Ever since I got dumped, my confidence has taken on a new level of manic that I hadn’t experienced since I realized that I had boobs and got my first massive zit on the same day. I vacillate between the first person to suggest we all strip down and jump in the ocean to the girl who hasn’t worn a bikini since 1996, at which time it was striped cotton from Gap Kids. This has had a major effect on my personal loving time. All of the sudden, I turn off the lights and hide under the sheets. My vibrator went from being a friendly reminder of my empowered sexuality to a sorry plastic accessory of my depression. Suddenly I didn’t have time to make myself pant and moan because work was exhausting me to the point of brain numbness. And you know that once you think your day job is more important than orgasmic relief, you are taking the express route to a nervous breakdown.At first I literally had to force myself to do it. It was akin to taking my vitamins, organizing my winter wardrobe, and paying bills. And honestly since I didn’t want to think of him and I wasn’t yet attracted to someone else specifically, I started thinking about these sexy blank male figurines that were basically Ken Dolls with working genitalia. It was a very clunky fantasy to say the least, most of the time existing in an equally neutral space like a room full of TV static. In addition to having Barbie Boy fantasies, I felt completely disassociated from my own body. I often didn’t feel sexy enough to be allowed to have sex (as if there was some judge pronouncing girls in hot shorts worthy and deeming those with scraped knees unacceptable), so it was almost impossible for me to place myself into a fantasy world.
Despite masturbation sessions which often ended in me giving up, rolling over and proceeding to sleep/drool on my pillowcase, I continued trying to make it work for me. I decided that instead of focusing on fantasy, I needed to be aware of the here and now of my body. No longer thinking about men better suited for plastic dream houses than a good romp in the woods, I focused on the way my body felt, what I was exactly doing, and where I was in that moment. Instead of creating fictitious plots, I concentrated on breathing deeply and feeling exactly the way my toes arched in a moment of exhilaration.
And it worked! Soon I was not only rushing home after work to jump in my bed alone, I was feeling connected with and confident about my body. That said, I know that in the first days after a breakup, getting off is often the last thing on your mind, but maybe it should be one of the first. And if you can’t get it right the first time: try, try, and try again! You’ll get there eventually. Trust me.