When D got home late last night I asked him to join me on the sofa. The sofa we just got to replace the one we fucked on for the first time after years of the sexless void. I asked him not to respond, to just let me say what I needed to tell him. I asked him not to try to problem solve, and just to listen. And I told him that I'd fallen back into these patterns and enumerated the ways that I'd been closing myself off to him and to our interactions. I couldn't look at him. I spoke with my eyes downcast, my face burning, and the tears streaming down. He acknowledged, and told me that what's most important is my health, but that he was glad I had taken the step to tell him everything. Some of it had been obvious, he said, but some was a revelation.
We have no solutions yet. Only an awareness of the reality.