Underneath my yellow skin

New year and it’s time to get it on

I’m writing this Christmas morn, and I’m already over it. Let’s face it. I was over it from the first time I heard a Christmas carol (which was two months ago). I was over it the day after last Christmas. Of all the ‘big’ holidays, Christmas is my most hated for how disgusting I find it. I’ve shared before, but I wrote an article for the school newspaper in either eighth or ninth grade about the crass commercialization of Christmas, and it’s only gotten worse since. I’m able to cut down on how much Christmas crap I have to ingest because I don’t watch TV at all. But, just hearing a Christmas song or commercial is enough to put me in a grumpy mood.

I was going to try to be more complacent about it this year, and the results were mixed. In general, I was less inundated because of the aforementioned no-TV watching and because I have cut down on my social media intake, so I was less irritated in general. If something about Christmas came onto the radio as I was listening, I quickly changed stations after a flash of irritation. On the other hand, it’s been a rough whatever-many months, and Christmas is just rubbing the salt in the wounds. I like being single and living alone with my cat, but it’s not easy to shut out the constant barrage of FAAAAAAMILY¬† for Christmas.

The rational part of my brain reminds me that there are many people who hate going to the family for Christmas but feel they can’t get out of it. I read advice columns in which there is nothing but agony about the holidays with FAAAAAAAMILY. Little reasons, big reasons, any reason at all. The holidays can be fraught with tension, especially since they’re billed as being all about family.

In the end, I’m not much more depressed today than I was, say, a week ago. As long as I don’t loiter on social media, I don’t have to see Christmas crammed in my face. It’s totally within my control, which is exactly how I like it.

I want sex. Sorry for no segue, but it’s what’s on my mind. It’s been several years, and while I still have emotional scars from that relationship (one reason I do not want a long-term monogamous relationship), I am more than ready to hop back on the sex train. Er….

I’ve always been better at sex than I am at relationships and emotions. I’m good at listening to people, but I’m not as good at sharing my own emotions, at being vulnerable. Why? For many reasons. One, I was taught as a very young girl that much of my value was in being the emotional support of others*. At that time, mostly my mother. It’s stuck with me, and it’s reinforced by the fact that my mother still uses me as her sole means of emotional support. And, since most of what she needs support for is her marriage to my father with whom I have a VERY problematic and troubled history, and, yeah, you can see why I’m not eager at all to jump into a relationship.

I know this post is supposed to be about sex, but I have to talk about relationships before I can tackle sex in an adequate fashion. My mother’s whole life is my father. At least that’s how it’s portrayed to me whenever we talk. She has other things going on in her life–important things. She’s a sandplay therapist who brought the concept to Taiwan and started the local association. She’s well known and respected in her field, and she’s an intelligent and capable woman. And, yet, whenever we talk on the phone, it’s blah, blah, blah, my father, blah, blah, blah. Granted, he’s had major surgery recently and a slew of doctor appointments, but she’s been like this their entire marriage.

So much energy spent on explaining, glossing over, and excusing my father. I have long since made a rule for myself that I would not bring up my feelings about my father to my mother because she does not want to hear it. Or more to the point, she simply cannot hear it. It’s much better on all of us if I keep myself out of the equation. However. It’s not easy to do, especially when he treats her like shit. My mom was in a phase (if you can call 25 years a phase) of trying to convince me to have babies. Once I hit forty, that stopped for obvious reasons. In its place was her full-court press to get me married off. She would ask who would take care of me when I got old as if she’d never heard of divorce or had taken a good hard look at her own situation. No way in hell my father would do a tenth for her what she’s doing for him if she were the one who was sick/ill/physically incapacitated.

I have never told her that the main reason I have lost all desire to be in a serious long-term monogamous relationship is because of her. To see a woman of her caliber reduced to nothing more than an unappreciated helpmeet and knowing I have the same tendencies, yeah, no. I tend to throw myself into relationships and give until it hurts. My mother is a martyr, and I know I have that in me as well. When I’m romantically involved, I tailor my life to my partner’s, constantly putting their needs before my own. What’s more, I deny I have needs, and I feel that I can’t say no. Then, I become resentful and a nag. Yeah, it’s not a good cycle.

My last relationship was an emotionally abusive one. It had potential to cross over into physically abusive, but he dumped me after four months. The entire time, he made me feel as if everything I thought and felt was wrong. He hated my favorite movie, falling asleep in the middle of it, and ridiculing it as we watched it. I thought his favorite movies were shite as well, but I tried to find something positive about them. And I didn’t fall asleep while watching them. I remember when we were arguing about feminism, and he started raising his voice. He was over six feet tall and well over two-hundred pounds, and he was an alcoholic. He quit cold-turkey before we met in person, which was not a good move on his part. There was a moment when we were arguing when I realized that he was a hair’s breath away from socking me, and I made the decision to give in (without necessarily agreeing) to end the argument before I got decked.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was an MRA advocate in disguise. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him, and it ended up being four months. I don’t know how much longer it would have went if he hadn’t dumped me, and while I would like to think I would have ended it sooner rather than later, I simply do not know. I have only dumped two out of a half dozen to ten partners, and the rest have dumped me well past the expiration date.

My point? I suck at relationships. I know why I suck, and I’m working at it, but being in a relationship is harmful to me at this time. In addition, I see the difficulties that relationships bring, and I don’t think the positives outweigh the negatives. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to give up sex forever, however. I am getting squirrel from a lack of sex. In the new year, I want to ensure I have sex even if (or especially because) I’m not in a relationship. There’s a lot I have to overcome in order to even put myself out there, but I’m ready to finally give it the old college try.




*The rest was in what was between my legs, but another post for another time.

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