You wrapped me up in a white canvas and wouldn't allow me to get dirty, wet, or stained. Your nimble fingers tied marionette strings to my limbs and controlled my movements. I was always the sweet one on the sidelines, watching with a careful eye, the others playing in the mud, laughing and squealing. I was trying to memorize their movements because I wanted to learn how to be human.
For me, food and sex have often gone hand in hand in the past. I’m not present when I’m eating or in bed. Both of these acts sustain life. Without food, we die and without sex our species dies. I have found myself sneaking food here and there, always wanting to consume it in private. As for sex, the sooner I can get to it and the faster it can end, the better. Whatever happens in the middle is a mystery to me.
I feel like I’m engaging in a pornographic act when I eat a cupcake in public. The sugary food is labeled “bad” because of the buttery, flour-filled, often chocolaty deliciousness that it is. It’s packed with calories and will have a negative impact on one’s body should one be concerned with those things. So eating one out in the open must make me “bad” right? Or the envy of someone who can’t or won’t consume such a delicacy which results in unwanted glances or flat out staring. I enjoy the experience more when I've wrapped up said cupcake and taken it to the confines of my home.
Similarly with sex, the act of doing it is considered “bad” to those who have grown up in religious homes or have been repressed in such a damaging way that normal sexual function simply doesn't happen. I've been subjected to both ideologies that sex outside of marriage is frowned upon and that if I should so even think about doing it, I will surely get pregnant and have to deal with the consequences alone because no man will ever stick around for the repercussions.
This not only instills fear into my veins but keeps me from getting close to any man. All I can think about is getting hurt. Even though my body wants his. Even though I’m consenting. Even though I genuinely want to feed myself appropriately. The wires get tangled, the synapses don’t fire properly and I end up checking out, disassociating during the act of sex and the act of eating.
The consumption of food and the engaging in sex are both nourishing and imperative needs. They are biological needs that I've come equipped with and don’t need to be ashamed of. Yet I walk around with this shame and guilt over my feelings about sex and doing it, food and how much I’m eating that the pleasure is lost. What’s left is this empty feeling of striving to be better, thinner, sexier, or whatever the magazines tell me I have to be so I can squeeze myself into these ideals that aren't normal. There is no room for individuality or acceptance of my own desires or needs. It’s no wonder I have no idea how to listen to the messages my body is telling me about what to feed my unique organism or what my desires are telling me about what I want in the bedroom. I've been brainwashed to believe I need to be fixed when really there’s nothing wrong at all.