The Sexual Anorexic Next Door.

(TRIGGER WARNING.)





Having recently been self-diagnosed as a sexual anorexic, I've been doing a lot of thinking about sex-positive feminism, and how - as a sexual anorexic - it's played into my personal perspectives about sex, and how rape-culture plays such a big role in my perception of sex and power, being a rape-survivor myself, and somewhat having my personal experiences with rape serve as sort of a catalyst for my sexual anorexia.

For the past year or so, since I started to come to terms with being raped by my best friend, not only have I avoided sex, but I've avoided intimacy of all styles and colors. I've always been socially-anxious, but I stopped interacting with other people almost entirely. I didn't think much of it, except that maybe it was just a normal reaction to being raped, and that I would some day feel sexual and crave intimacy once again; that it was a symptom of my - or any rape-survivor's - coping period, rather than a major issue in and of itself. However, as time progressed, I didn't begin to feel comfortable with notions of sex and intimacy again, nor did I feel myself yearning for those things. I began to feel more and more detached, indifferent, and uninterested in them. I started to wonder if I'd slowly been becoming asexual, but I knew that didn't feel right, either. I've never been asexual. Just like I've never been heterosexual. To me, "turning" asexual would be the same as "turning" straight - 's not happenin'.

It was recently that I really started examining those things, too. Asexuality is perfectly healthy and normal. It's just not healthy or normal for me. And so I began to ask myself, "What's wrong with me?" And I didn't have a single iota of a clue on how to answer that question, except to continue to dwell on the fact that my rape - and the devastating reality of who my rapist was - really fucked up my head.

I'd never heard the term "sexual anorexia" until about a week ago. I was watching a show on Discovery Health, entitled "Strange Sex." One of the stories on the show was of a gentleman who had developed sexual anorexia at some point in his life, and it was affecting his marriage in terrible ways, since his wife had to beg him for sex, and even then, he'd still refuse most of the time. I don't think I breathed for the entire duration of his story. They didn't go into great detail about the particulars of the condition, but that morsel was enough to spark my interest. I marched straight to my computer and started looking up information online about sexual anorexia.

I didn't like what I found out.

I didn't like what I found out, because every webpage I read, every synopsis of every book written by a sex expert, every video I watched, and every character assessment even remotely pertaining to the details of the condition filled me with the particular brand of dread one feels when they see/read/hear something, and can't stop thinking, "Oh. Oh, wow. That's me, for sure."

In the most concise manner, I can describe sexual anorexia as this: It is a form of sex-addiction that is on the opposite end of the sex-addiction continuum from the hyper-sexual sex-addiction that most people are accustomed to imagining when they hear the words "sex-addiction." It is an addiction to the avoidance of sexual activity, rather than the constant pursuit of sexual activity.

It's both relieving and unsettling to have a name for what I've been going through. Relieving, because I finally know what to call it, and I have a general focus, and a goal to work toward so that I can recover. Unsettling because it validates the little voice that's been inside of me for months, saying, "Wow. You're really messed up."

The main cause?

Sex-related trauma.

Other factors are considered, though, such as emotional-abuse in past relationships, social-anxiety, and a diffident/shy personality.

Check, check, check, and check, doctor.

Apparently, like the eating-disorder, and like any and all forms of addiction, this will never really go away. Sexual anorexics have the tendency to struggle with their anorexia for the rest of their lives. I know that I need to re-learn healthy sex habits, and I need to assert myself back into a real social life. I'm not sure where to start, but I do know what needs to be done. I do not want my relationships with my wonderful partners to suffer because of this.

I do think, in cases such as this, feminism is a bit of a double-edged sword for me. I've dedicated hours upon hours of my life into advocating feminism, educating people on it, writing about it, reading about it, studying feminist theory, talking about women's rights, pointing out all the oppression in Western culture, and the world as a whole. Included in all of that is rape-culture; rape-apologist culture. We live in a culture that apologizes for rapists, while blaming their victims. I know all of the details and all of the statistics about rape and rapists. Because it comes with the territory of being a feminist.

However, in knowing all of these statistics, coping with my rape, and listening to the stories of real women who have real experiences with rape and rape-survival (and I mean that only to separate them from the coldness and disassociation typical of statistical analysis), I've caused myself fear of men completely. I'm wary of nearly every man I see. Every man I pass by on the street, every man I sit next to at a bus stop, every man I stand next to in a line, every man I see walking around after the sun sets. Him in the juice aisle, and him walking into the gym, and him buying Twizzlers, and him, and him, and him over there at the bar, and him, and him, and him, too. Because if my best friend could take advantage of me, abuse my trust, use me, and rape me - someone who's supposed to love me unconditionally and protect me and want me to be okay - why WOULDN'T some guy rape me (or anyone else, for that matter) when he doesn't know me from Eve, and, thus, doesn't give a cartful of flying monkey asses about me whatsoever?

Because - and I can't stress this enough - rape isn't about sex. Rape is about power, and asserting power over someone potentially weaker than you are. And the reason you begin to question all the men around you - even strangers - is because you have no idea how many of these men are power-hungry. How many of them would rape - or have raped - because they didn't think they were raping; maybe because it's not, or wasn't, "textbook" rape. There are a lot of factors to consider, and there are a lot of reasons that women like me are placed under the spell of endless fear.**

My attitudes toward sex have always been liberal - at least, by the average person's standards, I suppose. Ever since I learned about sex-positive feminism, I knew that I could call myself a sex-positive feminist rightfully, because I'd always been a sex-positive feminist. There is an on-going debate between sex-positive feminists and anti-sex "feminists," about the emphasis placed on sex in our culture, and women practicing healthy, confident sex habits and behaviors - especially ones that don't fit into the status-quo of female sexuality. Do these pro-sex attitudes and images promote rape and sexual abuse, or similar behaviors?

No. Because rape has existed since dicks have existed. Why? Because that's how long the power-struggle has existed, too. It has nothing to do with sex-workers, or porn, or sex shops, or women asserting themselves sexually into the world, or within their relationships, or what have you. Because rape. is. not. about. sex.

Does it seem at-odds now, then, that I'm so against the idea of having sex in my personal world, while still being a huge advocate for sex-positivity and a more positive image - generally speaking - of female sexuality as a collective?

Probably.

But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop advocating, or voicing my opinions, or expressing my views, on sexuality. It also doesn't mean I'm not going to get help, and get better, and exercise my right to have positive sexual experiences, as a woman, and as a gay woman, and as a gay woman who identifies as pansexual. It doesn't mean I'm not going to keep fighting to expose rape-culture, and rape-apology, and end rape in general.

Am I a hypocrite?

Perhaps.

But at least I'm a sexy one. Or I will be again, some day.


**Yes, I acknowledge the fact that men, too, are raped, and that women, too, do the raping. I will never invalidate someone's lived-experiences that way. I am simply speaking from my own personal perspective, since this particular blog is personal in nature, and it covers topics that are very personal for me, in my life.