It was about this time last year that this happened, so it has been on my mind.
As you probably already know if you read my blog much, I started crying when sex was over after we had been married about ten or twelve years. I felt so miserable, so wretched. The marriage was so empty and it hurt so much emotionally to have sex. And at the same time I wanted it so badly. Actually, what I wanted was to make love, but that is not really so possible without an emotional connection. (I think I have written before about having to make the choice between starving to death or eating poisoned food.)
He did know I cried. Sometimes he would say he was sorry I cried, or he wished he could make it better for me. But I often wondered if he really had any clue how wretched it made me feel.
Last year, about this time, one night he was on top of me and I felt just wretched. I wanted him to stop, to get off, to go away. I wanted to die. I didn’t say anything, though. I just lay there, trying so hard not to cry, trying to stop thinking about killing myself. So, he’s taking his own sweet time and I want to die, and he says, “I wish you could enjoy this.”
He knew. He knew he was making me miserable and it meant nothing to him.
Maybe it sounds like I am holding a grudge. Don’t know. But the moment was so very eye-opening to me. I think that is why it sticks in my mind. That a man could profess to love me and yet treat me this way.
Of course, I have to question myself for letting this go on. So I am not guiltless in this.
Anyway, I won’t ever have sex with him again.
I just want to be gone. To be done with all of this.
I want peace.
And to make love.