I’m sorry.

The Saturday before Easter I woke up, and my legs had gone numb again. Strangely the first thing my mind registered after I realized my legs weren’t working was, “Did the laundry get rotated and did hubby do the dishes?” I tried not to freak out; I failed miserably. Feeling came back and I could walk around by about noon. The pins and needles feeling lasted all day.
Tonight my thoughts went somewhere darker, and I spent a good hour crying after a botched attempt at sex. My legs decided to give out again and then I had many shooting burning pains in my legs that were unbearable.
My head went to one of the darkest places it could, “Will you still want when my body gives out, and I’m stuck in adult diapers?”
Surely I would still want to try to have sex, or, at least, be intimate when that happens but… Maybe I should invest in a sex swing. No that would not help that much. It might be fun now but will it still hold its appeal when I am a living breathing sex toy?
Does it even matter? The intimacy I crave is more than sexual. Surely the mundane thoughts of laundry and dishes I had, when I first realized that my legs had given out were a sign that I had moved past the need for mindless sex. Then again the fear I had wasn’t about sex; it was about being abandoned.
The fear of being rejected by one person who has every right to walk away from me. When I’m in pain or afraid, I turn into a real harpy and shrew. I feel terrible about it. My pain does not give me the right to lash out at the people around me, or at myself.
To anyone that I have lashed out at, I am sorry.

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