is sitting still moving backwards?

"Standing still in stasis" I wrote in my last blog entry.

Well... things are still standing still. But, I don't have much emotional sense of stasis tonight. 

Tonight, it just feels a bit... tedious. Eight months I've been biting my tongue and waiting for her. And tonight I just bit it again.

We were watching a romantic commedy together. I guess that made it a bit harder. You see all this romance and love on screen, and it can be a bit hard to not be a bit inspired! But any inspiration was clearly in one direction only, as she was as cold as an old friend. Which is to say, not cold, per se, but with no warmth at all, either. Like we were flatmates. And, no, it is NOT all about sex. There's no cuddles, no kissing, and not much emotional intimacy, either. Warmth, yes -- the warmth of an old friend; but no more. 

Which begs the question: if you aren't moving forward, are you moving backwards? 

Tonight, it feels a bit like it. 

But there are blessings in celibacy. I am more attuned to my feelings and thoughts around sex, attraction, desire, touch and love. I notice, now, when she ovulates! Not because she tells me, nor because I see it on the calendar, but because I can feel the extra phermonal attraction I have. It can make it very, very hard at times. I have lain next to her in bed, and it was everything I could do to not wrap my arms and legs around her in the sheer desire to hold her and be intimate with her. Last week it was more subtle. I saw her changing into her pyjamas, and I saw her breasts. Nothing unusual there, but it left me far more aroused than usual. And then I remembered what time of month it was, and it all made sense. 

Biologists say she is likely to feel more aroused as well, but you wouldn't guess it to be around her. Who knows. 

When our problems first came up after the birth of our first child about five years ago, she went off to the doctor to check her hormone levels. One came in high: TSH, her thyroid stimulating hormone. It turned out her TSH was in overdrive because her thyroid itself was slowly dying. It is not as dramatic as it sounds, nor is it unusual. She just had low level hypothyroidism, which is one of the hormonal causes of low libido. 

A couple of months ago, I bought her a book on the subject, and she discovered that her thyroid medication might have been a bit low. Apparently they were using the wrong test, and possibly the wrong measure for what "normal" is. 

So her meds were increased, and a month later she was to be retested. But she forgot. Then it was the next week. She was too busy. So then it was the next week again. 

Should I remind her to go and take the blinking test?!? Would it go against my private vow? I did remind her (in as low-key a way as possible), and I think it did not break my vow. She didn't seem to feel at all pressured or nagged. And of course, it's not just about sex anyway. 

So... the test said that her new doseage put all three of her thyroid horomones in the correct range. One was even pushing the high end. 

She did seem to change over the month. She seemed so much happier. Things that annoyed her still got under her skin, but they didn't stay there the way they had in the past. She could brush them off much more readily. She became a lot more emotionally resilient, a lot happier, and a LOT more pleasant to be around. 

But... any whisper of an increased libido? 

No. 

So... now what? For six or so weeks I guess the plan in the back of my head has been to see what happens with this new level of thyroid hormone. Well... she's taken it. Her mood has improved, but her libido hasn't, and -- worst of all -- the test results mean that she won't be increasing her medication again. 

Sadly, the problem wasn't as simple as that. 

So, now I am just waiting again. But no longer with a subconscious hope. I mean, if there is no spark after watching a Ro-Com together... will there ever be? 

I desparately want somehow to find a way to move things along without her feeling at all pressured. That, however, seems impossible. 

I guess that's why a vow is a vow. Because it's hard. There would be no point in making a vow to sleep every night, or to eat every day. I would do those things anyway. A vow becomes meaningful when it is tested. And tonight, today, this week -- it's really feeling tested. 

Eight months down, four to go. 

Lord, give me the strength to wait; the insight to be doing this in the right way and for the right reasons; and the courage to stay the path of what is best for all of us in the long run, and not just what might feel best in the moment. 

standing still in stasis

Hmm. Nothing of interest to report. 

She still has no libido. 

It's not bothering me at the moment. 

We are close, at the moment, but at a stand still. That is, we are not moving closer (which is interesting and exciting for the possibilities to come) nor are we moving further apart (which is dramatic and hurtful and great grist for the blogging mill). 

So... things just sit. 

I'm like the anorexic or hunger striker who finally loses his or her appetite. 

No big deal. 

Well, not today, anyway.     :) 

adult content?

When I had the option to label this as "adult content" or not, I chose to label it as adult. Why? Because of the "next blog" button on the top of the screen. Anyone who hits that button can be landed on some random blog or other. I saw some random blog with pictures of a kid's birthday party, and I thought, "gosh I don't want some kid looking at pics from his party to suddenly end up on this site!" 

Fair enough. 

But I've also seen lots of explicit discussions out there of all kinds of things with no warnings. 

I've also understand that some people come to this site's "adult content warning" page and then immediately leave. 

Am I giving the false impression that this blog is full of explicit images and anatomical discussions? 

I wonder if the "adult content warning" is warranted. (Bearing in mind that I did publish one rather racy post!) 

Any thoughts out there on this one? 

To wish without hoping

So, I was reminded today that abstinence is easy. Until I begin to hope that something will change. It was hard, of course, for the first few weeks and months. Almost unbearably hard at times! To have her right next to me in bed, to breathe her scent, to feel her warmth and yet not to be able to reach out to her, to hold her... 

Yeah. That sure wasn't easy. 

But after a few months it got easier. 

The next hurdle was the special occasions, when I thought she might want to come to me. Christmas. My birthday. Valentine's day. 

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. 

But, since then, I have been clever enough not to hope. I've realised that this is how it's going to work -- or, rather, not work. 

And then the lovely Sungold at Kittywampus asked me what was going to happen at the end of the year. 

It was something that I had considered, but only vaguely. I realised then that I didn't want moving forward to START to happen at the end of my year of abstinence. I really hoped that it would somehow FINISH at the end of that year. That somehow Susan would magically come to me because 365 days of my asexuality was exactly what she needed to get her libido back. And all would be back to normal, or at least moving in that direction apace. 

But of course, six months in, not much had changed, so there was little reason to think that another six months later things would be suddenly different. 

So for that and other reasons, I began to engage her about our relationship. Not about sex, mind you. Just our relationship. 

She hated it. She was willing to talk -- just, but I had to really push her into it. 

Long story short, things have greatly improved between us in all kinds of (non sexual) ways. 

I still have to push her to talk about relationship stuff, but almost every time I do (once every week or two), I feel we make great strides as a couple. 

And this lead me to think tonight that there might be... well, not sex, certainly, but perhaps some spreading of the detante from emotional issues further into sexual ones. 

And there wasn't. She was polite. Friendly. Very good natured. But clearly uninterested in taking any of the opportunities I presented her on a platter to discuss (sexual) things further. 

And there was a bit of that old feeling. A bit of hope that was raised and therefore dashed. 

So, gentle reader, that is my conundrum. How to wish for spring, plan for spring, prepare for spring, but never to hope for it. 

Pulling back is easy, but putting yourself out there without, at the same time, any emotional attachment. Hmm. That's the skill of top salesmen. Buddhist monks. And, perhaps, exceptionally nice young men who are on the dating scene. 

I used to be just such a young man. Perhaps that's a mindset I need to revisit. 

Or perhaps I need to accept that to really put myself out there without hope is perhaps dishonest. And perhaps impossible. 

Perhaps part of my learning for this year is not to learn a buddhist-like skill of wishing without hoping, but rather to learn the resilience of dustimg myself off when hopes have been . . . let's not say "dashed", but rather, "postponed." 

getting better

I'm pleased to say that things are getting better between Susan and me. I got her to talk to me and I felt we made some headway. We didn't talk about sex and all that -- more about general issues in our relationship. Reversing your normal stereotype, she doesn't like to talk much -- least of all about relationship stuff. When she does, she wants it to be quick, efficient, goal oriented, transactional, and finished -- not to be repeated unless for necessary clarification. 

That probably makes her sound quite severe, which she is not. But nor is she the sort of girl who wears her heart on her sleave. 

My intuition seems to have been right. She senses that her sexual abuse as a child might be one of our relationship roadblocks. 

She also seems open to the idea that she is currently suffering from the "wall of fear" that survivors of sexual abuse have when they are worried that old wounds might come up. 

It seems that that is part, or even all, of the reason she doesn't like to talk much. 

So I am trying to coax her along. Not to talk about her sexual abuse, but to open up to me a bit more. I could live (as I've discovered!) without sex. I could (ALMOST) live without cuddles. But living without emotional intimacy too? That's a bridge too far. So I am trying to coax her along. 

It will be a long road. But we will get there. 

One step at a time. 

I'm so embarassed...

So... I woke up the morning after my last post and was struck with waves of embarassment and cringing. Maybe I should edit it? Or delete the whole thing? 

And the odd thing is... this is an anonymous blog! Ok, I haven't chosen a traditional anonymous name, but, let's face it, my name is not REALLY "Mark Faulkner" (surprise!) and my wife's name is not REALLY Susan. 

So... I'm left wondering... why am I embarassed? 

Not sure. The feeling went away after a day.

But it begs another question... why am I doing this at all? 

The irony is, this is a topic I can't talk to friends about. Nor family. A counsellor is a bit inconvenient and expensive for me at the moment. 

So, because this topic -- sex, effectively -- is too racey, too awkward, too uncomfortable to talk about with my very best friends in the world, the only safe answer is to broadcast it to everybody! And somehow that's safer! 

How bizarre! 

Not unfamiliar, though. I once told a complete stranger in a bar something that was highly personal and highly troubling. I think it's often easier that way. 

The paradox, though, is that as I put more of myself into this blog, it becomes more "me". And then I read other people's blogs talking about things of interest. I read them and comment, and I become more invested in this blog and in my identity in the blogosphere. 

I've always been a very WYSIWYG kind of a guy. I don't really have the energy for pretense, game-playing, showmanship, brinkmanship, or any other kind of -ship! The unkind way of saying it is that I wear my heart on my sleeve. Perhaps the nice way is to say that I am in touch with my feelings, and I am an open, straight-forward guy. 

But if I try to bifurcate myself into "real me" and "Mark Faulkner, born again virgin and blogger" then pretense almost inevitably comes into it. 

I think to myself, "what if Sue somehow finds this and reads it?" So I try to change little facts. Things that aren't relevant to the core issues. Enough so that I hope Sue wouldn't immediately recognise herself if she came across this blog. (Not that she would come across it randomly while searching the net... but I did accidentally leave it open on my computer once! Oooops!) 

But then... how far do you go? Should I avoid turns of phrase that I normally use? Should I strip out all the interesting, memorable parts of an anecdote? 

More troubling to me is the thought that I could see myself really getting into this blogging thing. I'd really like to put all sorts of thoughts, feelings, experiences and ideas out there. I'd like to connect with people who've read my blog and whose blogs I've read -- people I've emailed and who have emailed me, people with whom I've carried on a conversation via posting comments on a blog. 

And all of that's fine except that... it all sounds like it's starting to be a double life. Clark Kent and his secret identity: Blogosphere Boy! 

As Blogosphere Boy, will I never be able to tell Lois Lane of all the interesting blogs I've read, and all the blogging conversations I've had? 

As Clark Kent, will I never be able to tell the good citizens of Blogosphere anything that might reveal my "true" identity? 

Hmmm. It's late. I'm tired. A problem to further contemplate another time. 

Apologies for a rather racy post --

Last night I had a dream that Sue and other women were congregating in a parking garage. Each woman was sitting alone in her car, and the cars were not parked close together. It was like a place these women could go to be alone. A place (and a time) that they all knew. 

And (now here's the surreal bit) what were they doing? They had all gone there to use their vibrators. 

This may seem like some sort of twisted male fantasy, but in the dream, it wasn't erotic at all. Not even vaguely titlating. Nor did I, in my dream, see anything explicit. Just a bunch of cars in a dimly lit parking garage. 

I told Sue about it in the morning, and I jokingly asked her if she had been doing that. We had a little laugh about the absurdidty of the idea. And then I wanted to ask her something a bit more. My heart started beating a little harder. I wanted to ask her if... but then one of the kids started screaming and the moment was lost. 

Later in the morning Sue went out to get the groceries, and I had a peek to see if her vibrator had moved. It hadn't. It hasn't moved at all in a week or more. I was beginning to wonder whether I imagined the thing moving in the first place. Maybe it was really just me who was moving it when I dug around trying to find it. Maybe the whole thing was one big misunderstanding. My eyes or my memory were playing tricks on me? Or mabe she just used it very rarely. Perhaps when her period was coming. An ex had told me she used to masturbate to alieviate period pain. 

I went to the laundry basket and found the dress she was wearing last night when we went out for the first time in three months. I held it up and smelled it. I could smell her perfume on it. It was nice. I got in bed and held it against myself. I put it over my face, and the smell came through. I moved it and I could smell her underarms, her muskiness, her perfume. I held the dress over my face, so it was totally dark. But I held it against my body, so it would feel like her. I rubbed it against me and imagined that she was on top of me, grinding her hips into mine. But she wasn't there. She was buying bananas at Krogers. 

This afternoon, I went out to run some errands, and took one of the kids with me. We went to Building Depot and got some odds and ends. We got back late, after three hours of traipsing about. We were late for dinner, and Sue was unimpressed, but it wasn't a drama. 

Later, I noticed something on top of the sweaters under which Sue keeps her vibrator had moved. Not by much, but it had definitely moved. I waited for Sue to be busy with the kids, and then I took my chance and had a look. It was in a completely different place! There could be no mistaking it now, not even a little bit. It had been dug out from the bottom of a big pile; taken out; and put back on its end in a different spot. It was thrown in loosely, and not too hidden, which is very unlike Sue. Had she almost been caught and had to hide it in a hurry? Or was she, perhaps, almost wanting me to find it...

I put everything back how it was and moved away. 

I didn't want Susan to catch me there. 

My heart was beating a bit, and I had some tingling in my fingers. (I have even more now, writing about it!) 

I was upset. I didn't really know what to think. Of course I felt betrayed. 

Later I snuck back a second time and picked it up. I smelled it to see if it smelled of her. But all I could smell was the sandalwood of the shelf it was on. 

Later again I went for a short run. 

I thought she might hide it properly while I was out. 

I snuck my fourth peek for the day. 

Nope. It hadn't moved. 

Is she toying with me? Does she know I look? Is she trying to provoke a reaction, a coment, a confession? Perhaps she feels ashamed, but she wants me to find out... to somehow catch her. 

The grand irony that did not strike me til now is that here we have an (ostensibly) loving couple. They (we) have been together for 10 years. They have two children. The have a life together. A home. A business. And yet their sexual life has devolved to the irony of them both masturbating on the same day, in the same room at different times a few hours apart. Each in secret from the other. He was thinking of her. She was thinking of... well, only she can tell you that. He hopes it was him. Do women fantasize when they masturbate, the way men do? No idea. I would presume so, but so much about our sexuality is so different. 

The irony of a couple... making love to themselves, but not to each other, a loving couple, but an asexual couple. In the same room. In the same afternoon. In ignorance of each other. Each reaching out for physical, sexual, and emotionally intimate needs. But reaching out only to themselves, not to each other. Each hiding their drives and urges, as well as their acations, from each other. The imagery, when I think about it, is overwhelming. It feels so... je ne sais qua. Pinter-esque? Post modern? It feels like it could be a key scene from a late 20th century avant garde play. 

The symbolism didn't even strike me until I began writing this post. 

Later this evening, I asked her if we could talk. 

It was a huge break through, and a huge chance for us to move forward. 

But that, my friends, is another post for another time.