Playing House

I think I am fundamentally unlovable sometimes. Likethere is something so rotten inside
that it repels any possibility of attachment or affection.
Sometimes I am proven right. There was an attractiveguy my age that, due to the
unexpected nature of his request and little experiencein saying no to things I don’t want, I
sucked off in a parking lot. He picked up the hemof my dress as I was bent over the center
console and said, “Let me get a look at that ass.”and after a moment said, “if you even have
one.” And I am very good at becoming numb to thingsas they are happening to me, but after a
few minutes in which I had difficulty breathing, Imade him drive me back and then blocked him.
During the shower afterward in which I scrubbed everyinch of skin that I own, I
wondered why I never have any good experiences withsex. I want it. It seems like fun and a
stress reliever but anytime I’ve tried it it’s beenthe opposite. Other people my age hook up, and
they’re fine. I used to hear one of the girls in mydorm suite panting, moaning, and giggling at
night because she had a top bunk situated right besidethe vent that led into my room. She just
took her clothes off, and the person she was withtook their clothes off, and they had fun. I
cannot for the life of me think of what separatesme from her. The worst part of it is that I can’t
even use the childhood sexual abuse as an excuse.One night she confided to me that she was
also a survivor, so I can’t blame my father’s stepsonfor abusing me, nor my father for neglecting
me, nor my stepmother for accusing me of lying. It’sjust me. It’s. just. me.
And no matter how many times I’ve tried and failednot to cry in my therapist’s office,
it’s still there. The pit. The loneliness. The nothing.And I know I should feel empowered for
being a single woman and that I should feel wholeon my own and that having a romantic
relationship will not fix all my life’s problems.I don’t want all my problems fixed. I just want a