Secrets for the Mad

by Dodie Clark

  She was walking on eggshells

  and when push came to shove,

  she was full of belonging

  but not full of love.

  So goodbye to Tommy,

  And hello to Sam.

  He doesn’t wear glasses, but he loves how she dances,

  and he’ll hold her hand.

  Yes, Poppy’s a dancer,

  with plans of her own.

  You’ll see her and partner

  performing a pas de deux

  in the old studio.

  She’s walking on rivers,

  he lifts her above,

  they’re full of belonging

  and so full of love.

  I DIDN’T LIKE SEX

  Before I became sexually active, I thought sex was like porn. One of my early boyfriends seemed to think that too, and so most of the sex I had in my first two years was uncomfortable, embarrassing and scary. I knew that I wasn’t someone who should hate it – I’d daydream about it, I’d crave it, I wanted it. But the moment the real opportunity was there, I’d honestly start to feel sick. I couldn’t stand the idea of myself . . . like that. I was made to feel like it wasn’t okay to say no, that if I didn’t want to do something it was because I didn’t ‘care enough to try’, and honestly that I wasn’t very ‘good’. When I was made to feel bad at it, me and the little self-confidence I had shrank under the bed sheets. I longed for a hug that wasn’t a demand for the thing that immediately filled me with shame.

  There’s a lot of pressure for women to be ‘good in bed’ – I was absolutely brought up in a world where our worth was in sex. I felt I was a failure at being a female, and I was so upset and disappointed that the thing I’d dreamed of and romanticised in my head was actually unbearable. I’d close my eyes and hug him tightly through it, and then I’d slip away to cry in the bathroom. I was convinced I’d hate it forever, and I’d be doomed to a life of discomfort and pressure.

  I had two years of that. It was kind of like dancing – sober, self-conscious, awkward, pressured dancing – and it was pretty shit.

  Then I started seeing someone else, and they’d ask me if I was okay and tell me I was wonderful. It still took a while until I could see my body sexually, but every now and again I’d peek and marvel at myself. I wasn’t made to feel guilty for the times I couldn’t look, or even for the times I wanted to just cuddle and sleep.

  Now, it’s like music.

  I melt away and I mostly don’t even notice my body. I can look at myself in my underwear and know that I should be worshipped in sex.

  So, it turns out sex is mostly nothing like porn – porn is based on straight, testosterone-fuelled male fantasies, and while there’s nothing wrong with a little bit of that now and again, the idea that porn is the textbook guide for what real sex is like is absolutely ridiculous and incredibly damaging for newbies like I was.

  Real sex is usually messy, awkward and hilarious, and I wish I’d known that before I started.

  HOW TO HAVE SEX

  A guide from a slightly self-conscious twenty-two-year-old woman who has had an average amount of experience. Although I am bisexual, the majority of sex I’ve had has been with a man, so this is based around that. (Also, sexual experiences are different for everyone. But I wanted to try to portray a realistic depiction of sexual intimacy, because sex is ultimately meant to be a fun and human thing for enjoyment. It just usually goes a bit like this. Also, this is a little embarrassing. I can’t believe I’m putting this in a book. Oh well!)

  * * *

  You will need:

  * initial vocal consent from both/all participants

  * possible towel laid underneath bodies in case of any kind of spillages

  * toilet roll for clean up (alternatives include towel mentioned earlier, or specific unloved T-shirt from laundry bin)

  * a loo nearby to wee before and after (and sometimes in a break in the middle), especially for vagina owners. Tap for washing hands and . . . other areas . . . also comes in handy

  * full glasses of water placed nearby (kissing and gasping dries out mouths like you wouldn’t believe)

  * hairband (especially if you have long hair and are on top)

  * if penises are involved, an easily accessible condom or two, and/or other contraception. Also sexual health check-ups and trust

  STEP 1 – SHALL WE?

  The idea for sexual activity usually arises in the air after a long period of kissing, or spooning. First and foremost, gain that consent mentioned before. This is usually as simple as ‘do you want to?’ and a certain positive reply, like ‘yes’. Also, gain consent from yourself – ask your body and brain if you want it. If you’re uncertain, and confused on how to say so, then say something like ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I’m not too sure’. You should pause and talk it through and reach a healthy decision. Sex should be a fun activity for all participants.

  STEP 2 – ROLLING AROUND

  After mutual agreement, there’s usually a section of various types of foreplay. This can include:

  * fumbling around the lower areas (it took me a while to find a penis in my first experiences, which should have been hilarious if it wasn’t for the unhealthy relationship I was in)

  * fun and experimental making out, with lip biting and mouth exploring. You’ll find some techniques to be a hit, and others . . . not so much. (Hits and misses usually change with different partners)

  * touching, grabbing and oral things, the latter probably a bit strange and scary at first

  Communication is the key, and you can still be sexy and ask things (do you like that?/tell me what you want).

  Excitement levels rise and it’s easy to get lost in feeling.

  STEP 3 – HERE WE GO

  Once you’re both ready, there might be a break in contact of reaching for the condom. A tip to make this seemingly long moment less awkward is to smile and laugh along. Note: remember that it’s always okay to change your mind at any point. If you suddenly feel uncomfortable, you can say something like ‘hold up’, ‘wait’, or ‘hang on a second, I’m not feeling too great’.

  If penetration is involved, make sure there’s lots of lubrication. Spit is probably the easiest if you’re unprepared, but use actual lube for best results. If it’s your first time, take it super slow – it might be a little uncomfortable.

  Another note: ‘popping your cherry’ is actually a fake concept. There’s no seal of skin that bursts like a pen through a piece of paper (the idea of that literally makes me feel ill) – the hymen is just stretchy skin that surrounds the vaginal opening. Vaginas aren’t like unpopped jam jars – they can be stretched open in other ways.

  STEP 4 – THE MAIN EVENT

  Sex is a lot of limbs, giggles and manoeuvring bodies. It can be intimate and romantic in places, but you will struggle to find one person who’s never dealt with an elbow in the face or a fanny fart. There shouldn’t be judgement, pressure or discomfort; the whole point is that it’s meant to be enjoyable. Sometimes there are orgasms, sometimes there are slip-ups (or slip-outs, am I right? Eyyyy), and sometimes the whole thing is just not right, and you have to have a break, but it’s okay. You should never be made to feel embarrassed about something so personal, especially when you’re in the most vulnerable state you can be. Keep communicating, keep relaxed, and enjoy it.

  STEP 5 – GO TO THE TOILET

  Films tend to skip out the super romantic and graceful ‘toilet visit’ after sex. Or if they don’t, then they skip out the days of painful peeing from infections and weeks of antibiotics from the doctor. Give yourself a little bit of spooning time, but make sure you have a wee (and a wash, if you can) after sex. It’ll also give you an opportunity to check how badly smudged your eyeliner is, to fix that bed hair and have a little freshen up. Then you can tiptoe back to bed for UTI-free snuggling and more communication. Ask questions! And say what was good, and whatever wasn’t, say how it could be good (I’d be mortified at criticism; positive encouragement is much b
etter).

  Sex education in my school was a video of swimmers racing in their little hats, a picture slideshow of scary rashes, and a leaflet on where to get the morning after pill. I should have known that it was okay to say no to sex, whatever the circumstances, and I should have known that if I wasn’t having fun, then I shouldn’t be participating.

  I also could have done with the ‘make sure you pee after sex’ information. That would have saved me from countless terrible experiences.

  HUMAN

  This is about getting to know someone you are fascinated by. I’d spent a lot of time with someone who I wanted to know more about. There was a spark, and I was excited to open up and explore who I was and who he was together. I wanted to be absorbed and absorb; I wanted to sit on the floor and drink and share with this person, because I had so much to say and I was so excited. I didn’t know what it was, but the only label it needed was that it was ‘human’. We were two complex people with incredible souls who wanted to be in each other’s company. And it was wonderful.

  I wanna pick you up and scoop you out

  I want the secrets your secrets haven’t found.

  Paint me in trust,

  I’ll be your best friend,

  call me the one,

  this night just can’t end.

  Will you share your soul with me?

  Unzip your skin and let me have a see.

  Paint me in trust,

  I’ll be your best friend,

  call me the one,

  this night just can’t end.

  Oh, I’m so human;

  we’re just human.

  Lean for me, and I’ll fall back.

  You’ll fit so nicely, you’ll keep me intact.

  Paint me in trust,

  I’ll be your best friend,

  call me the one,

  this night just can’t end.

  I want to give you your grin

  so tell me you can’t bear a room that I’m not in.

  Paint me in trust,

  I’ll be your best friend,

  call me the one,

  this night just can’t end.

  Oh, I’m so human;

  we’re just human.

  HEARTBREAK

  DAY ONE

  It sits in the middle of your chest, about as heavy as a small bag of rice. You potter delicately around your space like a sad mouse; picking up and folding blankets and placing them in neat piles on the sofa. Filling up the kettle for perhaps the tenth cup of tea. Rearranging and organising and cleaning to give yourself some sort of purpose in this empty day, and also to wipe the visual triggers to limit the damage. It hurts too much to look and remember.

  But the pain does come. Crying has never been so easy – you’re a brimming cup of water that barely needs a knock to spill over. It is sharp, hot, raw, and it burns every hour or so. Friends are kind, and they listen. You tell the story and discover a new dramatic phrase and your throat closes up but you force out the words and heave as pals rub your back and pull you in for uncomfortably long but helpful snotty hugs. The company is so beneficial. It’s not exactly what you want, of course.

  You want Them.

  You just want Them back.

  But a back rub is a back rub, and a hug is a hug, and contact with someone you love and who loves you is healing.

  DAY TWENTY

  The rice bag has spilled and dispersed into the corners of your ribcage, some grains even making their way down to your fingertips and your knees. The upside is that your chest doesn’t feel as weighty, but the negative side is that your entire body is in a perpetual state of discomfort, and you can’t quite place your finger on why or where. The burn for Their body has mulled into a dull ache for just anyone, and the surface-level stinging has sunk into darker, colder sadness. You spend a lot of time staring in corners, the misery that used to escape through tears now running roughly through dry veins.

  You start to write, which helps to pull out the buried pain and face it head on for a while. Until it starts to hurt too much again, and so you close the memory of cheeks against cheeks and hands in hair and decide only to bring it up years later, when your heart has scarred over properly. Despite it hurting so much, it’s still sad that you won’t feel the rawness when you decide to think of it again.

  DAY FIFTY

  It’s all right.

  The hardest bit is over. You thought it’d be impossible to get here, and now here you are. The loss doesn’t hurt as much any more – but is that because you’ve forgotten how good it was? Are you truly healed over, or has it all just faded away?

  Most likely it’s a mixture of the two. You can barely remember what Their voice sounds like, Their smell, Their laugh. They still creep into your head every day, but the thought doesn’t make your heart stop and your hands clench. Maybe you’ll find someone new. Maybe They already have. That still hurts, of course – the idea that someone else can make them happier than you could.

  But the best part is, you’re starting to realise that it was never going to work. The rose-tinted view of the relationship fades away as the magic has, and suddenly you start seeing it for what it was – flawed but, most of all, not special. All the advice and concerns people gave that you waved away as irrelevant, because they ‘don’t understand, this is different’, now start to make sense, and you realise that you and your relationship went through all the stereotypes and you didn’t even notice.

  SICK OF LOSING SOULMATES

  What a strange being you are.

  God knows where I would be

  if you hadn’t found me

  sitting all alone in the dark.

  A dumb screenshot of youth;

  watch how a cold broken teen

  will desperately lean on a superglued human of proof.

  What the hell would I be

  without you?

  Brave face talk so lightly,

  hide the truth.

  ’Cause I’m sick of losing soulmates,

  so where do we begin?

  I can finally see

  you’re as fucked up as me;

  so how do we win?

  Yeah, I’m sick of losing soulmates;

  won’t be alone again.

  I can finally see

  you’re as fucked up as me,

  so how do we win?

  We will grow old as friends.

  I’ve promised that before

  so what’s one more?

  In our grey-haired circle, waiting for the end.

  Time and hearts will wear us thin,

  so which path will you take?

  ’Cause we both know a break

  does exactly what it says on the tin.

  What the hell would I be

  without you?

  Brave face talk so lightly,

  hide the truth.

  ’Cause I’m sick of losing soulmates,

  so where do we begin?

  I can finally see

  you’re as fucked up as me;

  so how do we win?

  Yeah, I’m sick of losing soulmates;

  won’t be alone again.

  I can finally see

  you’re as fucked up as me;

  so how do we win?

  I won’t take no for an answer.

  TIPS

  THEY ARE NOT YOUR IDENTITY

  When I was going through my first proper breakup of a relationship of two years, I remember my mum coming into my bedroom to find me weeping over a pair of his boxers he’d lent me as pyjama bottoms.

  ‘I just don’t know who I am without him,’ I sobbed.

  And, for a while, I didn’t. It felt as though I had knitted myself into someone gradually over time and then been ripped in half so suddenly. It felt too strange to know that he was talking about things to his other friends in his now separate world that I would never hear or help him with. And I was carrying so much in my head that I’d usually pour out to him; but of course my go-to guy for heartbreak was now the cause of it, so i
nstead I’d give out little bits of my pain to different friends and family instead. But I was so used to having a partner in crime, just two main people in my team of life. His name belonged with an ‘and Dodie’, and I’d whisper those three words and try to comprehend that it was now just me.

  I had known him so well. I could have played his part out in a conversation, and I could hear his laugh and his voice when I came across something I knew he’d have enjoyed. My phone buzzed familiarly and I expected to see his name flash up on the top of the screen, but it was never him any more. I wondered when the next time I’d hear someone say ‘I love you’ again would be, and it was impossible to believe that it wouldn’t come from him.

  But here I am, years later, and the idea of him, or anyone, being a part of my identity now is laughable. There are good people who will stay in your life, but even then they won’t be a part of you; you will wear their loyalty and kindness like armour, and they will add strength to your existence and build you up. You can lean on these people now and again, but they cannot hold you up all the time, and you certainly can’t expect just one person to on their own either.

  You are you, and you are wonderful. It will be hard to be with just yourself again, but now you can pour your love, care and attention solely into the number one priority in your life: you.

  THIS WON’T HURT FOREVER

  ‘Think of it like a tunnel.’

  The heating in Sammy’s empty family house in Bristol had been cut off before the day of the move, so we lay by his fireplace, warming our feet up in front of the flames. My tears dripped down my cheeks and into my ears.

  ‘The other side is beautiful, bright and pain free. All your friends – including me’ – he grinned – ‘are standing at the end, waving, smiling and shouting directions and encouragement at you from the sunshine. But you have to walk through this cold, damp, dark tunnel to get there.