Life After Sex
(Personal brooding and frank non-explicit sex talk alert)
Lately, most of the feedback on my blog comes back to me via Facebook, email or even Twitter. Which is curious, but means I’m sometimes answering the same questions more than once. So I thought I’d post a note here and let people know why I’ve been semi-offline for the past little while.
Things have been building up for awhile, I’ve been burning out, and in fact I’ve been taking some conscious steps back for a few years (with blogging as an exception) — the point was not to leave advocacy altogether, but to take a supportive role and inform newer folks who might be stepping up. But something seems to always draw me out again (last year it was the delisting of GRS; this year, it’s Bill C-389). I’ve also been facing down some personal issues. That much has been obvious to some, and the disappearance from the various forums and groups I’ve been a regular at for years. I won’t go into details, but I’ve had to face up to something that is somewhere between post-traumatic, minority and survivor stress, which I’ve been putting off for years in order to focus on others and community.
There is another part to it, and it’s very much a case of Too Much Information, but I mention it here because I really don’t know anyone who has experience with this, or who to contact.
When someone physically transitions from male to female, hormone therapy causes a significant reduction of libido. In most cases, it’s a reduction, but once in awhile, it’s a complete obliteration of the ability to experience anything from sex. The medical process is designed to sterilize us, and sometimes it does a little more. I don’t mean just lack of orgasm, I’m referring to the ability to get any enjoyment at all.
I’m the lucky one.
(more after the fold)
I’ve said before that transition isn’t about sex, and that’s true. If I had to choose between being who I am now and living a lie but being able to have sex, well, then I still made the choice that I needed to. But that’s sort of like having to choose between breathing and having a roof over your head — one you can live without, but why would you want to?
This too has developed over the course of a few years, and can be credited to Cyproterone Acetate (Androcur). I’d reached this point nearly a year before surgery, but had kept hope that once the need to take T-blockers was gone, something would return. It’s been long enough now that I can no longer hold on to that hope. Posting this here is probably a last-resort way of reaching out to find out if anyone else has ever experienced this and recovered or if it’s time to accept it and move on.
This is rather difficult for me, because I was rather fond of sex, as a form of communication and intimacy, as an exercise of imagination, and as an escape and tension release. I’m stubbornly sex-positive and have very fond memories of when my life was enriched by passion. I miss it tremendously.
Please understand that the simple answers aren’t going to work. This is not something that toys or porn or experimenting with myself or a new partner is going to fix. I’ve been coming to terms with this quite long enough to be certain of this.
If the word asexual comes up in the follow-up discussion, please note that most folks I know who identify as asexual are asexual by choice. I respect that, that’s cool, but it’s not my choice. If I reject that label, please understand that I am not rejecting or vilifying self-identified asexuals.
And for those I know in real life who are reading this, please respect the fact that being open about this here doesn’t mean that I’m ready to talk about it just anywhere, just anytime and to just anyone. Not yet.
So, well, it’s out there. If anyone has experience on this, I’d appreciate hearing about it.
(Crossposted to The Spectrum Cafe)