The Problem with Porn – when All the Little “Warnings” Suddenly Make Sense

 

So, I believe I left off with explaining to you that he is sweet, kind, gentle, and always considerate of me. Well, except when he’s feeding his need to use porn. Except when he’s being selfish and can only think of getting a fix. I believe I intimated that his use of porn, his drug of choice, was far beyond what I believe anyone would see as “normal”. I’m not sure what “normal” is but I’m pretty sure when a man plans his daily routines around how and when he can fit some “me” time in, he’s got an issue. I’m pretty sure that when a nearly 50-something man’s use of porn is almost daily, sometimes two or three times a day, and is often throughout the day at work, that this use is not “normal”.

I also believe that when a man and woman have a good relationship and when they have as much fun being intimate as we do, needing that much extracurricular activity is not normal. Do I believe that men “look” when the opportunity presents itself, yes absolutely, I do. I believe that men are wired to automatically notice the beautiful woman sitting across from them in the restaurant or the young female in a tight t-shirt whose large breasts are nearly half exposed as she strolls past you on the sidewalk. Honestly, I used to point them out to him because they didn’t bother me. I saw them as beautiful human beings who should be admired.

No, more. Today, I feel sickness and sorrow in the pit of my stomach when I see them. I have to talk myself back into feeling “OK” when this happens. I have to remind myself that I have no say in the fact that these women choose to go out in public that way. I have to remind myself that they are still beautiful creatures, though possibly misguided. I have to talk myself out of feeling sick inside, out of thinking about the images I’ve seen, out of thinking about the images he’s seen. I have to remind myself it is not a competition. I am a good woman who deserves to see herself as beautiful, sexy, and appreciated by her husband. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had left off that first time I sat at the computer and realized just how much porn he was watching. Just how often he was watching it. All of sudden, a lot of things made sense. Like the fact that he knows the name of just about every woman on TV or in the movies. Or, like the day, I was in the kitchen packing my lunch and getting ready to leave for work at 6 a.m. As I turned around, I saw him poke his head around the corner of the hallway.

Odd, I thought. Strange, it’s like he was peeking around the corner to see if I was still there. That didn’t make any sense. Why would he be peeking? Hiding and peeking to see if I was there? If he thought I might still be home, why wouldn’t he just walk around the corner and say goodbye? How was I supposed to know he had jumped out of bed as soon as he thought I was gone so that he could get an hour or hour and a half of porn in before he got his son up so they could go to school and work? How was I to know that the reason he’d be “tired” later was because he had already taken care of himself that morning as soon as I left for work? I suppose there were a lot of these little “warnings” that something was amiss. But, we had such a good relationship, I had no reason to believe he was hiding anything. All those little “warnings” that even though I didn’t realize it at the time, were being filed away somewhere within the darkness of my mind, waiting.

Yes, there was a reason I looked. Despite how well we got along, despite how much fun we had, despite how good the sex was, there is always a reason we look. The problem becomes what we find. The problem becomes remembering we’re beautiful, sexy, and worthy of being appreciated. The problem becomes not thinking about all the nights he couldn’t finish. The problem becomes not recalling the nights he couldn’t get excited no matter what I tried. The problem becomes not thinking about the time you dressed up in a sexy costume to excite him, to hopefully fulfill a fantasy, but he didn’t get excited. The problem becomes not thinking about alll those nights he was “tired” or “not in the mood”.

The problem becomes not feeling like it’s a competition between you and all those countless beautiful, but mostly plastic women that are just a click away any time of the day or night. The problem becomes not feeling ugly, fat, and not as perfect as they are. The problem becomes feeling uneasy now when you’re naked in front of him. The problem becomes not wanting to leave the lights on when you’re making love. The problem becomes even feeling like you “make love” any more as opposed to feeling like you’re just an object that he uses to play out a scene that he may have watched earlier. That you’re just the best he can get. The problem becomes not wondering what you don’t do that he needs you to do, that you’re not good enough so that’s why he turns to them. Especially, when you know you’ve never said no to anything he wanted, anytime he wanted. I know that may sound like an exaggeration to you. But, it is not.

I always saw it as my mission to keep him happy. Doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted pleased me. It satisfied me. Thinking that I took care of him and that I was all he needed. Not surprising that the problem would become me feeling inadequate, unwanted, and not needed. Not surprising I’d become upset, hurt, insecure, or that I would feel used. Not surprising that I’d begin to try to figure out what this was all about in an attempt to understand his behavior. Which, of course, will lead to the problem of not being able to forget, to let go, or to be comfortable again.

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