What I Couldn't Say Until Now

Living Journal. Entry 6.2

No matter who you are and what you’ve done. You deserve good sex.

If you are in a sexless marriage. You don’t have to stay there.

It is NOT your job…

To weather the infinite desert of dried-up parts. To be a “good” person. To stay together “for the children.” Your children know without knowing. What’s not there. The deafening space between words.

It is not your job to try harder. To make it work. The World will tell you it is. I am here to tell you: Override the World. Pull the System out of your legs like varicose veins. Walk through life like you chose it. Fuck like you chose it, too.

It is not your job to submit your sweet, soft body to sex you don’t want. To sex that makes you close your eyes and dissociate. Think of someone else. Float above your body and will the five thick minutes up.

Please please. I beg of you. Do not override your Instinct. Your First Nature. Your Inner Smoke Signal. The Wisdom of The Body is all you need. It will lead you home to yourself. To a Life so sweet and tart, it will melt like Heaven on Your Tongue.

There is nothing wrong with you.

There is nothing wrong with you.

There is nothing wrong with you.

You are not wrong.

You are not wrong.

You are not wrong.

There is a Third Door.

There is a Third Door.

There is a Third Door.

It’s ok if you can’t see it yet. For years, I could not. How will I make it on my own? How will I take care of myself? How will I survive? There is a Third Door. One you haven’t considered yet. An opening you can walk through. A Portal to Another Side of Things.

I know it’s there. Because I’ve walked through it.

You don’t have to do anything today. You don’t have to drop cherry bombs into all the toilets in the boys’ bathroom. You don’t have to blow this joint. You only have to stop lying to yourself. To tell the truth about your wound. To speak the discomfort out loud into forgiving trees with the vocal cords of a lead or ink. To release the burden to a trusted friend or mentor over coffee or text.

This shit is so fucking heavy to haul on your own. Sex is taboo. We should have it all the time between every line of the “Life Contract” we signed ten years ago. We should not talk about its liquids or juices or slickness or sorrow or Divinity. Just to say that we have it a lot. That we do it like rabbits. That it’s always mind-blowing. Maybe it is.

Maybe it isn’t.

I can’t tell you what to do. I can only tell you what I did.

I can only tell you that year after year, it did not get better. Despite the urgings and insistence of the people around me. I can only tell you that there was no hatred or badness or evil present on either side of an arrangement that simply wasn’t compatible. I can only tell you that telling the truth saved my life. That telling the truth has saved my life at every juncture. That telling the truth is a Direct Vein to The Sacred. To Yours. To Mine. To Ours. All.

I’m out of time.

But these are the things I wasn’t Brave Enough To Say Until Now.

I am rooting for you. I see you. I am you. I love you.

Your Rosie