Diary Of A Depressed Virgin

I sat in my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel. The surrounding silence was deafening, the kind that forces you to confront every thought you've been avoiding. I was staring at nothing in particular, just lost in the overwhelming void of my own thoughts.

You know, most times, we look at life through a keyhole, I thought. We never bother opening the door. And in my case, I wasn't sure if I'd even glanced through the keyhole.

I got out of the car, and locked it behind me. The day stretched ahead like an endless corridor, and I walked into the building with the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.

Three years earlier, life had a different rhythm. Jessica and I were sprawled on the couch in my apartment, caught in the kind of intimate moment that could make you forget the world outside. I remember unzipping her shorts, rubbing my fingers on her panties. The warmth of her laughter when she stopped me. Even though she was wet.

"Stop... stop," she said, her tone a mixture of firmness and affection.

"W...What?" I stammered, still catching my breath. Also pretending to be clueless of my earlier action.

She rolled her eyes at me. "I thought we agreed..."

I'd forgotten. Or maybe I'd gotten carried away. Either way, I apologized, and we sat up, trying to shake off the awkwardness. A moment later, the laughter came-soft at first, then bubbling into something uncontrollable.

"Why are we laughing?" I asked between chuckles.

"I don't know," she replied, and her laughter only grew. That was Jessica-a spark that lit up my world.

Even in the mundane moments, she had a way of making life feel extraordinary. One night, as we lay on the couch, she told me about someone she'd run into-a high school acquaintance who remembered her as "volleyball girl." She hated the nickname, but I couldn't help teasing her about it.

"Weren't you the volleyball girl?" I asked, laughing.

"Don't you dear," she hissed, trying to stifle a laugh.

We talked for hours that night, her head resting on my lap, my fingers combing through her hair.

I never really tried anymore. Sex I mean. I didn't feel the need to. She wanted to wait. She's not like most women. She was different. She had strong values. She set boundaries. In her absence, I don't feel insecure. I'm always looking forward to seeing her and her and me. She didn't shame me for being a virgin. She was glad about it. She wanted us to share our experience together for the first time.

She was my fairy tale. Jess found her perfect man in me, and I... I found my perfect woman in her.

It wasn't long before I asked her to move in with me. I came up behind her one afternoon while she was chopping onions in the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her waist. The feeling of her beautiful soft skin was so soothing. Her smell always turned me on. It wasn't even weird anymore because she could always tell. Let's just say the swollen object in my pants gives it away every time. This time, it's gently caressing her bum.

"Please just move in with me," I said, half-joking, half-serious.

"So you can have these treats every day?" she teased, laughing.

"Yes," I admitted.

She turned to face me, the playfulness fading into something more serious. "I... I don't know if I'm ready."

"Take your time," I told her, stroking her chin. "Whenever you're ready."

Do we do other stuff besides sex? Yes. She's okay with hand stuff. Not for her though. Just me. She made sure I was satisfied. I didn't care. As long as she's the one I get to spend the rest of my life with.

And not long after, I married her. I still remember the flashes of the cameras, the cheers of the guests as we kissed. She was so happy. I was so happy. Putting that ring on Jessica's finger was the best moment of my life. It felt like the beginning of forever.

But forever isn't as easy as it sounds.

Our marriage was filled with laughter and love, but it was also punctuated by moments that tested us. Like that night when we struggled to make love for the first time. Jessica was embarrassed, I was confused, and we both ended up laughing at the absurdity of it all. This wasn't hand stuff anymore. This was it. The wait was over. I had never fingered her before. She was very sensitive about it. All my sex education tutorials weren't really helping me. We were both nervous.

"Do you have any lube?" I asked, curiously.

"Lube?" She looked at me while underneath my naked body with so much confusion that we burst into laughter together. The realization of the question of someone less experienced than I was hilarious.

But the laughter was all we needed to break the ice. The feeling of being inside the one you love was magical. For the first time, I could feel how wet she was. Slowly and gently we made love. And that was the best sex I ever had in my life.

There were nights at the bar with our friends, Francis and his partner Sarah, where the conversations ranged from jokes about sex to deeper questions about life. Soon, Sarah and Jess go to get some drinks together.

Francis and I are alone at the table.

"Dan," Francis whispered to me, lowering his voice, "I hope you're using protection?"

"What?" I laughed. "She's my wife."

"Okay? And she's ready for kids, right?" he pressed, nodding toward Jess.

"Yeah. She is," I said, glancing at her across the room. I believed it, or at least I wanted to.

When Jess found out she was pregnant, everything changed. The joy of bringing a child into the world was quickly overshadowed by the struggles that came with it. Jess's laughter grew less frequent, her smiles more strained.

The birth of our daughter was supposed to be a joyful moment, but I could see the exhaustion in Jess's eyes. In the delivery room, she was so tired-not just physically, but in a way that I couldn't quite understand. She didn't want to hold the baby. Or she couldn't hold the baby. I can't quite remember.

Soon sleepless nights became our norm. Jess's frustration grew, and so did the distance between us. One night, I found her sitting in the corner of our bedroom, tears streaming down her face as she tried to breastfeed our daughter.

"I'm tired, Dan," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so tired."

I took the baby from her arms and rocked her to sleep, feeling the weight of Jess's pain in every step I took.

The days blurred together after that night. Each one felt heavier than the last, a continuous loop of sleepless nights and strained silences. Jess's once-bright laughter was now a distant memory, replaced by a quiet I didn't know how to fill.

One evening, as I held our daughter in my arms, trying to soothe her cries, I glanced at Jess. She was sitting by the window, staring blankly outside. Her hands rested in her lap, motionless, as though the world outside had nothing to offer her.

"Jess?" I called softly.

She didn't respond.

I walked over and gently touched her shoulder. "Hey."

She blinked, as if waking from a trance, and looked up at me. "Wha?"

"Are you okay?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice lacked conviction. She glanced at our daughter, then back out the window.

"Just... tired."

I wanted to say more, to tell her I was here for her, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I sat beside her, holding her hand as we watched the evening fade into night. While holding her hand, I felt something on her skin. Her wrist, which was once smooth, is now rough. As I take a closer look to properly observe what it is, I then find out.

Jessica had cut marks.