lets talk about sex.
it seems to be a popular topic of conversation these days. weddings approaching. movies. television. it seems that who is and isn't having it, will always maintain a steady interest. my best friend is getting married in less than two weeks. i couldn't be more excited for her. but through all the recent fun and festivities, one serious thing has circled back to get me: i hate that i am able to give advice on sex. that i have any personal knowledge, whatsoever. sitting at her bachellorette party and lingere shower, listening to the advice of the married folks, i wished i was clueless. unexperienced. unblemished. i wished i didn't feel dirty. and ashamed. like i'm damaged goods. but all i can do now, is learn from my mistakes.
"all that I feel is the realness I'm faking."
i lost my virginity on thanksgiving. i was twenty-two years old. i guess at that age it's more of a give than a take. i gave myself to someone who didn't love me. because he asked. and because feeling wanted, if only momentarily, seemed better than the burning suction of my heart. the hollow, empty feeling that i was walking around with.
3am. i'm busy in the kitchen. i spent the night making pumpkin pie and prepping the ingredients for our turkey day feast. strung out on cocaine and whip-its. late night baking at its finest. a couple hours rest, then back in action. i was anxious. and scared. my first holiday away from home. except for the fifth grade christmas i spent in los angeles with my dad. i overheard him say he wished he had never brought us, my sister and i. not the best holiday track record.
this year i couldn't go home. i couldn't even think of home without my chest tightening and tears rising to the surface. my sister had tried to kill herself again. for the third time. i bought a cell phone to be on call for my mom. in case of emergency. in case she succeeded. personalized ring tones saved my life. don't panic. thank you chris martin. but i hadn't talked to hillary in months. couldn't face the catatonic mumble on the other end of the line. the random questions. the yelling. the accusations. i have never been more scared or unsure of anything in my life. and it was compounded by the distance and sadness that i was left with when i hung up the phone that afternoon.
my mom called to wish me thanks and giving. i was in the middle of dressing the turkey. i have a picture of me holding it over the sink with its wings stretched out. i look silly. i look happy. maybe that's why they call it yay. she passed the phone to my sister. my hands shook. my body trembled. i have no idea what we talked about. but i survived. pulled myself together and struggled though the day. dinner for my work friends. carmen's first attempt at turkey. so i put it all behind me. theraputic cooking. baking still calms my nerves.
dinner. drinks. dessert. friends. monica, rachel, phoebe, ross, joey and chandler. the annual thanksgiving episode. guest staring brad pitt. my friend wade pulled me aside to ask for a safety pin. and to find out how the conversation with my family went. he kept tabs on me. told me his job was to help me take life less seriously. talking with him made the voices stop. all the negative self-destructive phrases i told myself. reciting them over and over. he made me feel normal. at a time when life felt anything but. i would have done anything to feel that way. or to feel nothing at all. drugs offered a numbness i had never experienced. never felt the need. but when i came back down everything was still waiting for me.
i explained the conversation with my sister. the anxiety it had created. the relief i felt at having a good talk under my belt. a decent talk. that we had talked at all. and we passed his bowl, smoking pot on the front porch. carmen brought me the phone. it was stephanie. she couldn't make it for dessert. i'll never forget the look on carmen's face. the look she gave me when she realized i was smoking. disappointment. not anger. you hope the people you love never look at you like that. too painful to process. i ran. went to the bars with the annabelle's crew. lost myself in the fear and sadness.
i couldn't go home. couldn't face that look. i was embarrassed and ashamed. alone. lonely. too afraid for words. i sat in my car, crying in the parking lot. wade came over to console me. invited me to stay with him. i'd been sleeping over occasionally for the past couple months. nights when i couldn't sleep, i would call him like he asked me to. staying up late listening to music and talking. curled up next to him. warm arms wrapped around me. it's hard not to want that. i crave it still. safe in someone's arms. too cozy on the couch for my own good.
laying next to him, fully dressed, i starred up at the ceiling. through the gauzy curtains, lights from the road traced shadows across the room. he broke the stillness. the uncomfortable silence of my breathing. he asked me for my virginity. literally. in so many words. he knew what he was getting. and i sad yes. feeling obligated because i thought he had been taking such good care of me. and wanting to not feel anything for a little while. wanting to feel wanted. but sex doesn't equal love. although the two are quite often equated. i lay still as he slid my jeans past my hips. my underwear. lowering himself onto me. into me. i don't remember much. i can describe the room in vague details. i can tell you what outfit i had been wearing. that i cried silently to myself. hiding my face in the crook of my arm. and that it didn't hurt. no physical pain. just emotionally scarred.
this is the story i have to tell my children. devoid of any romance or sentiment. this is the baggage i carry into every new relationship. but i have been made pure and new. whole in the love of god. baptized. love and grace. but it doesn't erase the memories. the regret. wishing i had that gift to give my husband. trying not to feel like damaged goods. but i have learned, broken can be extraordinary. i've got to forgive myself. to soften those eyes of disappointment. to love the woman that i have become. all the million little pieces of her.
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