No Sex For The Wicked

Days sober: 15.

I am feeling low this evening. I am tearful and tired. My thoughts have largely been focused on ex-lovers who no longer think about me at all. Despite all of the noise and people around me, I feel so alone.

If I were still drinking, my loneliness would drive me into the bed of any moderately attractive man who shows me the slightest bit of attention. I would simultaneously feel better and worse, as I always do when I sleep with strangers. But I can’t do that today so I will just stay with myself, try to feel grateful for this sickening solitude, and pray that I feel less alone in the morning.


After R.L moved on and left me behind, my BPD went into overdrive and promiscuity became a coping mechanism. I started a list of every man I had ever slept with and added names to the list as they happened. This list was on my old phone, the one R.L bought me, the one I smashed to pieces when I got paralytic in early April after 46 days sober. A combination of factors have precipitated a severe decline in my cognitive abilities, mainly my capacity to form and maintain memories. I want to re-write my list because I want to know who I have slept with, because it says something about me, about my personality(-ies). I need the list because I hate not knowing things, especially things about myself. I need the list because I want to know “my number.” I just need to know what I’ve done.

But I can’t remember. I can’t fucking remember. I slept with some guy when I was drunk in May, I think, it might have been late April. I don’t remember his name. I am disgusted in myself. I need to know his name. But because I didn’t have the list, I didn’t write it down when I found it out, and now I don’t remember. I am a disgrace.

I am going to re-write my list, as the names come to me. After the first 7 guys it won’t be in order because I can’t remember. But I will try to remember. This is my project. This is my “brain training.” I am going to venture deep into the darkest corners of my frazzled brain to dig up the names of guys that I wouldn’t recognise if they walked past me in the street. I am awful. God, I hate myself. But I need to know. I need to know who I have slept with. Because the only thing that’s worse than knowing the details of what I did with him is knowing that he knows something about me that I don’t.

I am going to remember. It’s going to be difficult, and upsetting, and scary, but I am going to remember.



  1. I Wish you well with the writing, the listing, the remembering. I know you will get through this. You are not awful, you are recreating the true you.

  2. This is how I feel about my writing project to write down everything from my life so far – my memory is robbed by these medications and I don’t want to lose who I was/am. The good times and the bad.

    1. It really is so horrible. And I feel like docs won’t take our memory problems seriously because we’re not 60+ years old.

      I’m really gutted about my memory loss/”pseudodementia” – I still remember every traumatic experience in excruciating detail, but most of the good ones or “normal” ones have gone.

      I know it sounds obvious but keep a pen and paper with you always, and as soon as you get the slightest hint of a memory (a smell, a colour, a place, etc) just run with it and scribble down anything and everything – perhaps it’ll encourage more pieces of the puzzle to come to light.

      Hope you’re good, babe xxx

      1. I will try the pen and paper method, that’s smart. Keeping a notebook in my purse all of the time is just a little cumbersome. Oh well, I can handle it lol.

      2. Doesn’t have to be a whole notebook, just keep a ripped-out page nearby at all times. I write things on receipts, cigarette papers, even tissues, because I know if I don’t write something down I’ll probably never think of it again

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