It Wasn't Just the Sex That Hurts

I've been really down lately. Not just about me being nonbinary and how I feel like my partner doesn't always get it, but there's something else that eats at me when we're together. It’s this weird disconnect in our bedroom. We have great sex, no kidding around here, it's raw and intense. Tonight was a case in point: his fingers inside me, pressing hard against every spot I didn’t know he could hit so precisely until he did it. And yet, I feel like there’s nothing of me behind the physicality, you know? It’s just mechanics. His breath on my neck while he moves inside me, all heat and slick skin and grunts that aren't for me but some distant place in his mind. Maybe this is just my head, playing tricks again. But when it's over, I feel cold and lonely. Like a shell of myself. It’s supposed to be about the pleasure, right? The intimacy, not the endorphin rush. There are moments where he looks at me like he finally sees me, but then we get lost in the act. And that’s what’s killing me.