Sunday, 3:30am

It occurred to me, last night I think, that an orgasm doesn’t really make the pain go away. It fends it off for about a day.

I’ve been forgetting that I don’t need it every day. I used to know that, but I’ve slipped back into being angry, appalled and exasperated—keeping count of the days missed and wanting to cash them in.

I want sex when I want it, full on, an expression of her complete desire for me. On the other hand, I want it detached and physical only. I want the orgasm without any effort or cost to myself. It’s screwy, if she gives me the latter, then I feel cheated and “Ah Ha, she is just going through the motions, I knew she didn’t want me”. So I want it at a purely physical level, but then I don’t as well.

So there’s this lie that I’m not wanted, not loved. When she gives me sex but is obviously not into it, the lie shouts out. The lie used to shout out when she didn’t want sex and wouldn’t get into it. I think that’s improved. I’m still cross the next day, but it’s not so difficult to go to sleep at least.

I feel unloved, alone. I feel God is nowhere and I am without value.
I felt something like this twenty years ago when Mom & Dad divorced and they weren’t around. I used masturbation to numb the pain and give “good” feelings to cover up the bad ones. The flaw is that the stuff about being useless and unloved never went away. All I got is a “bad habit” (or addiction) to go along with it.

So, fighting this stuff, what’s improving? Sleeping is usually better. When I can’t sleep it’s usually not connected to the anger of her not wanting to make love. The moment of rolling over and going to sleep isn’t so bad either. I’m usually not seething with anger any more. The actual idea of not getting it doesn’t solicit this overpowering anger either. Even if we haven’t done it in 24 hours, often I can engage with conversation at mealtime and joke with the kids and stuff.

I was really obsessed with getting an orgasm. In the changing rooms at the swimming pool, in the morning in a few spare minutes… So many inappropriate times and places I would seethe and simmer and boil thinking, “She could give it to me here and now” Then I’d get stuck on the fact that she wouldn’t. I’d with that she would, think about the possibility that she would, fantasize and go ‘round and ‘round about it, getting hotter and angrier and more withdrawn all the time. All that has changed. We went swimming the other day & I thought, “Last few times we were here all I could think about was sex. Now that seems silly”.

Evidently God loves me. My Dad does, as best as he can. I want to see him as just another man, flawed and imperfect, doing his best and sometimes getting it wrong.

Somewhere I must have thought that if I performed better, was “perfect” in some way… I’d be able to impress him and get his approval and love and acceptance and affirmation. This seems kinda “manipulative” in and of itself. Is it? Anyway, of course I was never perfect, but instead in a twisted weird way I have been measuring everyone else against perfection. Expecting it, judging them against it, being disapproving and stuff. Maybe perfectionism is all about control. I don’t know how to have a free and flowing relationship of love and communication between myself and my Dad (or Father God). So I try to make a system, rules, procedures or “steps” instead.

I’m not really so clueless in relating to people. Lucy and I relate pretty well.

So, what’s worth talking over with Lucy? Telling her about these improvements? Telling her it’s okay to roll over and go to sleep (again).

Maybe I need to make a verbal thing, more than just a conscious effort to remind myself that God and I can relate better than me and Dad did/do.