Bang and Regret

Somehow, without an instruction book or half-decent advice (ahem) we all have to figure out our own sexuality. That word - sexuality - frankly gives me the creeps, because it sounds manufactured by robots in a factory somewhere. I prefer sexual tastes, or sexual understanding or even personal sexual architecture.

Yeah, maybe not so much.

In any case, sex is one of the few human activities that involves our physical being, our intelligent being, our spiritual being and even our moral being, all tied up with a ribbon in one big beautiful lusty box. It's a cornucopia of stuff that can make us feel as big as the universe, as hot as the sun and as empty as space, all at one time.

So where to begin? Mostly, by not listening to anyone else. Parents through the ages, up to and including today, do a universally rotten job at explaining sex. And they concentrate on the physical, reproductive result, which even our bodies recognize as a side effect. Sex is first and foremost about pleasure, about feeling good. Start there, and we can then understand how nature tricks us into unplanned pregnancy - because she's wily, that's why.

Sex feels so good that it can overcome all kinds of logical arguments and commitments. No sex before marriage vows are admirable but completely unrealistic in my opinion. But sex on the first date with a complete stranger is likewise pretty dopey too. Somewhere in the middle is a smart compromise, but no-one ever expands on how that should work either. Try asking your mum or dad tonight how they view that conundrum.

Then there's the tricky problems we can find ourselves tangled in. Married and having an affair. Single and having an affair with someone who's married. Choosing someone who treats us poorly. Finding someone wonderful and messing it up. Thinking that there's more out there, when your own personal sexual architecture would be completely satisfied with just what you have. Thinking you're satisfied, but secretly looking for a whooooollllle lot more.

That last point is critical. Knowing what combination of lust, love, physicality, mental attraction, compatibility, respect and humour is right for you, is everything. Unfortunately, there is no Dummies Guide to Your Own Sexuality, it's all bang and regret.

Or not.


Bottoms Up, Critical Shaggers.

Depression

Suffering from some kind of post New Year blues reminds me how debilitating depression is in relationships. Real, diagnosed, clinical depression and its many variations I'm talking about, not the passing sub-par-ness everyone catches from time to time.

My experience with a bipolar woman caught me by surprise. She seemed normal, almost super-happy in the first weeks we dated, and I figured she was a winner. Later, I understood that her pendulum was at the manic end of things during that period. That explained her hyper-energy, extreme sociability and sexual aggression. Had I been better prepared, I would have recognized these behaviours for what they are. And I would have stayed away.

Heartless as it might seem, starting a relationship with a clinically depressed woman would be a bad move for me. Being generally of mild temperament and logical disposition, dealing with someone else's manic to depressive swings takes away all my energy. Because I find myself emotionally lost with someone ill with depression, my mental process suffers too, then my health. Ergo, failed relationship.

Not that I'm saying the depressed and the non-depressed can't get together. Of course they can. But it depends a lot on communication, with both people clearly understanding the way depression works. I think that plans made in advance of the extremes of behaviour help a lot, taking away much of the uncertainty for the non-depressive partner. Doctors and medication and therapy should be a part of those plans.

There are some big numbers thrown around describing the numbers of people affected. No doubt, it's a big problem. But it's not a problem that improves when another person is dragged down by second-hand depression. Knowing one's own limitations can save heartache beyond description.








Photo from here. [link]

Awesome, bitch.

I often wonder how to nail down self esteem. What is it exactly? Is self esteem the way I view myself - Wombat, blogger, Australian living in Florida - or is it more about the internals - Wombat, worried blog readers will dislike this post, wondering what dopey decision led him to live in Florida?

Parents of young kids seem inordinately concerned with their sprogs' self esteem. Schools in the United States appear to an outsider to be all about teaching it, along with how to address a lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgendered person so as not to offend their self esteem.

But that's not my point of interest. I'm consistently confounded by the way in which women can appear to be loaded with confidence, and yet choose men who treat them like shit. How can it be that powerful females who look to have the world by the balls end up doormats for oaves? A friend explained it this way:

There is a certain je ne sais quoi to bad boys. I think there are a million psychological reasons as to why women go for them, each one of the reasons pretty fucked up. "I want to piss off my parents by showing them I'm autonomous", "He's a rebel and Hollywood shows us that rebels are hot", and my personal favorite, "It feels good when he makes me feel bad". It's true...some chicks dig on feeling like shit. Call it a Martyr Syndrome if you wish, but she gets off on bitching about everything. I had to consciously rip myself away from that path, lest I become like (that). Thesedays I prefer men who treat me like the fucking awesome bitch I am.

Indeed. Awesome.