Hearing Voices sounds like something really 'crazy' something schizophrenic and amongst the most worrying of the worrying. And it can be. But it can be 'just' that self talk that is unhelpful. Mine is based on the lies that, 1) I'm not good enough, 2) I'm alone and 3) I'm not loved.
Another well known idea is 'Intrusive Thoughts'.
It's new years' eve. We are sitting outside staring at the embers glow and watching the orange waves of heat pulsate behind the flames as the fire burns itself out. I'm thinking, I want to kiss her. (But then I'll want to do more). But the problem is unusual because she's not over Omicron strain of the Covid virus. She got it on Monday and it's only Friday. So all logic and sense says I'm lucky to be sitting with her outside. Yes, I'm glad we found a way to be in each others' company. So much better than using a video call from upstairs in her sickroom/prison downstairs to me on the sofa by myself, with that annoying delay and distracting thing where we interrupt and talk over each other. So much better than me sitting on the other side of the door trying to hear her and not being able to see her at all. But I keep imagining, picturing, playing the scenario in my head. Me approaching her and looking into her eyes and kissing her. Me saying something romantic and passionate (fantasy). But she'd just say, "I know you want to, but it's only (ONLY!) a few more days (reality). She'd say something sensible and correct about how it's not worth anyone else getting sick (real or pessimistic?). Dammit! I am doing her thinking for her (projecting). But I keep playing the scenario again, trying different phrases. She puts her mask on and comes inside, instead of going straight upstairs she takes some time to clean for the first time since her lockdown. So my brain creates another angle, "You are breaking the rules, I have an idea of another way to break the rules, that's more fun than cleaning!" No quite right. I think of other wordings, other ways to say being naughty is fun, exciting. But I can't get away from the sensible objections. The pull is like a tractor beam in the Star Wars Death Star--impossible to fight. But my knowledge of the facts and guess of her sensible immunity to the magnetic pull that I'm feeling is equally irrefutable. Damnit!
So she says good night, a little awkward, but in no way giving any signals that line up with my fantasy. I take her hand and she seems confused. She didn't mind being that close to hand me a mug that needed putting away but it's never occurred to her to hold my hand (she's just sensible but it triggers my lie that I'm not wanted). I pull her to me and give her a hug and I know nothing's gonna happen. DAMNIT! She walks a few steps away and I can't bring myself to look at her when she says and awkward good night. FUCK!!! I'm angry that no matter how much I ache, nothing changes. I'm pissed off that the facts are the facts. I am going to be on my own and I hate that. I want her but not enough to ignore that she doesn't want it with me. I think the harder it is for me the more I deserve a reprieve, a break, a reward. FUCK! That's not how it works either!
I'm counting how long it's been since we hugged, since she touched me in any way at all. How long since we kissed (and more). It's not really been that long--I keep telling myself. But it feels like forever and we're not halfway there yet. I can't face the possibility that she might need longer to heal before she's testing negative and ready for normal life. And I don't like thinking our reunion might just be 'meh'. I can't count on an intensity to make up for me being 'robbed' like this. acceptance, acceptance, acceptance.
I've felt annoyed at her for doing this to me. I've felt like pouting, like withdrawing from her in our stilted conversations in a childish protest. Ha, she's the one who's sick, she's the one who is isolated in a room and unable to leave the house, not me. But it feels like my sex addiction must be worse for me than anything else is for anyone else--right?
What am I grateful for? I'm glad that I have a partner. I'm glad I have her--most weeks. I'm glad she's not really sick with covid, that she's not gone into hospital, not been on a ventilator or intensive care. I'm glad we will be intimate again. I'm glad my sons are well and visited this Christmas and New Year. I'm glad I am part of a recovery community-- a family where we can be as honest as we can bear. I community where I can be accepted no matter what and I can practice sharing my feelings and listening and supporting others doing the same. I'm proud of myself for not going any deeper into sadness about my feeling of loneliness and sexual frustration. I didn't do anything I'd be ashamed to admit in my 12-step meeting or to my sponsor or a fellow on a call. I'm chuffed that I've been working so hard taking care of her. I forgive myself for getting angry with her, snapping at her and resenting her being sick.
