I can't remember a time when I wasn't a slut. And by that I mean an unapologetic sex-haver in regular pursuit of pleasure. Most of my adulthood has been rhythmic app swiping, dates, and hookups as fun, casual pastimes. I relished not putting too much pressure on any of it to be perfect and amazing, and I was always deliberate about my sexual choices. I felt so free in my sluttiness. Until the pandemic brought a swift change of pace.
Living with severe chronic depression, especially during a global emergency, made it impossible for me to prioritize sex. I had a super-finite energy supply and little motivation, and getting through all the steps that eventually lead to sex took so much effort. The apps exhausted me, and going on dates, schlepping to bars, and just generally meeting people to bang became a lot harder. I was forced to be selective about where I was giving my time, and my standards skyrocketed. Is this worth putting on pants and a bra? Besides, the majority of the sex I was having wasn't exactly blowing my mind, so physical intimacy was, in a way, a natural thing to let go of at the time. Ever since, I've been single and sexless.
I appreciated the break, but initially, even the understandable circumstances didn't stop me from feeling kinda shitty about myself. Part of me was like, Oh my god, I'm such a reclusive loser, so detached from the rest of the world. I had internalized that my worth was tied to my romantic partnerships and being generally fuckable. Mentally, I knew better than to fall into this trap. But emotionally, I couldn't help but buy into the lie that something was wrong with me.
This story is from the July - August 2023 edition of Cosmopolitan US.
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This story is from the July - August 2023 edition of Cosmopolitan US.
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