<p>By the way, despite having been on estrogen for 10 years now (both orally and, since my surgery, internally), with the source of testosterone gone for 7 years, I do still have a libido. Although it’s certainly a lot lower than it was once upon a time. Especially because in some ways I feel I’m still recovering from my surgery, which was, if I recall correctly, a year ago this coming Monday (and that’s hard for me to believe, a subject I might talk about in another thread). </p>
<p>This has been an amazing thread, although I’ve hesitated to say anything, since I’m hardly in a position to offer anyone marital or relationship advice. Other than to suggest to future generations that it’s not a great idea to marry someone 9 months after you met them, especially when, at the age of 31, you’ve never had a relationship before that lasted more than a couple of months. And not so many that lasted less.</p>
<p>But I did want to say that in my own experience (which, after all, is all I can talk about, despite the temptation we all sometimes have to universalize our experiences), it’s infinitely worse, and more painful, to go completely without physical intimacy inside a marriage, than it is to be effectively celibate when single.</p>
<p>During the last 10 years of my 13-year marriage (it was technically 18 years, but we were separated for the final five), there was no physical intimacy at all. Never mind sexual intimacy; there was never so much as a held hand or a chaste kiss on the cheek. Maybe there were one or two smiles over those years, but that’s about it. And it was incredibly painful to me; the feeling of rejection was a constant. It wasn’t my imagination, either – the 10 year period began with my spouse specifically saying as much; something along the lines of “I no longer find you attractive in that way.” I’m not assigning blame; nobody can help how they feel. And maybe there was a perception, without knowing exactly why, that there was something very different about me. But I couldn’t help how the rejection made me feel, either. I have never exactly suffered from high self-esteem in the first place, and the cumulative effect of all those years of rejection and coldness was devastating to me. It isn’t as if we fought all the time; there were long periods when we co-existed, and co-parented, and did things like going to restaurants and movies together, and took family vacations, in reasonable peace. Sometimes, I managed to suppress the conscious awareness that something was very wrong. But not for long. </p>
<p>By the time we separated, I was essentially an emotional basket case. Still, I might never have left the marriage if I hadn’t been forced to. I couldn’t bear the idea of being separated from my son. He was only 10 when my ex finally informed me (by email, of all things!) that our marriage was over, and when I did leave, after several months of seriously contemplating suicide, and blaming myself for everything (a feeling my ex strongly encouraged, I’m sorry to say), I think I cried every night of the first year of the separation when I wasn’t with J. I missed him so very much. </p>
<p>I used to wonder if my ex had needs in that area at all, because I saw no evidence that they were being taken care of in any other way, with mechanical devices or otherwise! Later on, I learned that there had been an extramarital affair going on, throughout the marriage, with someone my ex had known for many years before I came along, and had actually considered marrying but didn’t because the person didn’t want any children. (I think the way my ex viewed it, the marital vows didn’t apply to pre-existing relationships – a grandfather clause, as it were!) In retrospect, I probably should have figured it out, but the thought honestly never crossed my mind. Maybe it’s better I didn’t know until after we separated, because the depths of my low self-esteem (and my desire not to be separated from J.) might have led me to stay even knowing what was going on. My divorce lawyer actually tried to persuade me to take a paternity test. I was absolutely horrified, and of course refused. I never doubted for a moment that J. is mine, and knew that nothing could change that. (Besides, among many other things, we have the identical feet!)</p>
<p>In any event, to get to the point finally, I have now been celibate again for more than four years, since my one post-marriage relationship ended. Yes, I’m lonely a lot of the time. Yes, I’m envious of those of you with longterm marriages. I miss the companionship, as much as the physical intimacy. But there’s no comparison whatsoever to the emotional damage I incurred from being in a marriage with no physical intimacy, and being continually aware of the rejection, for a decade. I’d rather be alone forever (something that seems increasingly likely the older I get, especially given my horror of the process of trying to meet someone new, and especially given the difficult issues of disclosure of my history that I would face) than be in that kind of relationship again for any length of time.</p>