Now that The Muffler spilled her beans, I feel safer spilling mine. For years, years, years, and more years, The Oval Office has been sad. I've been sad too, and a consistent consumer of any/all psychotropic meds on the market. It's become a well-known fact that many antidepressants carry the side effect of lowered libido or difficulty reaching an orgasm. This concern, however, seems only to be the scourge of men and is easily fixed with Viagra, as it turns out. Not so easy for women.
I tried Viagra. I had a kick-ass doctor who knew that, at the time, Viagra was in clinical trials for use by women. It didn't work, though I desperately wanted it too. My face got flushed when I took it, which I guess was sexy, but still, I was sad and so was my sex drive. Viagra isn't considered anymore for women because it turns out that I was in the majority of women for whom Viagra doesn't work. For a few years, I was just frustrated because having sex not only wasn't interesting, but it wasn't always satisfying. But after another few years, I learned something even scarier.
Sex (and/or all of its variations) is a thing that healthy people think about, long for, imagine, and savor. Not for me. Men get aroused at least 700 trillion times during the day and they get...erections, even! I missed the equivalent feeling. I realized that I felt like Barbie with her plastic groin; nothing was going on down there. I was numb and missing out on experiences that are primally delicious and intriguing. I'm not even talking about a numbness with partners, which is another post entirely, but a numbness to the sexual places in me-- in my body, my brain, my expression as a writer, even.
I wish I could say that I realized this and proactively found a solution. Really, I just got a little tired of over ten years of drug treatment and quit most of my drugs. Suddenly, there was feeling. I felt desire again-- it wasn't merely an intellectualized experience. Sometimes I feel like I'm 13 or 14 again when making out with my boyfriend consumed my ENTIRE LIFE, whether we were doing it or not. Last week I had a dream about some guy on a tv show and it was just like being 14 again ( for, like, two days!) only, sadly, he and I didn't actually make out (for real, that is).
So now I'm better; I'm not sad and my crotch is leading a far more satisfying life. And yet. So many women are taking these meds too. And so many of them really have to. But what do they do? I lucked out-- it was an accident that my Barbie crotch sprang to life. Thank god! Of course the proactive answer is that women who have decreased libido should talk to their doctors. Of course. But I'm not sure what they'll say. I'll close my beaver musings with a comment made by one doctor I spoke to: "You know, delayed orgasm can be fun! It gives you that much more time to fool around" No, let me tell you, delayed orgasm is fun when you want delayed orgasm. A delay that last hours and hurts like a motherfucker? That's almost enough to flush the meds and choose misery in exchange for those few blessed seconds. Hallelujah, praise the lord!
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