The Worst Part of porn addiction and complete inability to be intimate is that if there is any hope of recovering as a couple, if there is any part of healing in any way- he obviously must stop porn. With that, comes complete erectile dysfunction. ED for at least a month, often 4 or more months.

When one can only be aroused by porn, once they STOP porn (and mentally KNOW/plan to/hope for never using it again) to save their marriage, they can no longer become erect without it.

It has already started. I thought it might take a few days to kick in but I guess not. Wow.
That’s all i have to say about that. talk about disappointment. i’d love to be compassionnate and patient right here but that fucking sucks. the WORST PART is that it won’t get hard for ME.
so not only have i been rejected intimately, emotionally (100%+++), physically too- and now PHYSICALLY with his penis. how many more ways can i be rejected and how much can this really get me down?

THE WORST PART is that while i feel loathsome towards him, i must still encourage him to have SEX WITH ME and give me every orgasm. Me: all. Porn: zero.
To do that, to break the porn, the penile addiction to only getting hard for porn and not giving me anything, is to have sex and have sex freqnently.

nothing is more disgusting than feigning enjoyment with a man you find foul.


you just discover that for the past 10 years, his “i’m just not that sexually driven, i’m sorry” and his “yes, you’re pretty, i just don’t have a high sex drive, i’m sorry honey” and his fucking “nice shirt” and hugs with a space between us— YES, that’s right, hugs with a space between us. He didn’t like too much physical contact. No kissing more than a “wet peck” and no close, tight, entwined hugs, in the past decade.
so you just discover that this asshole is FREQUENTING prostitue websites, FREQUENTLY JACKING OFF to porn and “celebrities” and girls with huge breasts. basically, everything i’m not.
and it hurts, it stings. it is awful.
and yet, oh. here it is, 9:30 pm, sexy time.

i can not bring myself to give myself to him tonight. to show him my breasts, to fake liking it while he tries his best to act like he’s liking it.
i can not do it. all a lie. all a fucking lie.

i am so thankful that i love my children so much, and at the same time, i DREAM OF THE SIMPLICITY of not having children. i would leave him in a heartbeat if it weren’t for the children. i don’t care about *finding another man at 33* or being “alone”. I like doing my own thing. always have.
so why, then, did i get married at 22? i’m not sure. it must have been something i saw in him that reminded me of my negleftful childhood.
my ABSOLUTE absence of any emotional connection, kindness, love. he was loving to me, but i must have seen the way it was forced and sensed on some level that it wouldn’t last. which was all so familiar and while i hated it, it was comfortable to be neglected because that is what i was used to.

so, let’s get married.
and with one million fucked up other things going on, i made him worse than he already was. my eyes are open. i see how i have contributed to all of this. i see that i am worth more than nothing. i see that i do deserve love and kindness and being seen and craved and appreciated. it sounds so whiny when i say i want to “be appreciated” but it is not that. it is that i’m living alone, always trying to get him to love me. EVERY DAY trying to get him to love me. scrambling to get tops i think he’ll like. do my hair how he likes it. wear heavy makeup because he likes that. everything i have fucking done has been for him.

but great. now let’s have sex. and encourage him to act intimately. because the poor guy needs encouragement and support.

i am fucking trying.

i am here.

i am not giving up.

but i am.