Welcome to the freak show

It takes all types of people to make this world, and sometimes, you realize that you too are part of the freak show called Life. The past few days – and the subsequent week – has been one strange one. And even if I had tried to script it better, I wouldn’t have managed so. No, still no sex. And I really don’t know anymore whether it’s because of the lack of trying (on mine or anyone else’s part) or the lack of opportunity or the lack of interest when the opportunity presented itself. Or maybe it’s just a lack of passion.

It doesn’t turn me on to know that a man wants me. So what? You’d give me an orgasm, or perhaps two. I can do five at a go by myself. Shrug. But no, that’s just trying to be blasé about something that’s not actually that light an issue or am not that flippant about it. Sex and me have become strange bedmates…or well, given the no-bedding status, just mates – I don’t understand WHY I am behaving like this. I don’t want it. I shrink if anyone comes closer than I am comfortable with. I cringe if an arm brushes past me. And I cannot even tell you just how much I want to barf if another tries to kiss me. But I am behaving so abnormally around men that I have become very self-conscious of it.

The other day someone tried to kiss me… and I’ll be honest here. Some part of me wanted to respond, thought of it too, but the other part just plain panicked. It said, oh you bitch, you cannot keep your tongue inside your mouth. And I hated myself. And then I gagged and I couldn’t control and I started sobbing. I was so embarrassed. I could not stop. But I could not kiss him. I so wanted to … just so that this would be over, this strange, strange abhorrence at the idea of another man touching me. Without passion. Without a thought to who I am or can be or might feel or might grow into or am capable of… Kissing someone who would tomorrow turn and walk away without a backward glance or leave me ill and near-passing out at home while he went and partied.

Why do people do this? If you and I are not in love with someone, why don’t we let them go? Why do we torture them daily? Why do we hurt them, knowingly, intentionally, toying with them, with their minds, their self-esteem, their emotions, their sense of being? And why do we, in the first place, give so much importance to another to be able to DO so much to us? Hmmm, in fact, no one does it to anyone. We all do it to ourselves. For while we moon and mope, the other is merrymaking elsewhere.

I was told recently – at 12 o clock at night in my house by a man I had never met before – that I will never have a fulfilling personal life. According to this person, if I can learn to use my mind, I will always get whatever I want but I will also, always get the exact antithesis of it as well. This person also said that I was a vishkanya. Poison girl, literally. Now according to ancient Mauryan history or legend, vishkanyas were young girls raised on calculated doses of poison in such a manner that these girls became ‘venomous’ themselves. Even a mere kiss was supposed to be lethal. These women were used as political assassins etc. Now some offshoot of Indian astrology, also mentions something called the Vishkanya dosh.. some sort of a malefic planetary formation (woink!!!!) that basically makes a woman unsuitable for marriage. So basically a vishkanya is someone no man can marry. Yea baby, I am poisonous. (Does snake dance)

First no sex. Then, weird problem with sex that refuses to sort out. Third, I am some vishkanya. I don’t know which part should I be most worried about.

PS: I just re-read the post and am adding this bit 10 minute after publishing the original. Wanting to kiss someone only when there's passion involved does not mean falling in love with every person you kiss. Contrary to popular belief, women do not always fall for men they sleep with. You'd be surprised. But the thing is, that I cannot sleep with someone or kiss someone for the heck of it or because there;s a biological need for it. There has to be something more... some shared chemistry, some shared moments, something... It's just too vague and too personal to just share it for anything lesser. Even if it means possible celibacy for a long long time...
Hmmm...fuckin a!
And I posted this li'l bit because I felt I was sounding really whiny about love somewhere in the original post. And while I am whiny about sex, am not whining about love.
And then a friend of mine asked me, "If you so don't care about love and you so don't want it? Why does it bother you, that you don't have it?"