Is it even there anymore? I try to locate it more specifically, knowing that as I do, it will dissolve. And what was once so ethereal would become so … earthly. But then I’d have to put down this book, pull off this warm blanket, remove some clothing. I could lean over to my husband, make a show of closing the laptop he’s staring at, initiate some mutual unbuttoning, offer him a spontaneous caress. And, also like a free radical: so small, so brief. I was just sitting here reading Normal People, like you-reading about Connell admiring Marianne’s slender, milky-white neck and her delicate clavicle as prominent and specific as “two hyphens”-and phwop! There it came, its heat buzzing around inside me ever so lightly, like a free radical seeking an electron: needy, momentarily insistent. A tiny piece of me that was dormant a second ago is awake and alert. The quick, vague flicker of arousal that you don’t share with your partner, because you don’t really feel like having to get naked and have sex. Possibly the reason some murders are committed. You want to be them and you want to sleep with them. The feeling of being jealous of someone while also having a crush on them. Now, each time I tiptoe across a wet subway tile or sense a car passing too closely to my bicycle, the shock of dread is almost always accompanied by gratitude. The central tragedy of my death would no longer be the “loss of a bright future,” but the end of my newly discovered satisfaction. Crossing the street, eating leftover pizza, “challenging myself physically.” It seems significant that the frequency of these thoughts has risen in my mid-30s, as I’ve fallen in love, married, and mapped out my life with my partner. Over the past few years I’ve been bugged by flashes of dread when I stop to consider all of the incredibly stupid ways I could die. Be very careful about what you consume while poisoned - drugs and alcohol will only make it worse. - Alexa Tsoulis-ReayĪ prickling awareness of one’s own mortality, induced by newly found life contentment. Don’t masturbate to thoughts of him or stalk him online trying to convince yourself that, really, he could be okay. Don’t think about him naked or touching you. Drink lots of water and stay away from whatever made you sick. As with food poisoning, your only recourse is to wait it out. Maybe he was nervous, and that’s why he said all that stuff about his “insane” ex-girlfriend’s eating disorder? Maybe I just need to lighten up! I mean, I feel so close to him. It’s like you’ve been hit on the head by a sexual hammer you forget all the terrible things about his personality. You remember that when you were gathering your clothes you saw a copy of The Game slung on his sticky bedroom floor, that he used the word gay as a term of abuse - but when you’ve been sex poisoned, it doesn’t matter. Perhaps he spent the next morning telling you about his problems with his mother, Adderall, or being expected to correctly pronounce “foreign” words. Maybe the sex poisoner is 20 years younger than you and took you home to his basement apartment, where he sleeps on a bare mattress on the floor. The state of being convinced after intimacy that you have romantic interest in someone you objectively do not.
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