Workin Nine to Five...

Destructive behavior at its best

Daniel and I would often kid around about how our relationship was on the wild side due to our both being sex addicts. We'd laugh about it and even throw around the term in a manner meant to mock one and other. The very beginning of our relationship was met with a super concentrated physical union. We were easily having sex three times a day at minimum and, for us, this seemed completely normal. Our nights out were always ended with intense kink. For the first month and a half or so we kept the sex to ourselves but eventually we stepped outside of the normal male/female relationship parameters and introduced exaggerated variations of our kink.

In a previous post of this blog, I mention that I was introduced to the group scene via a dude I met on Craigslist. Scouring the Internet was not that uncomfortable for me. I have, indeed, engaged in anonymous sex. This behavior, looking back, was super dangerous but while you're doing these things you don't stop and look around at the warning signs because for the most part, these actions are dictated by something much greater than the sheer desire to cum.

In the Six Feet Under snippet linked to this post, Brenda goes to see a therapist at the push of her friend Melissa who happens to be a sex worker. I chose to include this clip for a few reasons. At one point, Brenda mentions that she thinks she truly enjoys the euphoric feeling she gets from these random sexual encounters with strangers while she is in a monogamous relationship. Save Daniel, I have cheated on pretty much every boyfriend I've had. There was a point in my life that I was allowing my sexuality to dictate the bulk of my decisions. The idea of being in a relationship that was not centered on sex seemed nearly impossible. I was condoning my behavior by stating, simply, that my activities were a result of my desires. It's a rather simple equation; you want something, you get it. Deep down inside, I think I would often wonder whether or not my behavior was out of the norm and time and time again I would condone it by rationalizing the fact that I was simply acting on my raw needs. And, to a degree, this was true. I did have these desires and curiosities and my acting on them made me feel as if I was a step ahead of everyone that was allowing their repression to filter their desires. I was on top of the world in my mind.

Sometime over the last five years or so, I began to question these decisions. I wouldn't say that I was particularly ashamed of myself for having experimented but I am confident in exclaiming that the events took on an unsatisfying air after a while. They just became a bit substandard at their core and I tried, for a long time, to figure out what had changed and why my interest in these self-gratifying events began to dissipate. I still don't really have a firm answer on that.

When Daniel and I went to a group event, I found myself taking a moral inventory of the attendees. I was creating scenarios in my mind of all of their lives and the paths that brought these folks to the same room in which I was sitting. How fucking condescending of me. Of course, none of this was said aloud, but I certainly do remember having choice thoughts about two women in particular. One was the very youngish girl that had come along with a much older man. Her skin was as alabaster as a fucking porcelain doll and her hair as healthy as could be. I would guesstimate her at around 20, tops. I wondered what type of fucked up shit had happened in her childhood to bring her to this event on the arm of a 40+ bi-sexual male with whom she didn't seem to have very much in common. The other area I focused the remainder of my attention on was this socially awkward mid to late 30’s female. It was very evident via the weird small talk we had that she was a very self-doubting woman. She was on the heavier side, probably around a size 14-16, and while I didn’t find her particularly sexy or attractive, she was not an eye sore either. I studied her awkwardly work the room while she was fully clothed and later sat back to watch while she turned into this sex-beast who suddenly exhibited the confidence of Aphrodite. It was a transformation like none I'd ever seen before and all that continued to run through my mind was the sadness I felt for this woman who could only feel strong and beautiful when she was a sexual object. Now, far be it from me to cement any of these observations as real. My opinions are nothing but opinion - and a part of me plays with guilt for even having these types of thoughts but our minds are interesting creatures and they will go where they may. After the get together and my little thought session I turned the tables onto myself and played with the ideas of why I had found myself in this scene at one time. I still participate in these thoughts and I endlessly come up with the same answer: I use sex as a coping mechanism.

When the therapist in the clip above introduces the basic fundamentals of sex addiction she says some choice words. "It involves the sublimation of emotions that are too painful to address". My onset into the world of extreme casual sex came less than a year after the death of a man I was dating for five years intermittently and was sure would eventually be my husband. My entrance into the world of sexual activity at all, came at the ripe early age of 13 and I was unquestionably looking to escape the reality that was my home life. My parents are recovering drug addicts. The word recovering in the previous sentence might as well have a toggle switch because their lengths of clean time vary even to this day.

I have no hesitation declaring that the bulk of my sexual experience was gained via the attempt to not sit down in my own skin and deal with my life. This makes the most sense to me now because as I go through the motions of this break up with Daniel, I have never struggled more with feelings and I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that it is because instead of having a dick in my hand, I am actually allowing myself to go through this. I don't know if I would go so far as to say that I need to attend sex anonymous meetings - but I am positive in exclaiming that avoiding unhealthy sexual encounters is becoming a real struggle for me. I am starting to set myself up to jump back into this behavior pattern and I need to keep a watchful eye on it because this is NOT what I want to revert to. If for no other reason than to have a one-up on Daniel, I cannot go out like that. But, seriously, this has absolutely nothing to do with Daniel. This is about my healing process and I'm proud of myself for actually feeling the pain.

Three days after breaking up with me, I spotted Daniel on a strictly-sex site looking to hook up. He'd been staying at a friend’s place over in Washington Heights and I noticed that his 'location' on the site had been changed to reflect his current whereabouts. I was hurt, obviously, but more so I was actually a bit stunned that he would so quickly revert to this behavior. We'd discussed our sexual exploits and repeatedly he'd mentioned that he did not want to go back to being "that guy". Here I was in our apartment, drowning in a bed of tears, looking at the online profile of "that guy". It was heart breaking on a number of levels. Even now, nearly two months have gone by and I can't help but check his online status on that site every now and again. He's still active, still seeking hookups. I went and looked further today - and found that he now has a match.com account, too. I was joking with a friend of mine after having read Daniel's Match.com profile and said "He's going to make me go out and suck a dick, and I don't want to do that!". The real joke is that I don't know how untrue that statement is.

I have not had sex with anyone since Daniel which may honestly be the longest period I've been without intercourse in over 10 years. It's a conflicting feeling because a part of me is missing the intimacy that comes along with intercourse. I want to have someone’s hands running down my post-coital flesh. The issue with this is that anyone that I would fuck right now doesn't do the snuggle thing. It'd be strictly sex and I am just not 'there'. Reading Daniel's Match.com ad had me nearly in tears. It's my own fault for looking, obviously - but the Internet will test your limits if nothing else. I am just 'not ready' for the next steps and I suppose that means I'll need to hold off on getting my rocks off accordingly. This is difficult.

Rebounds can be a good thing. Rebounds deflect and I need deflection. I want to nerve up the energy and resources to build my own damn Match.com account - or at least to go out to a bar, or actually attend one of those meetup.com meetups. Why the fuck did I even join if I'm never going to attend an event? Pointless! I suppose my process is one that will work at its own pace. And, I need to make certain that I don't lose sight of the fact that I am not the one with active sex accounts looking to hook up. Typing that sentence prompted me to check his online status - what do you know? Online! I have to stop that, seriously.

The Invisible Woman

About two months before my and Daniel's actual break-up, we decided to sit down and make a winter project out of watching Alan Ball's wildly awesome HBO series, Six Feet Under. I have seen the series from start to finish two or three times. Daniel, however, stopped watching right around the last season because he thought it got too campy and novella-ish. I think it is without question the smartest and most interesting series ever to grace the tube.

I was flicking through the channels one night and saw a mini Six Feet Under marathon. I was so excited I could've jumped up and down right there. I eased into the marathon and before I knew it I was once again completely engrossed in the lives of the Fisher family. There is always an over-abundance of tears that comes along with watching Six Feet Under. The identification process I go through in nearly every episode often makes me feel as if the show is speaking directly to me. This was true not only the first two times I watched the series but especially so during this winter project.

The random episodes on cable picked up somewhere around where Lisa goes missing. If you're a fan of the show, I don't need to remind you of the particulars as it seems they have a way of sticking to your ribcage the way day old oatmeal sticks to a dry dish. If you're not a fan of the series or you're just generally unfamiliar with it, I cannot stress enough what you are missing. This production will have you on the edge of your seat - not through suspense, but through sheer pain. We, as human beings, cannot look away in the face of tragic events. Think of the rubbernecking phenomenon - The Fisher family of California experiences accident after accident after accident but they do so in the same manner as us. The characters depicted on this show are all someone we know in reality. I, after watching it numerous times, am still undecided as to who I relate with the most. There are so many attributes of each of their scripted characters that I find in myself on any given day. There are sluts, liars, manic depressives, over-bearing under-trusting matriarchs, soul-searchers, and art lovers. There are episodes that delve deep into drug use, sex as a coping mechanism, prostitution, love, loss, pain, fear, abandonment, abuse, etc. I could go on and on. The interesting thing is that with that huge laundry list I just threw out at you comes only five-Fishers. There are very important peripheral characters as well, but the cast is not as vast as you would expect it to be for a show that covers every fucked up thing about humanity I can think of. I cannot say enough good stuff about Six Feet Under.

I had an idea a while back that was prompted one evening when Daniel and I were camped out in front of the T.V. somewhere around the second season of SFU. It was actually probably more of an epiphany than an idea but either way it has haunted me since and I need to put it out into the universe. There were some things happening on the screen and the dialogue was, in the Six Feet fashion, strong and riddled with guilt and pain. The conversation was directly related to loss and how we, as human beings, deal with it on varying degrees. I peered over at Daniel while the characters delivered their lines and looked for a hint of recognition or at least an indication of cognizance as it related to the subject matter at hand. There was nothing from him - He might as well have been looking at a blank screen. It was at this very moment that I realized our winter project was actually a primer.

The ultimate demise of my relationship was being narrated by the Fishers.

I acknowledged this to myself and somewhere in that split second the reason for my flowing tears switched from identifying with a television show to recognizing just what was happening in my living room. I didn't mention anything to Daniel at that point but I did throw out this idea to him later on and once after our actual break-up. I told him that I was going to document our relationship and my life as it relates to episodes of Six Feet Under, and that's exactly what I intend to do.

I'd like to start with The Invisible Woman; Emily Previn.

Tonight while I was washing my single dish, single pot, and single glass after I had a dinner of Turkey Franks and Vegetarian Beans (I had a craving!), I couldn't help but realize that I am quickly falling back into 'alone' Kitty. My days are repetitive and structured. Monday through Friday, I am up at 6:15am to the scent of the timed coffee which finished brewing only a moment earlier. I use the bathroom, greet the cat with some good-morning nuzzles and prepare his breakfast, and turn on the television to NY1. I have my coffee while I apply my make-up for the day. During make-up time, I obsess over what I will wear to work. I pack my lunch at about 7:15 and no later than 7:25 I am out the door and onto the Manhattan bound train. I'm at my desk from 8:30AM to 4:30PM. Most of this time is spent fucking around on the Internet, writing entries for this blog and various other publications for whom I am a contributing editor, and generally slacking off. By 6pm at the latest, I am back home. I change, greet the kitten, and prepare my dinner. Today was no different than everything I just described except instead of watching television or playing on the Internet after I had dinner, I studied and did practice tests for my exam this coming Friday. As I washed my dish(es) this evening, I couldn't get the thought of Emily Previn out of my head. She was dead a full week before anyone noticed she was gone and it was only via a horrific scent that her management company notified the authorities.

Ruth Fisher has some what of a mental breakdown in this episode because she is faced with the idea of being Emily and dying alone. She considers the fact that she, too, may be invisible. And, tonight - I sort of felt the same way.

When I came in from work this evening, on the steps leading up to my new apartment was a big yellow envelope with Daniel's handwriting on it. He sent whatever mail hadn't made its way to my new apartment via the USPS Forwarding order I completed weeks ago. I opened the envelope and thought that maybe there would be a small note from him wishing me well or something. With the exception of a letter from my old college, the envelope was filled with complete junk mail. There was a Val-Pak in the envelope and I wasn't sure whether to be surprised that he included that or to smile because he may have sent it knowing that whenever I got Val-Pak when he and I lived together, I got a little excited. What?! I like to save a buck!

Am I so invisible, like Emily, that Daniel couldn't even bother to include a note as a means of good fortune? In all seriousness, I don't believe I am like Emily. I have friends and if they didn't notice I was missing then the Internet would. The frequency with which I use Social Media
is a little ridiculous. But, I do feel like my life is sort of similar to hers in that I have my dinner alone most nights. It's lonely, and it's sad. I don't enjoy being single Kitty as much as I do Kitty who gets to take care of her man.

The Invisible Woman episode also finds Brenda joining her Shiatsu client Melissa as she turns a trick for a dude who is into exhibitionism. Exhibitionism: there's a topic for a later date!