There was a point in my life, not that long ago even, when I was one of those people who truly didn’t have any regrets. I looked at what I had been through as a part of life, stepping stones, lessons learned. But as some time has gone by, regret and shame has eaten away at me. I lie in bed at night unable to sleep, the picture books of terrible memories flipping through my brain.
If I were to condense everything into one regret it would be going through a time where I didn’t treat myself very nicely. I made poor decisions and I ended up damaging myself emotionally.
I first had sex a couple weeks after I had turned 18 (it was actually on my mom’s birthday, which is even worse). I met the guy at work. He was older, 24 or 25? I can’t remember. We got along. He actually asked for my number and all that jazz, which was shocking and flattering, and since I sort of had a thing for him, this was all very exciting for me. A person….interested in…me?! Never had this happened before. We hung out once and nothing happened. He wasn’t from my city so I took him downtown to the art gallery, which I scorn myself for now, because that art gallery is beautiful and he ruined it for me. Then soon after, he invited me over to his place. I was prepared. I knew I was going to have sex. It was terrible. It was just…awkward. I have major body issues, more now than I did then, but still, and I didn’t like being so exposed in front of someone who had the capability to judge me. I felt vulnerable. It also just didn’t feel good. Giving a man a blowjob isn’t enjoyable, let’s face it. I didn’t even enjoy receiving oral. The penetration was alright, but I mean, obviously I’m not going to get off.
Moving on. I had sex with him five or six times after this, and the more I had sex with him, the more I hated him. There’s not even any reason behind it other than the fact that he was just sort of an asshole in general. I was just a booty call and not even one he could manage to show an ounce of respect to, or, god forbid, help get off.
This past summer, one of my friends and I were talking about it, and she just said to me, “You regret it”, and it just hit me. Yes, I regret it. I regret every time I either gave into pressure or gave into the feeling of being wanted when, really, I wasn’t. Just because I felt ready and was ready to have sex didn’t mean my future self was ready. I wish I had waited, not with the intention of “saving” the experience for someone I “love”, because I’ve been single since day one and I don’t expect that to change in the next few years to come (I can’t even look at attractive people when I see them, I pretend they don’t exist.), I guess I wish I had waited because it wasn’t worth it to do it. What did I ever gain from it? Nothing, except feeling stupid and easily manipulated and desperate.
I have no interest in sex at this time. I haven’t felt interested in sex in a very long time. I know my experience was just with one person and it’s going to be different with someone else, but I also know my body and I know myself and there’s a big chance of me just not enjoying it. Unless it’s with someone who shares a mutual affection for me, but again, fat chance (ha, get it?).
I regret putting time and effort into people who never did the same for me, and this goes for all relationships, sexual or non-sexual.