Running With Empty

I've had a lot of empty sex.

It's the worst. 
It takes on so many forms and tries to fool you into thinking vapid things matter.  But they don't.  And when all is said and done, the unholy emptiness of it all consumes you.
It's the worst.  Did I already say that?  Well it is.

As a kid, I was fascinated with media sex.  It was so hard to fast forward through the *bad* parts.  I was so curious and eager to know more.  There was mystery to it all.

Today?  I can't stand sex scenes, sultry scenes, or scenes that imply sultriness or sexiness.  And it isn't because my husband is addicted to porn.  It's because of Empty Sex.  Media sex IS empty sex.  Porn is empty sex.  Empty Sex reminds me that I've had so much of it, even the smallest dose is lethal to my sanity.

Empty Sex.
It's all black and empty and there's something sickening about the way it cannibalizes on itself.
It makes me feel worthless and hungry. 

My appetite for true love has been pushed past starvation.  It's blinking back at me with a bloated belly and sad eyes and saying, "For only three cents a day, you can save this poor starved inner child."
Somewhere between my childlike curiosity and my husband's addiction, I fed the wrong appetite.  I fed the lust and starved the love and in the end all I got was Empty.

"More sex," the books say, "If your marriage is feeling off, have more sex."
"It's your duty as the wife."
"LDS people are just too frigid.  More sex is the answer!"

More sex!
More sex!
More!
More!

Sex isn't the answer to anything.  At. All.

It isn't a need.  It isn't a cure.  It isn't the be-all-end-all.

And I'm angry because I don't even know what sex actually, really is.  To me, it's always been the answer to his bad day.  It's always been my way of desperately seeking connection.  It's always been an answer to something.
It was never the right answer, as I can tell you from bitter experience.  Instead of learning the hard way the first time, I thought somehow -someway -I could change the results by adding more.
More sex.

All I have to show is years and years of Empty. God forsaken. Sex.


I have the right to discover what it means to be truly loved for who -and not what -I am or am able to do or offer.
I have the right to uncover the truth about intimacy, about sex and lust and how trust somehow fits into it all so seamlessly.

I have the right to walk out of the Hell that fear and shame have created for me.


I have the right to leave Emptiness in Hell.