Great input:

You are not going crazy but you are both attempting to heal from past wounds that you both carry. Marriage is either repeating all the past bad relating habits adapted in childhood or transcending them when the unhappiness and misery reaches a point that becomes impossible to ignore any longer.

I worry that you are using sex to prove love but sex and love are independent. People have sex all the time who do not love each other and people love each other all the time without sex.

The two things are separate but each is better when they are combined.

Sex may not be your problem but actually love and the Borderline Behavior is nothing more than the frantic desire to be loved so not  “abandoned”

The word abandoned must be expanded to mean more than being physical abandonment and what is really meant is emotional abandonment and this comes from the experience of emotional abandonement in the past starting in childhood.

Its the emotion from childhood onward that is being mixed with adult sex and than labeled love that creates the anger and frustration.

You may be mixing unmet emotional needs  with sex so using sex to buy emotional safety to not re-experience the past emotional rejections.

This will cause your husbands sexuality to shut down because he will sense he is being asked to give you something that is impossible to give you, like missing out on a fathers love or repairing past abuse.

You will cripple his confidence by controlling him to protect your own self esteem that has been damaged from unmet emotional needs or past emotional abuse that may also have a physical component.

Look into your past for sexual patterns where you used sex to buy emotional security but the type of security that is born out of childhood fears and not the rational adult need for security.

The problem with sex is we bring all this emotional baggage along and poison the sex with it.

To often sex is used for everything but sex so it is contaminated. Fear destroys sex.

What is happening in your marriage is that both you and your husband are confronting your inner demons that were created in your past that were brought into the relationship.

A good marriage works like a form of therapy to heal from the wounds of childhood so frees you but a bad marriage keeps you trapped in those wounds and reacting to them.

You are moving from bad to good and this makes you feel like you are losing your mind and control over your own mind. It is a process that requires a certain trust in the process much like a blind leap of faith.

Keep searching your own mind for the truth and the original source for any emotions that make you uncomfortable. All negative emotions such as fear, live in the past and are projected into the future.

Water always seeks its own level so you and your husband found each other based on the wounds each of you carried from the past so each of you must face your respective fears created by past trauma.

A relationship will only change when both participants change because codependency reinforces each others behavior as the two dance together in their own respective fears created by past wounds.

You have a very strong personality and it would be easy for you to fall into unhealthy patterns of dominating your husband but it is being driven by your own fears and self doubt.

Each of you have been demanding that the other gives you something to make up for the past but the past cannot be fixed by the present. The past is dead and gone and nothing we do now will give us what we did not get than.

You want to move beyond yourself by going into yourself and in doing this you will see what the patterns of your behavior mean and how you are using these behaviors to get what you need.

Emotions drive need so understand the real reasons for what you need and you will discover the emotion underlying it. Look to your past and how it has formed you.

Ever since 9th grade, I have used sex for validation, for a temporary moment of control and love.

I had no love as a child, I received ZERO validation from anyone.

My mother anti-loved me.  She worked hard to cut me down, to insult me, to be sure I had no love and never thought I was pretty, or enough, in any way.

She made sure I knew that my lips made me ugly, painting my nails didn’t matter.  She loved to roll my eyes at me in exasperation when I’d try to dress cuter, reminding me that my hair was nasty.

She ignored the burns on my arms.  IGNORED them.  Never acknowledged the obvious, that I was hurting myself.

Never acknowledged the bruises all over my body that I had from inflicting them upon myself.  I don’t know what I would have said if she had asked.  That I bang my hairbrush into my body over and over again to inflict pain onto my 12/14 year old self?  Who knows.  I just wanted her to care, but she refused.  My dad- it was like he didn’t exist.  He was rarely seen, even more rarely heard.

I acted out so much in attempt to get her attention.  I got birth control pills from planned parenthood and left them sitting out in plain sight.  Never asked about them.

Once she inquired if I was smoking marijuana because she thought she smelled it on me.  She got very mean about it, insulting me, telling I was ruining my life.  Too bad it hadn’t even crossed my mind yet and she was insulting me for nothing.  I guess that was her version of “caring”.  A year or two later once I really did start drinking, drinking and driving, having sex, running away to drug houses and doing drugs, then she never asked again.

This was all made acceptable and evened out by telling me she loved me no matter what, that I was an amazing person and I was special in my own ways- OH WAIT, she never once said anything like those things.  She never once said the words “I love you” she never once played with my hair or rubbed my back or put her arm around me or did any of those things moms do.  I NEVER HEARD “I love you” come out of her mouth, never once.  I never “felt” I love you through her actions.  I felt plenty of the opposite.

I’d love to say that that shit doesn’t matter, that I “know” I’m enough, because I am.  And of course I know that logically.  But hearing my mother tell her best friend that she doesn’t even like me some days, as a CHILD, is damaging.  To hear my mother say that she “feels bad for me” because I wasn’t developing breasts like the other girls.  To hear her call me “gross” to her mother as she talked about how she hoped some day I looked normal.

To know that she supported a 24 year old divorced MAN take me to my high school PROM, to know that she *bought me a bigger bed* so we could sleep together in it in her home before I went to college, to know that she essentially PAID this then-25 year old man to move across the state with me when I went to college… she had no faith in me as a person.

She showered me with gifts, with expensive things I didn’t care about, but they were not handed to me with love or interest, they were left out somewhere, then later referred to as “stuff she bought for me- did I get it?” “Yeah, thanks.” nothing further.

My dad, he was practically a mute.  I have no idea what any of his opinions are, what he thinks of… anything, what he… expected of me… nothing.  She ruled his life, they, as a couple had one set of friends who lived one hour away.  My mom worked and my grandma raised me mostly during the days, she was playful with me at least, if not loving or caring.

Despite all of this, my childhood was “fine.”  I wasn’t beaten, I did make my own bad choices, I lacked guidance, but I had a fun time, and I survived it, without “really” hurting anyone.  Except  myself.   My self injury carried into adulthood.  Now it seems to be a trend, but I didn’t know anyone else who was doing it when I was.  I was alone.  Burning myself with cigarettes outside the bedroom window in my 3 bedroom ranch by the lake in the suburbs.  No sisters, no brothers, just dogs, no parents with any presence at all.

Even though I did not have breasts, I found my sexuality very young.  I discovered the power that it gave me, when nothing else seemed to give me power.  Nothing I did could make my parents notice me, nothing about the way I looked on the outside made anyone else notice me in a positive way.

I was extremely unattractive, the way many girls are around 13.  I was 13 when I started 9th grade.  My first sexual experience was the winter of 8th grade.

I must have started putting out this slutty vibe.  I don’t know how one does that when they are a flat chested, skinny leg 13 year old with braces and hot pink rimmed glasses and T-shirts with ugly jeans.  When I see pictures of myself from then, I feel sorry for myself.  I had no idea how to be a cute girl.  No one to help me.  No one to give me any confidence, to encourage me to build my sense of self.

Girls threw dog bones at me on the bus because I “was a dog.”  When I tried to make myself cuter and less like a “dog” I would get made fun of even worse.  I wore a skirt that I was really excited about once.  “No way will anyone make fun of me today.  I look cute in this skirt!  It’s about time I start dressing nicer” I thought.  And boom- walk on the bus, scowls, “What are you wearing- is that a lampshade?  Shouldn’t it be on your head?”  Well, there went the cute skirt idea.  And all day I had to deal with the mean girls making fun of me, flipping my skirt up so that my underwear could be seen, and calling it a lampshade.

I’m not sure when or why or how, but it eventually became possible for me to slutify myself into getting these mean girls boyfriends to cheat on them with me.

Yep, I’d show those bitches.

And I did.

Their boyfriends DID cheat on them with me.  People talked about it.  It was embarrassing, yet awesome.  I had the power to mess around with the most popular girls’ boyfriends?  Why would they do that, when I was a nobody, a nothing in my big high school, I’m not sure.  Maybe their popular, pretty girlfriends didn’t give it up.  How would they know I would, and how did it ever come to that?  I’m still not too sure.  But I did give it up.  Not sex with them, but enough to matter.  The girls stopped picking on me.  I went from dork to be picked on to slut to be ignored.  Ignore me and maybe I’ll go away, they probably thought.

I was ruining their perfect 9th grade lives… this ugly skinny girl who was kissing their boyfriends?  Crazy.

I had nothing on them.  Yet, it was all I had, my sexuality.  I still wasn’t hot when I left for college.  I cheated on almost all of my boyfriends compulsively because I could NEVER pass up an opportunity to be sexual with any man who showed any interest.  If it could feed my soul for even 20 minutes of attention, I would take it.  I had nothing else.  I’d have a different best friend every few months but I was so into BOYS that girlfriends would quickly tire of me.  I didn’t care.  The boys and the sexual “stuff” gave me all that I needed.  My parents gave me a curfew through high school, even the summer after 12th grade- but it didn’t matter, I didn’t respect them, I didn’t care about them one bit, and there was NEVER a consequence.  What could they possibly take away from me or “do” to me that I’d care about or that they’d enforce?  Nothing.

Therefore, plenty of naughty encounters took place at all times of the day and night.  I’d skip school, sleep at boys homes when their parents were away, I even “took” my dad’s car when I ran away from home with my boyfriend of the week to a drug house in Flint.  I called my parents after 5 days away to see if they did indeed care and it seemed they did.  Hearing my mom ask me to come back was a JOKE.  The joke of the year.  My memories from the drug house night scare me now.  I’m so glad no one died.  I’m so thankful to this day.

Eventually, in college the real game began.  The real danger, the stuff I will not go into right now, but those were the times that fed my sexual compulsions even more.

All of this comes up because I apply it to my now-relationship.  Sex has ALWAYS been love, albeit very, very temporary love.  Sex is all that I had going for me, all that mattered, the only way I was ever, ever SEEN in any capacity at all.

Now, all I want from my husband is sex.  For 10 years, he filled the spot that my mom had in my life growing up.  Refusing to give me love, cutting me down and withholding kindness, compassion, always always refusing to build me up.  It is what it is.  The neglect and emotional abuse was horrible, yet it was what I’d become accustomed to, and I must have seen it in him right away.

We met, 4 months later were engaged, and then 6 months after that we were married.  I must have yearned for that same neglect and disrespect and meanness that I’d grown up with.  I got it.

So here we are.  I want to break the cycle of neglect.  I see it, I want it to end.  It is clear to me.

That’s what I bring to this relationship- compulsive sex in order to be seen, even temporarily, by someone in a sexual way.  It means a lot.

A lot in this relationship, a lot in my demands for sex.  It is how I receive love.  It is how I used to receive love.

So much has woken up inside of me.

Now is the time for healing.  I need to let him be him, and I need to let myself be the real me.  The me that DOESN’T neeeeeeeeeeed constant sex to know I am loved.  The me that doesn’t have to be scared of people being mean to me, pushing me down, and taking away my self respect.  I can love myself enough to make up for what other people think of me, and I can let my husband love me the way that he wants to love me.

I’m betting that within his love for me, if I let him do it his way, it will include sex.

But I need to realize that that’s not exactly what sex means…. love is more than just sex.

Love is respect, kindness, generosity and compassion.  Support, warmth, laughter and tears.  Love is togetherness, history, and just…. being there for each other.  Being kind.

For so long, most of my adult life- love was temporary, and love was given during sex.  It doesn’t have to be that way any more.