Today, I need to talk with yous about sex. I have already posted a poem this morning on the subject, but the discourse of poetry distances through its artifice in a way I now have to avoid.
I have lived for almost thirty years with a person four years older than me. I married them, believing they were a person of the world: here I mean, well versed in all its aspects.
I looked forward healthily to a life of emotions, sexual fulfilment, real pleasure, and achievements – for both of us – in many areas.
This didn’t happen, at all. It didn’t even happen the first night.
It didn’t really happen all the nights we conceived our wonderful three children: people I would never have not experienced, not even in this hindsight of emotional barren.
The last two years have changed my life, for sure. From the December of 2015 I began to write a poetry blog. It was about my memories, well buried at the time. It was about my memories of people who hurt me so very much.
What I didn’t realise at the time was that even people who hurt you this unpleasantly have a right to their own privacies, always. I needed to write those poems: in fact some of them were damn good and groundbreaking in their form and content. But I should’ve written them just for myself: never for an audience out there. These poems no longer exist: I doubt even on Google cache. The site has been off the web since August, at the request of the people I hurt so badly. They were right to request I removed it. They should never have needed, in the first place, to have asked me to remove it all. I should never have published. I was right to be damned.
The reason – and it is a reason – I felt so obliged to tell my truth lies in the fact of my emotionally barren existence. I am a hugely sexual being who has never experienced happy sex. I am sure many of my friends believe I am gay, but unable to recognise my state. I empathise hugely with all movements in favour of sexual and gender freedoms: partly because of my own condition of having been diagnosed, I think deliberately and quite falsely, as paranoid schizophrenic. I know the condition of outcast very well. I also know what it is like to feel so strongly that outcast is an utterly wrong thing for one to feel. I don’t, however, believe I’m gay. I believe I am one of the loneliest and least hugged, least embraced, least kissed, least fucked beings on this rock.
Early last year I had couple counselling. My life partner refused to come along. I went by myself. We concluded, counsellor and I, that the root of my inability to achieve success in life in terms of work and intellect lay primarily in my partner’s refusal to include sexual activity in our daily kindnesses.
Since then I have suggested open marriage; separation; ultimately divorce.
But everything has a price, even where such a price is quite unnecessary.
The price in this case is:
- Estrangement from my children.
- A brutal cutting-off of all ties from a person I have lived with for thirty years.
- The absolute and total incomprehension of a wider family of siblings, parents and cousins who have done everything within their powers to ensure I choose the status quo.
This status quo is impossible, quite impossible, for me now. I need sexual fulfilment in order to progress in my life, work, and leisure. That is what I am: I don’t demand that others require the same. I do plead that I be allowed – with sympathy and comprehension – to pursue the route and life path my body and soul yearn after.
In my confusion over the past two years, I have mistaken motivations and assumed interest in my person, contrary to any reality. I ask forgiveness for these massive errors of judgement. I ask those of you who know who you are for this forgiveness.
I realise, now, exactly what I must do. In the absence of sex, in the absence of a free and open society, in the absence of real love and a desire on the part of my family to be humane with me, to understand my need for physical affection, to accept I know best what I am missing, I am going to have to pay the price of eternal incomprehension. But I have decided today I am willing to pay this price: in 2003 I was imprisoned in a mental-health institution for not appreciating my emotional drivers, and for mistaking them for something well different. I am not going to carry on making the same mistake, nor allowing others to use the resulting behaviours to put me away ever again.
It all boils down to how open our societies may be. Whilst sex corporations know our every inclinations, and use our shame to deliver extortionate services around our very humanity – essentially a human utility which properly couched can make everyone so much happier – it is our wider society that allows the continuing commodification of emotions, personal needs, the wish for good pleasures; basically, the selling and buying of loneliness.
If I have to be lonely, I choose an ultimate loneliness of self. I reject a status quo of happy families. I apologise to those who I have – without any right at all – hurt so badly. But I will no longer lie down and permit my own trampling. I want to be a successful partner in sex and love, as well as a father who has clearly done well by his children’s intellectual and professional growth.
And in choosing success in sex and love, I will engineer my success in ethical business and work too.
No longer will I refuse the connection.
No longer will I fight the truth.