Dying For Sex

[smokingboot]

The last few days have been difficult. And tonight is difficult in a different way.
Seeking for some film to watch, I came across Dying for Sex based on the true story of Molly Kochan, a woman who, diagnosed with terminal breast cancer, leaves her husband of 13 years to explore her sexuality.

I didn't watch it because...

Because really?

Jeez, it's only sex. Honestly, there's nothing easier.

Maybe in a situation where there hasn't been that validation of one's sexual attractiveness or identity, one might just think 'Where's my orgasm in all this?' Maybe. But however thwarted, I can't imagine a situation in which I would dump my carer/partner/friend. Surely it's not either/or. So perhaps not Molly's greatest moment, but cancer does strange things to the mind.

I never felt so sexless, so lacking in attractiveness and attraction as after the diagnosis. I could not imagine looking at myself. There was no desire. I mourned the loss of that version of me because I spent a lot of my life moving through the vibe, loving it. I wasn't a pretty kid but turned into an all right looking adult, which always helps. Things changed and I liked the way things changed. There were decades of being wanted, one way or another. It couldn't retrospectively flange the terrifying neglects of childhood, but it gave me more balance for my adult years. They've been a lot of fun.

The cancer came much later which may be one among the differences between me and Molly Kochan. I felt deeply unsexy, but in fairness I had spent many years feeling otherwise. I was OK with being rid of that sense because it had been around me forever. The timing was merciful for me. Not so much for Molly.

I feel for her but still didn't watch the show.