I Touch Myself!

Photo courtesy of Don't I Wish

I want to get serious for a moment, so if you're after a nice easy read full of sex and fluff, hit the 'back' button and go in search of porn instead. Today I'm going to discuss an issue that's been weighing heavy on my heart for the past twenty years. One that has had impacted significantly on all facets of life, and perhaps most crucially, my sexual relationships.

Body Dysmorphia. BDD.

The American Psychiatric Association's DSM-IV describes BDD as a "Preoccupation with a specific body part and the belief that this body part is deformed or defective. The preoccupation is significantly excessive and causes distress or significant impairment in functioning. It is not better explained by another disorder such as dissatisfaction with body shape in anorexia or delusions associated with a psychotic disorder."

Mine? My thighs.

I'm not going to bore you with twenty years of vanity related woe, but long story short my battle with body dysmorphia left me struggling with self-hatred, bitterness, self-harm, extreme shyness, acute anxiety, paranoia, depression and bulimia. It left me with scars, both physical and emotional. Scars that are still healing, and I fear will forever be doing so.

I've mentioned before that I am in a committed and loving relationship and have been for years, but at one time, for a period of about four years, I can count the number of times I fucked my husband on one hand. One. Hand. I couldn't even look at my reflection or bear the thought of my mister touching me in any way more than a cuddle. Sex was most definitely out of the question.

Anyway, blah blah blah, yada yada yada! Why am I writing about this shiz? Well, I want to share the things that helped me finally break free from of cycle of self-loathing and resentment.

Erotica.

I know, ironic considering sex was something of a black cloud in my world. But erotica heals. I began reading erotica after nabbing a copy of Cecilia Tan's 'Black Feathers' at an NYC thrift store five years ago. I devoured it, sliding into bed each night so I could read a few more pages of this genre that was new to me. So I read. I read and I read and I read. And after I read, I wrote. I wrote erotica for myself, to arouse nobody but me. Because this wasn't about anyone else. If I wanted to get better, I had to focus first on myself, making peace with my body, and then healing the sexual intimacy with my husband would follow suit.

All the reading and writing started to pay off. And with that came certain 'feelings.' Yes, the horn! I started to devote time to myself, to explore my body and open my mind to the fantasies imprinted on the page. The fantasies in my mind. I spent evenings on my own, often hours at a time, touching myself, rediscovering the beauty of a body I had so long detested. I would smooth my hands across subtle curves and jarring hipbones, across supple thighs and petite breasts, coaxing it into a state of blissful arousal. I felt good. For the first time in years I felt a real sense of recovery. I felt liberated.

Whilst it may not work for everyone, I honestly believe that masturbation and eroticism are crucial in the healing process of body-related demons, leading to a more enhanced and fulfilling relationship with the misters and missus' in your life. What better excuse is there to devour the porn?!

Hurrah for girltime pervery!

Some resources that assisted me in my recovery of BDD and depression: -

• The Mind Gym
• The MoodGYM Training Programme - Australian National University
• About a million erotic fiction titles, including my own since-pubbed pieces.