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There are some downsides to casual sex. I’ve experienced them personally and at the time, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what exactly about it made me uncomfortable. I thought, and thought, and thought, and I tried and tried, but alas, I only came up with a few halfway complete theories about what bothered me about it when I was actually living the single life. It even made me completely depressed, at times, when I would engage in casual sex.
It took some time, but I finally theorized what I had been actually living for so long, often leaving my encounters with women feeling unfulfilled, even depressed or saddened by my plight of just-having-gotten-laid. Huh. Be careful what you wish for? I think so.
It should be noted here, that I’m 100% supportive of casual sex. I just don’t think we should send ourselves into some emotional purgatory or the depths of total despair in doing it. Perhaps there’s a reason why free sex can hurt.
What I’ve finally come to understand reeks of Nietzchean values and Sartrean artificial hierarchy structures, which is basically another way of saying it’s all in what we value. When we practice casual sex, we become who we have sex with. It becomes a mirrored cycle of exploitation. The image we have of them in our heads eventually becomes us, and this realization dawns on us like a comet shattering into the Earth: we are as disposable to them as they are to us.
They’re just a body for us for a night, a week, etc., but then again, so are we for them. This can seriously hurt if we’re not okay with it.
Casual sex reminds us of our place, it reminds us that we haven’t found someone to settle down with, and it sometimes brings us back to the cold, harsh feeling of complete unlovability. In casual sex, we get a temporary reprieve from our questions of self-worth, from our nagging voice that reminds us that we’re still single and likely to stay that way, and from our sexual-physical disconnect with the world, but when the temporary fix wears off, the pain usually hurts worse.
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