Okay, so I was lonely. I missed my city. I missed my tribe. I missed my creature comforts. But, hey, I'm adaptable. My new intention was to fall in love with my new life in this isolated paradise and embrace every ounce of this unique expat experience; including my new Spa career at five-star resort in the Caribbean.
When you fall off the wagon, you usually fall pretty damn hard and into a downward spiral of self-destructive behavior with no desire for help or change and absolutely no reason for hope. Your mind becomes resolute with the idea of failure; not just in love, but in life in general.
So there I laid; conflicted, naked and smothered in his arms. The rain beating against the window perfected the scene of our formulaic romantic drama. (insert voice-over): "Will Keex honor her true needs and desires or succumb to the temporary pleasures and the needy longings of her heart?"
Usually, our post-sex silence is almost as intoxicating as the sex. Our bodies remain blurred together and magnetized by some type of cosmic energy that floods my spirit with warm sensations of "yes". That type of hushed connection feels absolutely delicious and completely non-threatening... for awhile.
I think I'm having a mid-life SEX crisis! I'm forty-two years old, divorced and haven't had anything other than a self-induced orgasm in four years. I can't believe it myself! Never in a million, gazillion years would I have predicted this! How is this my life? Granted, Post Marital Stress Disorder (PMSD) is partially to blame.
As if my single and celibate self wasn't already consumed with enough thoughts of sex. But since availing myself to the world of dating, copulation feels imminent and fantasy has begun disrupting my general productivity. So has a discreet little vibrating toy I picked up at Babeland.
I had come to terms with the fact that I was damaged goods and carrying far too much emotional baggage to even begin contemplating a healthy new relationship that wouldn't turn into repeat episodes of relationships past. If I really wanted to be happy and if I ever wanted to experience lasting love, I'd have to rebuild myself from the ground up. I needed to fix the cracks in my foundation, gut and re-build my interior while maintaining the basic structure of who I was.
This newfound realization that I was, perhaps, better off without my EX gave me brain space to fantasize about my potentially exciting new life as a single girl. I could start fresh. Create a world where work would be fulfilling, life would be social and love would be an adventurous thrill ride of hot men. In fact, I was gonna be the "Samantha" for the first time in my life! Why the hell not? After eight loyal years to the same dude, I owed it to myself to flex my sexual prowess all over New York City.
Simply sitting with my emotions, feeling them and processing them was unavoidable as a solo dweller; even with five magazine subscriptions, Netflix and a constant supply of red wine. But, according to my therapist, sitting with my emotions was exactly what I needed to do in order to heal. This was a complicated task to wrap my brain around because I was certainly feeling stuff but I didn't feel as if I was any closer to healing.
I didn’t have 6-8 weeks to heal! My life felt like it was hanging in the balance. In a matter of 30 days, my husband abandoned me, I lost my home, I liquidated our business and, any belief I had in the “American Dream” and “happily ever after”, was shattered. Then, after my first near death experience in a car crash, I boldly re-located to NYC to start over as a newly-single 38-year old... because I booked this phenomenal gig. Yes, a blessing amongst the bullshit.
