It Is What It Is in The Secret Writings of Eros: Book 3- Fallout, Pain, Acceptance, and Perseverance

I despise that this space has become almost exclusively a place for lament. I had such higher hopes for it. OH WELL.

I think, as stupid as it might seem, that I really need someone even semi-attractive to me to flirt a little. It sounds terrible but… before I was married… I was cute. I didn’t have sex or engage in frivolous relationships (which… I’m thinking… was a huge fucking mistake) but my “I don’t know, I don’t feel great about myself or my appearance” typically had a bit of a buffer with at least… someone flirting… at least a little… at least every once in a while.
Then… the Chronic Pain Diagnosis… and the getting older… and the now EX wife using so much of our time together to tell me that she wasn’t asexual… I just was too fat and unattractive. And now… what my life has become. I just… I’m in a place where… I don’t even want it to go anywhere really. I would just… like to feel like I was attractive. Like someone found me worthy of affection. YES- clearly something to take to my therapist. I just… so much “build up of issues” during the marriage… and then for my only “release” or “exception” after the split being.... a Hyper Sexual woman that didn’t actually want me much… or often… or apparently at all..... then… well.... what happened to start 2021. And how that was the last physical contact of an amorous, romantic, or sexual nature. I know I’m a broken record. I know it doesn’t make sense. But there seems to be a recurring theme, I suppose.

I waited for my wife and thought “My years and years of celibacy are at an end.”
I was wrong.
After my wife essentially told our Marriage Counselor that I was too fat to fuck (at 5‘7 and 220 lbs) and that a marriage of Serve Her and Shut Up was exactly as far as she was willing to do.... I figured… okay. So, leaving the wife means I won’t have year after year after year of NO HOPE at even so much as an amorous lip to lip kiss. At least the possibility exists.

I know I’ve got too much going on anyway. New job. Selling a house. Packing the house to finish buying a new house to move into. There’s a lot going on. I just… I could use the ego pick me up, I guess.
And the longer I go without anything like it… the more I start to believe (consciously or not) that the Ex-Wife was right. Maybe possessing a gut does make me too fat for kindness, affection, or sexual interest.