*Australian/British translations will be given below
The title for this particular post has multiple explanations. The fifth amendment is laid out as, quote;
No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.[1]
Which is basically another way of saying, 'don't say shit unless you want too.'
Although I'm about to do the exact opposite of that, I thought is was fitting, ironically, as the actual narrative of this post is that I have decided to "go without" for exactly one month. From the 5th to the 5th. Go without what, you ask? Well, in a word, sex.
However, sex doesn't quite sum it up all too well. Anything sexual. The act itself, the constant train of thought on the matter, the daily hand parties, the flirting, the kissing, the looking, the planning, and most importantly, the chasing. There is reasoning behind this ridiculous little challenge, but to understand it fully, I best start from the beginning.
At this point in my life I have the closest imaginable relationship with my mother. She is a friend, a confidant, a psychiatrist, and at times, a very reliable financial support officer. This was not always the case though. Through no fault of her own, when I was a pup* I had an unnatural and very unhealthy view of my lady life-giver. I was terrified of her. Constantly graving and seeking her attention and approval while at the same time being overwhelmed with fear of not getting it. This, I believe, planted a seed in my young blonde head that would see me spend the best part of the last 10 years being completely infatuated with females and their attention.
As the youngest of five siblings, I was introduced to sex at a very early age. I realise that sentence makes it sound like I was fingered by my brothers or something, but I mean more the talk of it, the rude words, the dirty jokes, and most importantly, the holy grail of porn collections. (The first time I saw a human vagina I thought someone had thrown a knife at some poor ladies front bum.) So needless to say I hit puberty like a fucking rocket launcher. Until puberty I had all the ammunition and nothing to shoot it with. My teens gave a gun. A love gun. Keeping with this analogy, my next problem was that although I now had plenty of ammunition, and a small-but-workable weapon, I could not for the life of me convince anyone to let me shoot it at them, so to speak.
As a teenager its fair to say I was less Justin Bieber and more the little pudgy Asian kid that dances on you tube. I wasn't Asian, I couldn't dance, but fuck me was I ugly. I suppose my ventures into Gothic/punk/surfer/bogan* styles only added to the problem. Then one day magical day in the Scottish highlands, I met Kirsty.
The first time we kissed I literally high-fived myself afterwards. It went against all understandable science and psychics that this fallen angel would ever turn her head my way. But she did. This was my first indication of the power an Australian accent has in EU countries. The start of a dangerous and unstoppable avalanche of confidence. A few years later when we broke up, I had the ammo, the gun, a stream of targets wanting to be shot, and now a personal vendetta against all women. The ones that had ignored me, the ones who had ridiculed me, and especially the one that ripped my heart out of my anus. I just didn't know it at the time.
There are many opinions of the common slut. Mostly negative. A few positive. I personally thought for a long time that 'slut' was a word used by people that weren't getting laid to downplay their jealousy of those who were. What ever way you look at it, in my experience nobody is just provocative by nature. There is almost always an underlying cause for this behaviour. Mine, was a mixture of a major complex about the Mamma, and the pain of nearly catching the fish and having it fall out of my hands back into the ocean.
So for the next few years I took just about any offer that was thrown my way. I formed a new and shiny exterior. I build myself a big, confident, lady killer robot. And inside the robot? A tiny little fat kid hoping to fuck that his mum likes him. I know its treading dodgy ground by saying I shagged around because of my mum, but as I said, there's always a underlying issue. I should mention none of this was helped by a massive drink and drug dependency, but it made the robot work better at the time i suppose.
So once I grew up a little more I got over this need to be loved and accepted by every female I came across. I didn't have a voice in my head saying "Wow, she wants you, this is amazing, I know you probably wont marry her but if you don't take her up on the offer then you may never get an offer again." But worse, I just started doing it out of habit.
So, back to the challenge. About a year ago after a near death experience, I one by one starved myself of my addictions to prove to myself that I could live without them. And the results were fantastic. Not only could I go without them, but the newly acquired spare time meant I was able to play and write music, meditate, get fit, heal faded relationships, etc. It was truly wonderful. But there was one addiction I had over looked. The most time consuming, mind altering, health damaging of them all.
The mighty vagina.
The truth is I want a partner. I want to be madly in love with the girl of my dreams and spend all day wishing I was with her, kissing, hugging, all that stuff. But I realised that the very thing that has been stopping me from achieving this is the fact that I look for it in every girl I meet. I convince myself that 'this is the one'. And when she isn't, it turns out to be a fucking blood-bath. So just like with the cigarettes, I'm going to starve myself of it. Just to remind myself that there is more to life. A hell of a lot more. And in realty, my life-long search so far has left me with nothing more than a bad reputation and a first-name-basis relationship with the receptionist at the STD clinic*.
So here we go. 30 days and 30 nights of ZERO SEX. No looking, no thinking, no flirting, no touching of any kind. Wish me luck.
One last thing,
I realise I'm posting this on the 6th (Day 2) but to be honest I thought I would of caved in and pulled myself ragged by this morning.
*Bogan = Chav
*Pup = Kid
*STD Clinic = GUM Clinic
