Well, I’ve made it. I’ve made it to thirty days sober. Not a single drop of alcohol has passed these billowy lips in the last thirty days. And I’ve hated every single minute of it.
Withdrawals are very real, my friends. I don’t get the shakes or the stomach cramps or the headaches but I do get the psychological barrage that comes with not drinking. I think about booze…a lot. Then there are the times I want to cave. I’ve been so tempted to just say “Fuck you” to my friends and girlfriend and run away to drink a liter of rum in some secluded park like a tramp.
I know that sounds silly but it’s very real. Right now I know I’m going to drink again. I know it. It’s just a matter of when. I’m being the good boy for the time being, because I know I have to look as though I put in effort, but I’ll be drinking again in no time. It’s just too hard. It doesn’t feel right. To be honest, I miss the escapism. I miss the floaty, disconnected feeling being drunk gave me. Movies were better, food was tastier…
I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol thing or other outside influences, but the old sex-life has taken a bit of a bruising lately. To be honest, it’s become pretty non-existent.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not because we don’t find each other appealing. Far from. I think it just…dried up. Probably due to life circumstances and whatnot.
I don’t feel very good about it though. I used to be such a sexual being. All titties and fannies. Butt eating? Check. Going down town? Check. Toys? I’ve got you covered. Sauciness? Had it in droves.
It just feels like my depression, hospital visit and, especially, my meds have slowed me down. Which makes me sad, to be honest. We used to have a furious, blossoming sex-life. It used to be wild and unbridled. “Lusty” would be a good word to describe it. Now it just feels that we’ve become…complacent.
But a lot of that is me. If you’ll permit me to overshare, I don’t even…ahem…“self indulge” anymore. I swear my meds snatched up my libido and flushed it down the toilet.
During sex I’m good. Show me some labia and I’m all fired up in the downstairs department. I’m ready to go. Permission to launch and all that.
But actually getting myself ready to be ready for sex is the hard (or not as the case might be) part. I don’t lust as much anymore. And it’s not like I can stop taking my meds. I need them to remain sane. It’s just sad that sex has to suffer.
But then it’s not all me. I think we’ve both hit a rut. We’re both severely lacking in the old love juice department. Of course, my psychopathic paranoia leads me to believe she’s getting it somewhere else but I know that’s not true. It’s just a scenario my brain plays out a lot. I had a vivid fantasy about her and my best friend having an affair the other day. I know, I know; it must be a fucking joy to be with me.
I’m just feeling so…OLD when it comes to sex. Like we’ve slowed down because of age. I’m thirty four! I should be jizzing all over the place and asking to have fingers crammed up my bum.
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