Let’s talk about Sex

Disclaimer: I’m going to be talking about sex. If you have delicate sensibilities; I will offend them. You’ve been warned.
Let’s talk about sex. **Cue that awful song**
Now that I’ve gotten that stuck in your head. Moving on.
Because it’s been on my mind a lot lately: Sex. Borderline Personality Disorder has something of a reputation. Part of the stigma surpassed only by Histrionic PD.  Sexual Impulsivity and Promiscuity. 
I don’t do things by halves. I either have no partner, or I seem to open myself up to the world of them. I am either completely abstinent or completely promiscuous. I enjoy sex. It’s fun, it’s hot… it’s pretty much impossible to do alone. Which makes it comforting. Until the thoughts of my partners motives begin to intrude into the warm cloud of lazy euphoria that flows through my body after a wild romp.
My feelings are mixed. I love it, and I hate it. I am constantly at odds with myself over what I want. Sex, is not intimacy. Intimacy is frightening. Sex, on the other hand, is a comforting diversion. A substitute of sorts. The appearance of closeness, the act of closeness, with the ability to distract from actual emotional closeness.
Borderline Personality Disorder is a disorder of emotional dysregulation that affects relationships and the ability to control your behavior. It’s not surprising that this would also have a major impact on our sex lives. How it affects our sex lives can vary though.

Research has demonstrated that women with BPD tend to have more negative attitudes about sex than women in the general population. For example, women with BPD report more mixed feelings about sexual relations, and are also more likely to feel pressured to have sex by their sexual partners. In addition, women with BPD report more general sexual dissatisfaction. Much less is known about how BPD affects men’s attitudes about sex.

There may be a number of reasons for these more negative attitudes about sex. First, many women with BPD are survivors of child abuse, which may contribute to overall negative reactions to adult sexual experiences. Also, women with BPD are more likely to experience a great deal of conflict in their relationships, so they may feel less positive about sex because relationships in general feel less fulfilling.”

My attitudes about sex are far from negative. I love sex. My attitudes about my partners and how I relate to them afterwards, well, those might shift. Talk about a discrepant mentality. I distrust peoples motives when they try to get close to me. Especially with men (sorry, guys) I’m fairly certain that I’m only wanted to be used. I don’t actually want to believe this though, but in order to figure that out sometimes I test the waters to test my theory, only to be disappointed when the men I know are not chivalrous and chaste. What do I really expect? Someone that just wants to be friends with me for my mind? I’ve proven my own theory true so often, but would it have been proven if I hadn’t have pushed? It’s never a plan though, it’s almost always in the heat of a moment. One that I wish I had thrown a bucket of water on in the end.

So it seems to me that there is healthy sex, impulsive sex, promiscuous sex, and avoidance of sex. Healthy and avoidance I’m not as familiar with so we’ll save those for their own post. Over the next couple days I want to explore this issue further.  

Memoirs on a Sunday: Confessions

Ok, maybe not a lot of sex, but definitely some confessions. 
Friday was my usual night hanging out with Friend. Last week things got a little, familiar. I’d asked him to rub my neck, which he did, along with my back, lower back, butt, thighs and calves. Basically a full body massage, but then just relaxing back at the end of it, he sat close, much closer. The way he touched me bordered on, inappropriate, but not quite. The hint and promise was there. The voice in the back of my mind, laughing at his reactions to me was there too. She’s a vindictive little brat sometimes, but she’s strong and she likes to stay in control. Which she did. Watching him squirm as he pressed himself next to me. She laughed. I knew…. This wasn’t going to go anywhere. I knew.
I’m playing a game here. Except I can’t play this game. Part of me still wants him. A lot of me definitely wants him to want me. Which he can’t have but he does want. It amuses me to give him a glimpse of what he can no longer have. I want to drive him just a little bit crazy, teasing, except I can’t stop myself from going a little crazy too. Therapist thinks this is part of the reason I spun down so hard earlier this week. This is making it very difficult for me to move on. Very difficult to maintain my boundaries, my sanity, when the messages I’m given are so crossed and confused I can’t settle into my own skin, just want to crawl out of it.
This is beyond unwise, not to mention unhealthy. Who needs mental health? Oh, wait. I am also starting to get the twinges of guilt. Lady Friend and I are progressing nicely, we’ve passed that first time together so I feel more comfortable in our pace. We’re not ‘official’ or whatever the kids are calling it these days, but I foresee it in the not so distant future. I’m trying to hold off until after I go on vacation to formalize anything. Why? Honestly? Because I plan on being as uninhibited as I please and I want the freedom to do it. Unfortunately my conscience seems to have other plans for me.  I’m starting to feel those tendrils of attachment reaching into the lighter areas of my brain that tell me I have a good thing and not to fuck this up. That’s the challenge now isn’t it. Not fucking it up. 
Yesterday was another testament to my inability to not fuck with myself. Myself? Maybe I should consider those around me while I’m at it. I mean to. I swear it, but it happened anyways. 
Yesterday after getting no sleep and having incredibly violent mood swings I calmed down enough to make food for Club Boi’s Baconpalooza party. It’s a thing, just go with it. Yes, I’m strict vegetarian, but I cook meat for friends. No, I can’t try any of the dishes I made. 
Backstory: Club Boi and I have known each other for almost a year. We met on vacation last year. He was very obviously crushing on me (though he was with his current live in girlfriend unbeknownst to me) and one night after a rowdy night of partying he kissed me. That’s it, just kissed me, though he made it obvious that he wanted there to be more time spent. I latched onto Friend for ‘rescuing’ and found myself disentangled, reentengaled, otherwise entangled? Frying pan. Fire. Jump. All in the past. Club Boi and I from then on are only friends and one I keep at arm’s length-ish. We’ve been chatting more as our paths cross lately, and I’d hoped he’d gotten over his crush in almost a year so I didn’t think it was much of an issue. So there’s the background. 
Back to the party. I was, um, colorful ::grins:: the entire time. As soon as I got there I cracked my bottle of wine, put my dancing shoes on, and found my groove. I had all kinds of anxiety about the size the party was supposed to be (too many people are not good for me), the fact that my moods were mode shifting like mad… but it was fine. I drank, and drank, and had a nice continuous mellow buzz the entire time. No sloppy drunk, but definitely loosened up and relaxed. Almost happy. Dancing. People watch me dance, I’m hard to miss. Even if I’m just swaying to a beat, my motions are so fluid and I have hips that are hard to miss. I’ve mentioned before I was a stripper for a time, but even without that kind of dancing I seem to attract the attention various men and women in the area. No one else was dancing, not really. I didn’t care. I was in my own little world. Where that world was I have no idea. I felt like I was watching someone else pilot my body. I dissociated hard, but not in a way that was unpleasant, if that makes any sense. Alcohol doesn’t help. It exacerbates the problem if anything but anywhere is better than being stuck in my own head in the middle of a crowded party when my mood was boarding on Hulk Smash earlier in the day. And it was nice. Nice, mellow, free, floating, and somewhere outside of my Self.  
Lady Friend showed up eventually which helped get some of the men to back off. Some. Can someone please explain to me why guys continue to hit on a woman who is clearly with another woman? Doesn’t that just seem futile? Maybe I should have been a bitch, but in general I’m just not. Not unless I have to be, and I certainly had no need then. So Lady Friend and I cutes-ified it up all night. Me dancing, watching Friend watch me as he sat next to his lump of a wife. No, he’s not subtle. I was amused. And distracted. I haven’t quite hit familiarity with Lady Friend yet. It’s so disconcerting to look into the eyes of someone you’re sleeping with and recognize them but feel no connection to them. I see these liquid blue eyes staring back at me, but on some level I don’t recognize them, haven’t internalized them. There’s no ‘mine’ there, yet. She’s still very separate from me and I don’t know how to make the switch in a relationship that’s healthy. Not that I’ve had much opportunity to try. I really want to try this time. I’m worried about what it will take though. What will be the thing that jolts me into bridging the gap between our collective presences. ::sigh:: Therapist says I need to stop worrying about the future and just enjoy the time we spend together. It will happen when it happens and that’s going to be in its own time. If I fret about the ‘when’ then I will forget to enjoy the now. Which will only make it harder for that potential ‘when’ to arrive. ::double sigh:: Why can’t I predict the future already?!? Grumble. 
Finally after we’d gone out for real food I drove Lady Friend home. I had every intention of going home myself but realized that I was still a little too, um, well drunk, to drive. So I went back to the party to try and sober up. Bravo to me I say. There was a time not too long ago that I would have seen that 0.12 on my purse breathalyzer and said ‘screw it’ it’s only a 45 minute drive. That louder girl in the back of my brain reminded me that in fact, No, I did not want to potentially spend another night in jail due to drunk driving. I learned that lesson. We’ll let that be a story for a different day but know that lesson was most certainly learned. So here’s to learning from my mistakes. Cheers. I went back. 
In my mind I had this perfect idea of kicking off my clothes (I was wearing a bathing suit) jumping in the channel and floating in the water, smoking a cigarette, chatting with Club Boi. I got my wish, exactly. The party had quieted down. The water was serene and gentle. The only light from lanterns reflected on the water. Just me and Club Boi chatting in the water by the glow of my Turkish cigarettes. For just a moment, when I wasn’t floundering to stay afloat, I felt connected. It’s those small, tiny, moments that I look for. Those moments that bring me down to earth and ground me as I braced my feet on the side of the dock. We were reminiscing about last vacation and a private view that I’d shared with him, and the potential for this upcoming vacation (yes, me and all of my friends take one giant vacation together. It’s really pretty amazing). The wind had picked up to bring just a bit of a chill. As we huddled closer and closer together I should have seen the kiss coming. I hadn’t been expecting it, not really, not with his girlfriend right in the house. But there it was. And again. And again. I don’t know why I didn’t stop him right away. I honestly don’t. I’m not attracted to him in that way…. But I like that he’s attracted to me.  In those tiny little moments, I’m in those moments. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but for someone that dissociates as hard and as constantly as I do, I cling to them. The attention is nice too. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think so. How stupid can I be? I only feel mildly guilty about Lady Friend. Slightly more guilty about his girlfriend, whom I like a lot. More concerned about the amount of trouble I’m potentially setting myself up for. I have no idea how I’m going to get myself out of this when the time comes that we are actually alone on vacation together. 
I feel better when someone is touching me. It’s harder to lose my hold on reality when someone is helping to hold me here. Maybe that’s why I don’t care. Or don’t care enough to not do what I do. It’s disconcerting. He’s just using me.  Or trying to. I know that. What I don’t know, is why I allow it. I know I shouldn’t be so permissive, but I can’t seem to help it. Don’t want to help it, while at the same time….
I asked to get out of the water, feigning cold and chill easily enough. We dried off and I went to crash on their couch for the night. He actually came in to sort of tuck me in. It was touching really. If touching me hadn’t been his goal. He gave me a quick kiss goodnight before I passed out completely.
I wish I had a better explanation than “I’m being slutty”. I don’t often have the opportunity because I’m relatively anti-social. I don’t know. I don’t really think that’s it. I’m just, a mess of a human being. And yes, I do need attention. I need to not be alone. Surprise. 
I do what I do and I don’t always know why.
I wish I did.
And that was most of my weekend. ::sigh::

More sex… Criteria 4/ Impulsive Behavior Part 9b

Sex. Attraction. I don’t really have a type of person that I’m drawn to, but I do tend to like more assertive people. More aggressive. I like men that can take charge and challenge my dominance or strong women with soft well trimmed features that give me a run for my money. That softness, femininity coupled with an inner strength appeals incredibly. There’s something in being with a woman that I don’t get with guys. A connection. I don’t believe that sex should be meaningful, but there should be some kind of connection, even if it’s just for a night or two. Some spark of excitement. Heat. Intensity. Some thing that attracts. Without that kind of attraction sex becomes pretty pointless for me. I could do more for myself without exerting so much effort. This is probably why I don’t just jump into bed with anyone to feel something. Most people don’t have substance enough to hold my attention, connection.

I love being maimed during sex. Tooth and nail, biting, scratching… marked. The best sex is rough. The best foreplay is fighting. I had a friend that I used to spar with (I never actually screwed him). We would beat the shit out of each other but the sexual tension was palpable. I’d wake up covered head to toe in deep bruises and feel like I just had a night of the greatest sex. Of course, everyone else was horrified at my bruises but I loved them. Marks of an evening well spent.

Oh that’s not to say that sex can’t be good if it’s not rough, it definitely can be, but that’s what really gets my blood flowing. Sometimes literally.

I don’t really understand why I like things that hurt me. When I can throw all of my repressed emotional turbulence into the heat of a moment I feel free. It’s fun, exhilarating, almost intoxicating. I like dangerous things and the adrenaline rush. I guess that’s something I should work through with my therapist. Maybe I’m really just an adrenaline junkie. Does it really matter what society thinks at all? Sometimes it makes me sick, why does it mean there’s anything wrong with me? Maybe I’m just more in tune with myself, less repressed than the rest of society. It’s them that are all stuck and jammed down, I’m more free. Who the hell knows….

Sex… Yes, Please. – Criteria 4 / Impulsive Behavior Part 9

Sex. Being promiscuous.
This is one of the trademark Borderline attributes. There’s no point denying that this is one of my ‘issues’. So I won’t. I love sex. I am a very sexual, sensual creature. I love the flirting, the game of it all. Seeing what get’s people going and what each button does. It doesn’t take a whole lot to get me to bed… if you’re a woman. I have a lot of issues with men. It takes me a very long time to warm up to a man, if I do at all. And I never sleep with more than one guy at a time, if I choose to sleep with men at all. Now, women on the other hand.
I love the feel of women. The soft curves, the delicate scent. They way their body hugs my own, how our curves fit together. I can see an attractive woman and just KNOW that I want her. This doesn’t happen with guys, I never just see a guy and think he’s good looking enough to jump in bed with. Sex with men is invasive, a violation. It takes a long time for me to get past the point where the idea of having sex with a guy no longer feels intrusive. Even then, I believe men just want to use me for sex. Some part of me always resents men afterwards. With very rare exception, I will never be convinced that men don’t have ulterior motives when befriending me. I’m always suspicious. Oddly it doesn’t bother me when women do this though. Maybe because there’s always been more there, something deeper. I’ve had no truly traumatic experiences with women.
I have with men. Consequently, sex with men has all the appeal of getting stabbed in the vag with a blunt object. Or maybe the men I’ve managed to fall into bed with are just boring. Oh, not always. There have been a few to get past my walls, and curl my toes, but most don’t have the patience for this and that’s just fine by me. With women there’s an equality I don’t generally feel with men. A natural ease and flow.
But, sex, I do so love sex. It’s one of the few times it’s absolutely appropriate for me to lose any hold of my rational mind. Sex is heat, passion, intense. I FEEL, and only feel. Sex turns off my brain and just lets my body go.
One of my greatest weaknesses is simple human contact. Just touching me makes me feel more connected, less dissociated. With my dissociative disorder I process emotion from a different place. As mentioned before I can either Think about my emotions, rationally but detached from actually feeling them, or Feel my emotions but lose hold on the rational mindset that tempers them. If it’s someone I’m close to, intimate with, physical contact is like a life line tethering me to reality. Sex amplifies this; times a thousand. Fully physical, and fully connected. It’s a heady experience to say the least.

It’s no small wonder I want to reach for this feeling. If I’m attracted to a woman I won’t think twice before wanting to sleep with her. There will be no doubts. With men there are always doubts and suspicions at first. This doesn’t mean I always jump in bed with women though. Attraction to me is not just physical appearance. It’s attitude, demeanor, intelligence, personality. You can be the prettiest person on the planet but if your attitude sucks I’ll have zero attraction and want nothing to do with you. But if a person is able to stimulate my mind, my intellect, as well as my sex drive, the melding is intense. Pulling all aspects of me together. It’s about as close to spiritual experience as I get.

Generally the more interested I am in a person, if I want to cultivate a relationship or there are other circumstances I will take things slower. I know what it is to be used, and I don’t want to leave anyone that I could care about with this feeling. That doesn’t mean it’s not on my mind though.

I love to talk about sex, wrap myself in the idea and play of it all. In sex I’m free to feel. There’s no disconnect because I’m feeling when I SHOULD be feeling. I don’t feel myself two feet to the left of the situation because it’s appropriate for me to let loose. When I can throw logic to the wind and let my blood pump, my body connect, my inhibitions are lowered in the flood gate and finally I can just feel. Everything