Why is the second lockdown dragging so much more than the first? For me at least, my mental health hadn’t recovered from the first one, so I came into it from a weaker position. I don’t think the time of year helps either. First lockdown the days were brighter and getting longer, the weather was mostly better. I know I mentioned the darkness of the days in a previous blog, but I can’t think of a single year previously that has affected me this much.

Before this lockdown I’d been chatting on a dating site with a lovely gentleman. We managed to meet once before the current restrictions came into force. We went for a cuppa and a chat and given we were getting on well, we drove to a rural car park and had a bit of a smooch in the back of his car. Ok, ok, maybe a little more than a smooch. We’ve been chatting online since, a lot, and have been anticipating a time when we can physically be together again. Seem to be getting along pretty well.

Not long after we met I appeared to go down with thrush. I knew I’d used some scented bubble bath, which is sometimes problematic, so I didn’t think much of it. After three courses of treatment and involving the practice nurse though I was still uncomfortable. She thought maybe I had a urine infection and started me on a short course of antibiotics. Things weren’t improving. The duty GP suggested I contact the sexual health clinic. I’d already done one of their home test kits, but my symptoms were getting worse. Sore, itchy and a vile discharge. The penny was beginning to drop. My insanely promiscuous swinging lifestyle had probably caught up with me. Yet I thought I’d generally been safe. And I took a test every three months without fail. Then it hit me; the undertaker.

I saw a guy on my return from Bognor, at his place of work, a funeral director’s. If I’m honest I knew there was a good chance we would have sex, but I was unprepared for how little dialogue and niceties there would be. He had said he wanted a relationship with me, in fact he’d promised all sorts. I should have listened to my own mantra that says, “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is”. He turned out to be the kind of man who pins you down with his own body weight and penetrates a woman, before asking, “Shall I carry on?” Now obviously at this point I had the choice to say no. He knew I wanted safe sex, I’d brought it up previously but as far as I was concerned the damage was done. Also I experience hypersexuality. I admit I was getting off on the riskiness of the venue and I hadn’t been with a man in more than a month. So I let him continue. Judge me if you wish. Believe me, no one has been harder on me than me these last few days. He ghosted and blocked me the following day.

Can I just say, never, ever have unprotected sex with a random. Because not only does having a infection really suck, but trying to get an appointment with the sexual health clinic is like something from nightmares. Their booking system is shocking, and in my city there’s only a couple of half day clinics run each week. Which are booked up before you can even get your call answered. I am so grateful to my friend in Basingstoke basically escorting me, putting aside her own health, because I would never in a million years have found the clinic, or got beyond my own anxiety around getting to places I’m unfamiliar with. Friends like that are absolutely priceless.

Well I’m sure the less you know about my clinic visit the better. I don’t wish to unnecessarily scar anyone with the mental images. I will however conclude this paragraph by mentioning I am being treated for chlamydia and gonorrhoea and had a couple of genital warts frozen off.

I had conversed online with my new lovely gentleman prior to my clinic visit. Being the painfully honest person I am, I wanted to give him the option to run for the hills sooner rather than later. As yet he hasn’t. But in true Angel style I did warn him that given where his tongue had been, he should definitely consider getting an STI check. Because I’m subtle like that.

And then there were the previous partners to contact. My first communication with Dave since we’d split. He was so lovely to me. Made me realise why I (still) love him so much. One swinging friend, he was unfazed, very matter of fact. And then there was the undertaker. Whose very mature response was to pretend to be someone else. Give me strength.

Why am I writing this? Because my emotions have gone through the the wringer the last few days. I’ve felt deep shame because there’s still stigma around contracting a sexual disease. I’m usually a sensible, intelligent woman, I know very well the precautions that would have reduced the risks, yet here I am. My crime? Having an insane sex drive and a tendency to say yes when I should probably say no. And the ironic part is that when I left Dave I gave up my swinging lifestyle. Just wanted to meet one person and settle down. I’ve been less sexually active recently than in the last two years. But it only takes one (immature, dirty undertaker*)

*scumbags are available from all professions.