For several years I enjoyed an active sex life with many partners and wrote about it in a sex blog that gained a large following. Each week I'd post intimate details of my exploits for thousands of strangers all over the world to fantasize about, usually accompanied by a naughty photo taken by one of my lovers. But eventually the posts started to slow down. I was lucky to post once a month, and many of those were responses to other people's sex lives (answers to reader questions, commentary on articles, etc.) rather than accounts of my own, because my own was non-existent. I no longer desired sex. When I did have sex, it was mostly for maintenance of my relationships. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy it, I just didn't care about it. I stopped reading erotica and watching pornography. I stayed away from parties that I knew would have a strong sexual element. I just wasn't comfortable around sex anymore, and I had no idea why. Furthermore, my friends knew me as a proud, sexually charged exhibitionist and expected things out of me that I could no longer deliver. Any time I was in a social situation that had any kind of sexual energy I felt as if I was pretending to be someone else. Well, not really someone else. Still me, but the Old Me.
I missed her, the Old Me. I missed the attention she enjoyed. I missed the pleasure she experienced. I missed the confidence she flaunted. I wanted to be her again, but feared that time in my life had passed. For several years I struggled with my identity and my direction in life. I'd wrapped my entire personality up in my sexuality and was on the path to becoming a real sex writer. Who was I now, and what was I going to write about? And why had something that felt so right and come so easily suddenly become so foreign?
I spent the next several years trying to create a New Me that felt as good as the Old Me. I started a business. I took dance lessons and began performing. I got a dog. I even wrote, occasionally. None of my writing was very interesting or inspired, but at least I was doing it. My life was very...comfortable. But I didn't want comfort. I wanted passion. I wanted excitement. I wanted my writing to have that special spark that it used to have. I wanted to get that electric charge I got when I was describing the taste of a lover's vagina or the feeling of a hard cock ramming into my eager, wet pussy. But it just wasn't there anymore.
Finally, at the age of 36, I started seeing a counselor. It wasn't long before she identified the deep state of depression I was in. It was so obvious to her that I was surprised I hadn't seen it myself. The social isolation, the low energy, the monotone voice, the lack of interest in anything at all - these were all symptoms of depression. Not sadness, but real depression. The disease that sucks any and all motivation out of you. The condition where you walk around in a thick fog and don't care whether you live or die. And, most definitely, the disorder that destroys any drop of sexuality you have in you. As we discussed the possibility of medication I began to feel a glimmer of hope that my spark was not gone forever.
Even though I was hopeful that I would soon be feeling better, I did not fool myself into thinking that medication would turn me back into the sexually charged vixen I was before. It may lift the fog so that I could start enjoying my life again, but I'd heard countless accounts of the havoc anti-depressants can wreak on a person's sex drive, and I didn't want to expect too much and be disappointed. When, at the recommendation of my counselor, I visited my doctor to discuss a prescription for anti-depressants, I timidly mentioned my concerns about the medication's effect on my sex drive or ability to orgasm. I wasn't having much sex at the time, and the sex I did have was only mildly pleasurable, but I didn't want to risk it getting worse. She was very understanding (I adore my doctor) and knew exactly what to prescribe. It turns out that there are some anti-depressants that don't affect your sex drive as much as others. One, in particular - Wellbutrin - has even been shown to increase sex drive and sexual enjoyment. BINGO! This was the one. I was so excited I could barely wait to get out of there and over to the drug store to get my prescription filled.
Most anti-depressants take several weeks to take effect. Wellbutrin, however, has some benefits almost immediately. Within the first week of taking the medication I was already feeling more energized. The fog had started to lift. And, best of all, my sex drive was coming back. Oh boy, was it coming back. For the first time in years, I had hope that the Old Me was still in there somewhere, and this medication might be the key to unlocking her.
And that's what this blog is about: My journey to rescue my sex drive from the suffocating grip of my depression. There will be good days and bad days. There will be great sex and mediocre sex. There will be reflection and titillation. I'm very excited to share this experience with all of you, and I hope that my posts will both excite you and give you someone inspiration if you are experiencing similar trials and tribulations.
Look out, world, because this (moody) slut is back in action!