I don't want it to end

How sex reflects your relationship to life

From the archives. Originally published April 2023.

I wrote this two years ago when I first decided I wanted to really start writing. It felt like an important place to begin because my fear of death was subtly controlling my life from every angle and turning me into a control freak as a result. I now realize this desire to “freeze” time that I refer to in this piece was nothing more than my body responding to the nervous system state of chronic freeze that I was—and still am— living in. Somatics has changed my outlook on my life entirely, but it’s fascinating for me to look back at how I conceptualized my behavior before I began learning about my nervous system, and I’m glad I wrote myself these strange little gifts to revisit.

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My birthday just passed. I reflected on my life, as one does, and my birth. And sex, the typical prerequisite for birth and life. I reflected on how sex reflects your relationship to life.

I've always been in awe at my own aliveness, ever since I was a kid. I simply could not believe it, the whole life thing. Being alive felt shocking and overwhelming—to be inside of a body, able to move, produce thoughts, make decisions. To interact with the world, direct the course of my life. What a privilege, priceless opportunity, burden, and daunting responsibility. I felt the heavy weight of existence.

I'm alive. What does that mean?

Asking such a question demands confrontation with death. What does it mean to be alive? I exist. What happens if I don't exist?

That question broke my tender, six year old heart. I could barely wrap my head around life. But the idea of one day not being alive? Ceasing to exist entirely? Erased from this world forever? "Dead"?

I couldn't think about it.

Well, I could, but I couldn't bear the thought. The thought invited hours of rumination and spiralling, followed by denial, then problem-solving, then elaborate plots for immortality. I was a six year old on a mission, trying my very best to come up with the very best solution. Death was a problem, I decided. Alone, I would solve the problem of death.

Most nights would end in tears, crying over the uncertainty of it all, seeking my mother's comfort. She would hold me and tell me tales of heaven. She assured me that death wasn't all that bad—at least, she reasoned, I could reunite with Grandma one day, and all of the other dead people, and God.

I dreamed of the dead people I would eventually meet, and what questions I would ask them. I thought about George Washington, and Abraham Lincoln, and Jesus. Those were the only dead people I knew.

I couldn't get excited over these men, as hard as I tried. I was excited about life here, right now, on Earth.

At the same time, I dreaded the passing of time. I couldn't simply enjoy my time here. I needed to be here forever, and so did my mom, and my sister, and my cats, and my friends.

I like being alive, I decided. I don't want it to end.

So, I started clinging to life.

I clung to everything I loved with a grip of iron. I rejected death, meaning I rejected change. I did not trust it.

I wanted all of my childhood friends to be lifelong friends. I wanted each romantic partner to be my life partner. I wrote mushy, sentimental letters when friends moved away; I was terrible at simple goodbyes. I took photos religiously, so I could make moments mine forever, so I could freeze time. I got botox, so I could freeze my facial muscles, so I could freeze time. I got tattoos, so phases would never be just phases, mom.

I refused to let my life be a phase.

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A year ago, I was having really good sex with a partner. We felt so connected. He looked into my eyes and said, "I'm so grateful you're in my life."

I blurted out, "I don't want it to end."

I thought I was talking about the mind blowing sex. I didn't want the sex to end. When it ended before I wanted it to, I started crying. I felt distressed, powerless, out of control. This thing I loved ended, and I had no control over it. I thought I was talking about the sex. Or perhaps our relationship as a whole.

I was talking about life. Everything about life. I didn't want it to end. And if something had to end, I wanted it to end on my terms. I didn't want anything taken from me. I didn't want life taken from me. I refused to accept death.

Some people welcome life, and death, with open arms. Surrendering to it, they let life pour through their fingers like water, knowing it's counterintuitive to grasp. Water can't be held for too long. Still, they acknowledge the goodness passing through. "I'm so grateful you're in my life," my partner said.

Others cling to life. I was a clinger. I don't want it to end.

Sex reflects your relationship to life. Some people have playful, exploratory attitudes towards sex, eagerly accumulating novel experiences—curiosity drives them. Some people are hungry, hedonistic, wanting to soak in pleasure, eat up as much life as they can. Some anorexics abstain entirely, exercising rigid control, not feeling worthy of life. Some people are caught up in power complexes. Some are straight up scared.

I viewed sex, like life, as a dangerous yet precious thing. It was a big deal, and I was cautious, and I had to feel entirely safe before jumping in. I wanted to make sure I had somewhere to land. I was slightly risk averse. I was incredibly discerning, too. I didn't want to accumulate random sexual experiences. I wanted to select them very carefully. I wanted to curate my life like an art museum, specifically and intentionally. And once I found something I liked, I wanted to hold onto it like a precious collectible. I didn't want it to end.

I didn't want anything to die. My lifelong rejection of death was a rejection of life.

There's no rulebook to sex or life, but both feel a hell of a lot better when you surrender. I've started surrendering to life. I've stopped clinging. I don't find myself trying to freeze time. On my birthday, I was surprised to acknowledge how much I love ageing. The passing of time excites me now. Because I'm getting curious. Because I'm trusting life.

I can surrender to life, like a good partner, because there is trust between us. I'm not afraid of being hurt. I feel safe.

And I think that's all it takes. To have hot sex and a delicious life.