I just watched a movie on HBO On-Demand called The Uninvited. It’s a shitty movie about a woman who usurps the emotions of a widower with her youth and sluttiness. The story is told from the perspective of a teenage girl who resents this woman for stealing her dad’s affections from where they should belong: on her and on her dead mother. It really resonated with me because of my similar experience, which I write about extensively a little later on.
I no longer think that my Christian upbringing had much to do with my sexual repression today. After all, Dad didn’t really discuss sex much, except to give a rather clinical description. All of the prohibitions against it I developed came from books, and were placed upon me by myself. From what I’ve heard from friends, their religious parents never really discussed it either, and they turned out fine. The difference in my case was that they had trusted friends they could discuss sex with, and I didn’t.
No, I think the Christian thing is just a minor contributing factor. The true problem arises from the same circumstance portrayed in the movie: to my Dad, the most important thing was sex. And I grew to detest it. I still do. A man’s sex drive is more important to him than anything else in his life. For the sake of it, he will turn his back on his friends, betray his wife, and even abandon his children. My father was one of the worst examples of this.
The problem is I know all this and I’ve written about it and written about it and talked about it and talked about it, but it does me absolutely no good. What am I supposed to do to get rid of all this hatred and bitterness? It absolutely defines my life. I had hoped that finding a qualified therapist would help me with this problem, but no. When I came to Lexington, the one I found only insisted that I find a job as soon as possible. Did she think that working a job of minimum-wage drudgery would magically cure me? The very notion is absurd.
I just don’t know what to do. That therapist that I was seeing has left the practice now to work at the Veterans’ Hospital. So I could conceivably request another therapist and maybe actually get someone interested in resolving my most deep-seated problems. Guess I could always just start going to hookers too. But I don’t think that will work. I think it could even make me hate the act even more. No matter what happens, I would have to get over this hatred first.
[Editor’s Note: There’s an easter egg in this entry. See if you can find it. I did and personally have yet to process the ramifications.]