I fear physical connection because historically in my experiences it comes with the expectation of sex, since my relationship replaced emotional and intellectual connection with sub par sex. Its not a fair trade, even if the sex had been mind blowing it still wouldn’t have been.

Fear of sexual intimacy for me isn’t so much “fear” but guilt. Guilt that I told Joe that my sex drive was dead, when I knew it wasn’t, but that another instance of what he was offering felt like a betrayal to myself and what I was feeling. It was better to swear it off entirely than to keep lying to myself.

I’m emotionally and intellectually starved from a 22 year long relationship.

I would avoid sexual connection entirely if it meant I could fulfill all of the other needs for intimacy. Sex, in whatever shape that takes these days is not something I have a desire to rush into. But physical connection without sexual expectation/obligation would be divine.

Sexual connection isn’t the furthest thing from my mind, but it isn’t at the top of my list of what I’m searching for. I’m open to it if other connections are reinforced first, but I’m not letting myself fall into a scenario where it is used as an alternative to what I really desire.

2 sides of the same coin

2 sets of desires in the same body

Emotional connection, deep, subliminal, unwavering, and raw is what I crave most. Knowing that if I reach out, someone will be there. There to share feelings freely and without fear of judgement.

Physical connection, warm, soothing, grounding, protective, but not sexual in intent.

To be free with sharing my emotions, whether heavy of frivolous, positive or negative, and not have to worry about being too much… that is the dream. And for it to be understood that not every conversation about a frustrating situation requires a solution or intervention… sometimes the best support comes from just letting someone express themselves without jumping in to fix it.

To embrace lingeringly, to cuddle into an embrace that is not my own. To have an ear pressed to my chest hearing my heart hammer, relentlessly tapping out my existence. The weight of another’s body pressing against my own, with trust, acceptance, devotion… dare I hope for love?

Ecstasy feels like a tender unassuming embrace, squeezing and encompassing, the kind that causes a sigh of relief, like the weight of the day is being lifted from tired shoulders. Existing quietly in each other’s space, without expectation or judgement.

None of this is helped by the fact that I’m still trying to figure out exactly who I am supposed to be. Whether reactions are authentically me or if its just another version of performance. The more I think on it the more I wonder if all social interaction isn’t just performance on one level or another.

How do I know that I’m reacting to a scenario authentically as me, as another aspect of myself, or just conforming to what I think is expected?

Moved by changing rhythms, but all moving in the same direction.

An obscured bigger picture, revealed beat by beat but still cloudy and unclear.

Help me lift the fog, burning it away with brutal honesty

What remains is what I log to see. “Patience” is what I’m told, but it isn’t something I can hold.

I need to calm my anxious heart and iron out the wrinkles of anxiety in my mind.

Patience is what I attempt to practice, but uncertainty hurts my brain and doesn’t help me understand or learn, and it isn’t something I can act on.

Help me slow down, show me that there is no place else I need to be, that there is not finish line for me to race toward.