I Miss The Body That Knows My Body

It’s about sex, but it’s more than just sex

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How many articles can be written about sex? And about being single? And how many about being single and having sex? Or being single and missing sex?

I have written about all of these, and the topic is so complex — despite how it looks— that I could write about it a lot more than I have already written. There are so many aspects and hidden thoughts in there.

Sexuality is one of the most important aspects of our lives — if not the most important. It’s an instinct, it’s a drive, it’s the source of our biggest pleasure and of our biggest frustration.

I am kind of balancing on the edge of being happy about being single, enjoying my freedom, my opportunities, my dates and the occasions I am having sex — and of being miserable and stressed out about not having anyone around, to love, to hug, to cuddle with, to talk with, to sleep with and have sex with.

And I am like a slow-motion pendulum — alternating between the two poles, the relief and frustration overwhelm me to equal measure.

It’s a hands-down bipolar feeling and both leave me breathless and confused.