Goddammit

Whatever this sexual issue of mine is, it seems to be getting worse. Orgasming is more difficult; I apply the Hitachi and I barely feel anything. I try to get myself off but my mind keeps wandering off sexy thoughts to dumb shit like what groceries to get later (when I was young and fully functional, it was the opposite: I could decide to get off without being in the mood whatsoever, and all I needed to do was stimulate my clit and my scattered thoughts would start moving toward sex all on their own).

My actual sex drive (or orgasm drive, I guess) seems to be going down. I’m barely ever feeling even the hollow echo of horniness that I have for the past couple of years. Being tingly and turned on and needing to come is a distant memory.

I’m hoping this is a temporary hurdle. I think whateverthefuck this is has progressed in a couple of stages and I’ve been adapting each time. Like when I first noticed that I don’t get clitoral erections anymore, there was a while where even rocking my full weight back and forth on the Hitachi took me like ten  minutes to get off and my crotch constantly felt bruised by it. After a while, though, shit got a bit better; still no boners and no capacity for getting myself off using only my hand, but I could get there via Hitachi in under five minutes and not have to bruise myself on it. Maybe a similar thing will happen this time.

I really want to fix this but doctor(s) seemed kind of dismissive before (the sexual dysfunction specialist I saw ended up concluding “Meh, you’re getting old, stuff doesn’t work so well sometimes when you’re older. Think of men and their erectile dysfunction” even though I’d told him the problems started in my mid-thirties and nobody assumes that a 36 year old guy probably can’t get it up) so I’m reluctant to approach them again.

Can’t help wondering how much more helpful people might be if I were a dude. Because dudes neeeeeed to have fulfilling sex, amirite?!

Sigh.

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For posterity…

Forgot to mention before: remember how The Dandy had that moment the other day of coming home from the vet, dropping Grumpus off, then leaving again to drive Dandette home?

I was on the couch watching tv when he came in, and I remained there as he stood by the door updating me. Then he left and I belatedly thought “Shit, I wish I’d kissed him goodbye.”

Just then, The Dandy’s key rattled in the lock a second time. He came in and said “forgot something…” and came to the couch and kissed me and then left again. That’s it, nothing else. What he’d forgotten was to kiss me.

 

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Hard times

Our oldest cat (I think I called him Grumpus in an earlier post) seems like he might be on his way out. He hasn’t been eating or drinking and he just…has a really miserable look in his eyes. The Dandy decided we needed to take Grumpus to the emergency vet tonight and see if he’s salvageable or what. He figured if we waiting til tomorrow to make an appointment it might be too late. I should add that The Dandy has seen four or five other cats off to the next world so he’s pretty fine tuned to the signs at this point.

So off we went. But Grumpus was originally The Dandy and Dandette’s cat; he arrived from a previous home about eight years ago, hating all women on sight for reasons we don’t know (we assume the woman in his previous house abused him), and Dandette rehabilitated him over the course of years and now he’s just calm and friendly with everyone. I kind of hate Dandette but I think she deserves to know her cat is ailing, and to come say goodbye if it comes to that. I suggested The Dandy text her and let her know the situation.

I accompanied The Dandy and Grumpus to the vet for emotional support, and while we were waiting to be seen, Dandette texted The Dandy back saying she’d be there by around 9pm. “How much do you need me to be here when she’s here?” I asked The Dandy. He told me I could bolt if I needed to. And at about 8:45, that’s what I did. If he’d asked me to stay, I would have (and felt barfy the entire time) but he didn’t. I hope he didn’t let me go solely for my benefit and later he’ll be resentful that I didn’t read his mind and stay.

So I went home, and like ten minutes after I got here, The Dandy got back, too (he drove, I took public transit, so he’s faster). He shut Grumpus in the kitchen with some food and water (isolating him so we could better tell if he’d eaten anything; Bastardcat will eat Grumpus’ food if he can get to it), then told me that Dandette was downstairs having a smoke and he was going to drive her home and in the process pick up my blanket and DVD that she’d taken with her when she left.

It’s only right that she be kept informed about Grumpus’ failing health and come be with him if she needs to, and I don’t begrudge The Dandy driving her home after. But for the record I hate that this crisis required Dandette and The Dandy to spend time together and I hate that they no doubt fell into an easy old pattern of relating to each other and reminisced about old times and all that crap. And/or she (understandably) burst into tears about Grumpus and The Dandy felt obligated to comfort her through hugs and god knows what other measures. They have a long history. A lot of it is shitty but it’s still a lot longer than what The Dandy and I have, and against all odds, she and he seem like they’re still comfortable around each other. I mean, he’d even been debating remaining friends with her. More recently he seemed off the idea but now that fate forced them together again who the fuck knows what he’ll think.

Meh. I started writing this entry a few hours ago and then got sidetracked. The Dandy is home now, and he has my blanket and DVD – huzzah! The only thing I asked him about Dandette is whether she tried to seduce him so he’d admit he was wrong to let her go, and invite her back into the fold. He said she didn’t. I didn’t ask anything else about their time together; now is the time to gloss over that shit and focus on helping him through the emotional turmoil of his cat probably dying. I just kinda needed to know if they’d ended up having ill-advised makeouts.

 

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Money gulf

Last night I realized just what a toll it’s been taking on me mentally that my bedroom (and to a lesser extent the living room) is in disarray. I’ve been sleeping on a mattress on the floor and using a shitty little cheap bookshelf leftover from Dandette as a nighttable. I don’t feel like I should assemble the bed I bought or add any other furniture to the room until it’s been repainted the way I want. I began this process the other day – shoving my minimal furniture to one side of the room and then the other in order to put primer on all the walls – but the exertion hurt my back and I had to stop after one coat. So now on top of the room’s lack of furniture/personality/convenience, the walls have a layer of  white primer through which the previous maroon shows in patches, so it looks extra makeshift in here. I feel like I’m camping and I hate it.

Add to this that even when I do eventually assemble the bed, it’s a queen size and my mattress is a double. I put up with this same disparity with my previous bed for a year or two because I couldn’t afford to upgrade my mattress, but I really hope I can save up enough to buy a properly sized mattress soon*. I just…really want a bedroom that looks like it belongs to an actual grownup.

I told this to The Dandy and he said “Sometimes you just have to be patient and save up for things.”

This unfortunate wording made me flinch and then start to rage-cry. I asked him why the hell he would say that to me. He said he meant it as comfort, like “don’t worry, you’ll get it eventually, hang in there.”

I believe him. But what he actually did say came off like he was explaining the concepts of saving up money and delayed gratification to me.

The Dandy has never been poor, currently makes nearly six figures, and doesn’t have any kind of nest egg in the bank; he spends any extra cash he has on luxury goods. I’m fairly sure he spends more than the cost of the mattress I want for myself on custom shoes and/or antique fountain pens and/or designer clothes and/or fancy knives every month. Probably he’s had to save up for something at some point in his life, but most of the things he wants seem to be within a price range where he can get them immediately.

And I…have been trying to save up for the right-size mattress for my bed for two years. I haven’t been to the dentist in seven years. I’ve worn the exact same bra every day for, I don’t even know. Multiple years. I haven’t bought that queen-size mattress or new bras or dental work because instead I’ve had to squirrel away enough money during each lucrative school year to get me through the substantially poorer summer. A couple of times, despite my best efforts, I fell short and had to put a month or two of rent on credit, but I paid it back. Bastardcat needed major surgery and I put that on credit and paid it back, eventually, too.

I do not need Mr. Moneybags to explain the concept of having to wait a while and apply myself in order to afford things. It felt like my dismissive parents blaming me for my own poverty all over again. Either that, or condescension: “sometimes you (you specifically, I guess because you weren’t smart enough to go to university or whatever and get a great job like me) just have to be patient and save up for things. (Good luck with that! I’ll just be over here impulse-buying a $450 knife that is almost identical to three of my other knives.)”

I’m not sure if The Dandy understands how his comment came off to me. I tried to explain it. But he doesn’t know the strain of being poor and I secretly suspect that he does kinda see my poverty as my own fault – or, not my fault exactly, but that he thinks the job market is a lot more of a meritocracy than it actually is – I suspect he thinks he gets paid so much more than I do because his job is proportionately more difficult or valuable than what I do, rather than because the people I work for are underpaying me.

But yeah. He’s sympathetic to the fact that I’m poor. But he doesn’t get it. And this sometimes leads to him being a bit insensitive by accident.

 

*Technically I have enough for the one I want right now…but I also have a bunch of urgent dental work that needs doing and that The Dandy’s benefits probably won’t completely cover. So I gotta see how that shakes out before I go buying any big-ticket items.

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Almost forgot

One time, a few weeks ago or something, I woke up from a sex dream (in my bedroom, alone) and wanted to get off immediately. And I was in such a desperate state that I thought I might even manage it by hand rather than using my Hitachi.

And I did manage it. The orgasm was pretty much just a blip, but it was better than nothing. Blew off some tension, anyway.

Right after I was done (like right after  – I was still all disheveled n shit), The Dandy appeared in my doorway looking puzzled. “I thought I heard…did you…?”

For Pete’s sake, he hadn’t even been in his bedroom when I was getting off. He was in the bathroom, which is further away and he would have been peeing and running water and stuff. And I hadn’t been moaning or anything. Harsh breathing sounds at the very most. And yet.

I hope/assume he was coming by to possibly help out; otherwise he surely would have ignored the sounds. A few times back when we shared a bedroom I started masturbating while he was a few feet away on the computer and he didn’t even turn around or acknowledge me in any way  (and a few times when I started masturbating he abandoned his internetting and participated. He just doesn’t feel any need to be part of these activities with me unless he’s in the mood, I guess). So that’s something. But I always felt self-conscious and on display knowing he can hear my vibrator, and now it seems that even when I’m being vibrator-less and stealthy he knows what I’m up to.

Goddammit.

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CURED!

Well okay no. My depression and anxiety aren’t cured. But living with The Dandy (with him paying a larger share than I do of the food and rent, and having the means to pay all of it if he had to) is SUCH A GAME CHANGER.

  • The constant, churning fear of oh shit what if I can’t work enough/anymore and end up homeless is gone.
  • I don’t need to work as many model shifts in order to pay my expenses each month, and don’t feel like I have to squirrel away as much money as possible during fall/winter to get me through the slow season, so I’ve stopped taking on a batshit insane schedule and started to relax and pace myself.

As a result of these two things, my time and brain are considerably freed up and I have almost the same amount of energy as a normal person. At least I think I do. I’m able to come home from work and do stuff instead of sitting and staring at the wall in a state of profound physical and mental exhaustion. I have leisure time, sometimes, rather than “this is my one day off in three weeks and I should take advantage of it by running all the errands I couldn’t get to before oh oops I ended up just staring at the wall all day instead” time.

And the energy is somewhat self-perpetuating because I’m able to get up and make myself food when I’m hungry, which in turn fuels me to do other things (including making food the next time I’m hungry). Also The Dandy cooks (or orders) dinner most nights so I don’t have to feed myself as often as I did when I lived alone.

I’d always suspected that my anxiety issues would improve immeasurably if I wasn’t so pinched for money all the fucking time. That’s what going on disability was supposed to accomplish*, although that would have come with a bunch of bureaucracy** – filling out forms every month stating how much I made and having them deduct some of it accordingly. Nobody – not even social workers or my lawyer who defended me at the disability tribunal – was able to definitively tell me how much I’d be allowed to make before they started taking some off. But my experience of government assistance is that they’ll give you enough to keep you barely alive but never, ever let you actually get ahead, so I assume I’d end up netting about the same amount of money each month no matter how much I’d worked – or that if I had a month or two where I worked a lot and made enough money to be comfortable, they would declare me to be doing fine and take me off benefits entirely. Oh and by the way with rent in this town being what it is, even the max monthly amount of disability money would not have paid all my expenses on its own.

There’s an idea being floated by the government called “basic income” in which (if I understand correctly) poor people (or…just everyone?) would be flat-out given about a thousand bucks a month, and they could still keep whatever money they might earn on top of that. You could have some financial burden lifted off you and if you worked really hard to make even more money, they wouldn’t take it away! You could actually dig yourself out of poverty instead of treading water until you die! I am staunchly in favour of this program. More than ever now that my theory that financial stability would hugely alleviate my mental illness is no longer only a theory.

 

*I can’t remember if I told you guys – in August, after approving me for benefits, they were like “Oh just one more thing before we give you any money – PROVE TO US YOU’RE POOR, BITCH.” They asked me to send them a whole shitload of tax records and bank records, not all of which I was able to procure, but I did my best and sent it in just in time for the deadline. Months went by and I heard nothing, but that seems like par for the course; they move slowly and have also forgotten my existence and needed reminding several times. Finally in like November or something I called to ask if they’d processed my info or what. They said they never received it and had closed my file. Maybe this sounds a little conspiracy theory-ish but I half believe they made that up just to put up another barrier to entry. I spoke to a manager and wrangled a second chance. No deadline this time. Just gotta find the emotional fortitude to put together all that fucking paperwork again. And yeah I’m aware that with my current living situation I probably don’t qualify for benefits anymore. I’m fine with that. What I want is to get some money retroactively for the time period where I first applied, because I was struggling then.

**Ha ha I accidentally typed “bureaucrazy” at first. ACCURATE.

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Awww…

The Dandy’s “date” was last night but it totally went kerflooey. He and his old college fling were supposed to meet at a nightclub, and although they were both there, they didn’t recognize each other. So they didn’t end up hanging out at all.

He did flirt with some other women, though, and says he might have a little something in the works with one of them. That makes me more nervous than the idea of him banging some chick from out of town, but we’ll see how it plays out.

I realized last night that it was the uncertainty of The Dandy’s “date” that bugged me most – he didn’t know for sure if she was looking to hang out platonically or not, and hence he didn’t know if he’d be coming home after clubbing or staying over at her hotel. Midway through the night I realized that my main source of consternation over that wasn’t relationship insecurity, it was “…So will I have the place to myself all night or not?” I had to work the next day and it would have suited me just fine to know that he wouldn’t be coming home in the middle of the night (which would wake me up even if I was in my room with the door shut; I’m a light sleeper) – that I could doze off in the living room in front of Netflix if I wanted, even, and not be disturbed.

Alas, he did come home at 4am, unlaid. He didn’t seem terribly disappointed about it, anyway, which is good. He’s been seeming in dire need of a sexy ego boost lately and I was afraid if this possible sex fell through for him he’d be really dejected.

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