There is something you need to know, and I have been reluctant to talk to you about it. This is not intended to be an ultimatum or demand or anything; just an expression of frustratuon.
I am frustrated. Not just in the sexual way. I feel both helpless and angry. I am angry with you, because you won’t talk about or acknowledge our problem. I am angry because you know how frustrated I am, and how important this is to me, and you don’t seem to be doing anything about it. I am frustrated at myself, because I’m so patient, so kind, so considerate, and so, well, wimpy that I won’t risk making you uncomfortable no matter how pissed off or frustrated I feel. I feel helpless because I can’t do anything to change your mind, to make you feel differently, or even to make you comfortable enough to try something that *might* be uncomfortable. I feel helpless because I have asked you if there is anything I can do and you haven’t been able to think of anything. I feel angry at myself, because I am not strong enough to sit here and take it, and I’m also not strong enough to stand up and say “This needs to change.”
Pushing you doesn’t work. I have discovered this. I know this now. Pushing makes you withdraw further in, to retreat even further away, if there is such a place. You need to feel safe, and pushing is not safe. Pushing makes you even less likely to accept anything that might be vaguely sexual or at all uncomfortable.
I have discovered something else. Waiting patiently doesn’t work either. I waited patiently for you to decide that counseling would be OK. I waited patiently while you got counseling. I became sad when you told me that the drugs you have to take for your condition make you even less likely to want anything sexual. It was hard, but I decided the best thing to do would be to wait. Patiently. And so, I waited for the day when you would no longer need the drugs, and that you might get some small flicker of interest back.
You recently told me that you will probably be on the drugs for the rest of your life. That means that I was patiently waiting for something that would never come. I chose to believe that things would be OK when you were all better. You didn’t say this, but I chose to believe it. Why? Because you offered “I feel nothing, because of the drugs” as an explanation as to why we shouldn’t even try. Should I have known right then that this was going to be the way it would be, forever? I could not believe that. I could not comprehend that. Instead, I took it as read that you would understand, that you would know, that this could not go on. I assumed that you would understand, without me saying, that I would be patiently waiting for the veil of drugs to be lifted. I assumed that you would try to find another way around, another way back to me. You have not. I am angry at myself for having assumed this without saying it, but when you finally told me that you would be on the drugs forever, I knew then that I was waiting patiently for a day that would never come. I was pretty much poleaxed.
What am I waiting for now? What is there left to be patient for? I guess the only thing I’m waiting for now is for you, yourself, to wake up and discover that sex is kind of cool. You will discover this, eventually. The only question is whether I can hold out that long.
I once told you that I felt frustrated because there were all kinds of conditions placed around our having sex. It had to be the right time of month, the right time of day, not too hot, not too cold, not having a headache. I felt that if the perfect conditions came about, and I chose the right time and the right way to ask you, you would say yes. You said that you understood, and that the various “conditions” had mostly been made-up reasons, which you had used to avoid explaining the real problem. The real problem was much bigger, and would not be solved by waiting for the right conditions.
I could not imagine at the time how right you were. I could not imagine at that time that I would end up waiting for the right conditions, not just for a month, but for 6 months, then 2 years, then 5 years. 5 years is 60 months, which is also 250 weekends. So many lost opportunities. But that is not the worst. The worst is that I cannot see any way through. I cannot see anything which gives me any kind of hope for the next 5 years, or 10. This is a far more persistent condition than a headache.
I feel helpless. Pushing is not working, and waiting patiently is not working either. The only choice I have is: keep waiting, or give up.
Keep waiting? I would have to delude myself into thinking that the end is reachable. I would have to be able to imagine a “next step” even if it is highly unlikely. The only thing I was still reasonably able to believe might happen, looks like it won’t. I would need to start waiting for something that I knew, logically, was unreasonable to wait for.
Give up? Well, I won’t give up, not without a fight. Because, if I give up on waiting for you to be sexual with me, I will be giving up on *us*. I won’t do that, not until there is nothing left to try. If I have to make you uncomfortable, I will. If I have to scream and yell, I will. I will do anything to save this marriage. Not just because I promised to, but because I want to.