. As things became more sexual in nature, I knew early on that things felt different. Compared to earlier during the first kiss when I felt that fluttering joyous panic of happiness, here was only forced interest, routine, mandated petting, and a distinct lack of passion. Wherein I knew that was a sign to stop, I nevertheless charged forward, ignoring my instincts.
Where does that leave us now, well I've cried, and still have a good amount more to go, but after going from regret to shame, to anger, I've felt the quick drain of any love I had there flow out of me only to be replaced by spite and resentment. I feel used, overexposed, taken advantage of, unappreciated, dumb, embarrassed, contaminated, dirty, hurt...just hurt.
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