Celibate by Accident

B Side: Wasting the hottest body of my life.

Forewarning, this is one of those “Christina thinks she’s Hemingway” moments and I’m just going to get really wasted and write a million words and eventually edit (write drunk edit sober, you got the reference)…so, if you’re reading this in real time, lucky you.

(Also, alarmingly have already started referring to myself in third person so this isn’t going well at all so far. But lets plow forward.)

I have always had a very interesting, ridiculous and at times, troublesome relationship with sex.

For those of you lucky enough to have gotten some in the hey day, you know what I mean.

For the rest of the world, imagine a girl with the lowest self-esteem trying to earn love and prove her worth through her body. Yeah I know it sounds sad when you say it like that, but I mean… that’s the stuff porn stars are made of. All the jokes about girls with daddy issues, and crazy girls having the best…”skills”…I mean…behind every joke is a bit of the truth. When you truly believe your only worth in life is how well you can perform…you train like an Olympic triathlete to get it down to a perfected science. And man, was I putting hours in the gym.

There isn’t too much I haven’t done, or tried, or continued to do. Against my better sense. Most of the time I didn’t even really want to do half of the things but hey, isn’t that most things in life? I don’t want to work either but I get up and do that every day. Ends to a means. And dammit I loved it.

Not the sex. Sex is sex. (There were a few stand out moments but in general…) But, I loved the ending. The grand finale. The explosion. The feeling of satisfaction I got from knowing I did something amazing. I made somebody feel amazing. Even after doing a disgustingly degrading act, you’ll get a gentle forehead kiss and a snuggle and just feel like a little princess for the moment. (Trust me, I know how this sounds. My therapist could write a book.)

My favorite thing, was using sex to end an argument. Like, welp yeah I might be the worst human on Earth BBBBUUUUTTTTTT…give me just 5 minutes and you’ll love me again I promise.

Until that didn’t work one day. “no, thank you.”

I had an absolute universe ending destruction of a relationship. Like, if it was a Marvel movie, the entire world would literally be crumbling and on fire. Just ginormous buildings crashing to the ground. The pavement splitting into two. Hot lava pouring out of the cracks. Meteors crashing down in the oceans and causing tsunamis. And the camera would pan out to show all of New York City running away screaming from the wreckage. And then there would be me, naked, in a bed, trying to fix it all with one last blow job.

Even I’m not that good.

They say that to love and have lost is better to never have loved at all. I guess I’m starting to believe that; albeit begrudgingly.

After the world exploded, and I was left alone, you would see the camera following me down those same streets. Grey, lifeless. Probably a few drunken bar fights, a montage of police lights flashing, me slumped over at the bar crying, “hit me again Joe” or whatever they say in old movies. I was a cliche of an angry, depressed, lonely, anti-hero. Wolverine maybe? I dunno I’m not an action film gal. But Hugh Jackman has sad eyes so, I’m guessing here. Anyhow. Finally (of course, like any good action flick) a new crisis emerged and my friends had to come back and pull me out of my depression and get me back onto the starship/spaceship/pirate ship whatever, to save the world again.

I started a whole year of “reinventing” myself. and this is where the “I’m grateful this breakup happened so I can change my life” bullshit comes into play. (Please insert Rocky Balboa training montage here.) I’m talking no drinking, boxing daily, running, protein protein fucking protein! Social Media detox, dating detox, life detox. I put myself into a little bubble of healing and swallowed so many self-help books and podcasts that I literally threw up one day listening to Mel Robbins on a walk.

There is such thing as too much healing.

During this time, I’d had zero sex. None. Not even the urge to want to. I finally had to pull out my vibrator one day just to make sure things were still “working” down there. (they were.)

It was just…so much healing really made me evaluate the unhealthy relationship I’ve had with sex for 30 years, and really try to pull back all the layers and figure out what the hell I really want.

Am I a lesbian? (no) Am I asexual? (no) Am I a woman who is literally tired of performing acts like a circus animal for validation and love instead of mutual pleasure. (yes)

So, it was about a year. And then I saw someone at a bar and had the most amazing one night stand ever. Like, perfect night of playing music and talking and laughing and stumbling around the city.

And I did one of those goofy walk of shames the next morning where I was literally skipping down the street. Petting dogs and shit. And you know, I can’t even remember if the sex was good. I’m assuming it was decent enough. But I was moreso happy to know that I wasn’t a total old washed up prune yet. I still have more walks of shame left in me. And I say that with pride.

Far too often we’re taught to be ashamed or embarrassed of the number of partners we’ve had, or the sexual exploits we’ve been a port of. When really, isn’t it just the most natural thing in the world? Isn’t it really just what everything boils down to? From the earliest writings to today: money, power, sex, politics. Things never change that much.

It’s a year later and I eased up on the strict “fix your life” boot camp nonsense. I eat dessert again. I have carbs. I still work out daily, but more for my mental health than anything else. I still think that I’ll never find a love like his again, but I’m at least trying. I’ve been way more social. Dating again. Hanging out with friends. Trying to allow a little bit of the real world into my bubble of peaceful bliss. I feel much happier and more balanced.

But, now I’m again celibate. Quite by accident again. Because online dating is the pits and you know, I don’t have anything to prove. Saving a lot of money on lingerie and bikini waxes.

And hey, who doesn’t love saving money.

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