By Jillian Richardson
If being alive has taught me anything, it’s that a woman’s worth is equivalent to how much dick she’s getting. Her number one priority should be getting the D. And getting it on the reg.
Unfortunately, some ladies suffer from a chemical imbalance that leads them to selfishly crave other things — like fulfilling friendships and a rewarding job — which they believe can make them happy. In extreme cases, they even want to love themselves for who they are.
During a particularly dark period in my life, I personally struggled with this disease.
I would awake in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat, my hand journaling of its own accord. I’m ashamed to provide the full details, but let’s just say some of the entries involved plans to sign up for yoga, creating a vision board . . . and helping others.
Worse than a foreign desire to understand and better myself as a person, I realized that I had sick thoughts that strayed from P in the V penetration:
I can enjoy my life without sex. I am worth more than my body. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t shake the idea. I scrawled demented ideas: “I can be fulfilled on my own,” and “I really should think about something other than the sexual approval of men.”
Once, I woke up happy, even though there wasn’t a man next to me in bed. Enough was enough. I made an appointment with my gynecologist immediately.
The following day my doctor my informed me that it’s normal — if troubling — for thoughts of self-love and independence to surface in women from time to time. He also assured me that daily birth control pills could help refocus my thoughts from grad school applications to getting a good, hard pounding. In other words, taking a birth control pill would regularly remind me that I needed to have sex to be happy.
No longer would I be tormented by thoughts of being “my own person.”
After I filled my prescription, the effect was immediate. I would be sitting at my desk, wondering if I should ask my boss for a raise, when my BC alarm would go off. The simple act of placing the pill in my mouth helped me, psychologically, understand that I hadn’t gotten laid in eight days.
I knew that I couldn’t let all of that sweet, baby-blocking estrogen go to waste! Within 20 minutes, I was in the bathroom with that kinda cute guy who wears vests and works in IT. Birth control helped me remember that I needed penetration in order to have a life worth living.
If you ever find yourself thinking about anything other than sex, don’t worry — there’s a solution for you. Birth control. The pill is a daily reminder that there’s only one path to true happiness and self-worth — sex. No profound self-love or devoted friendships can replace getting laid.
So here’s what you do: Just once a day, check in with yourself to confirm that you’re not getting laid. And then do something about it. And by something, I mean someone. It doesn’t matter who. Go get your freak on, ladies. Never forget your priorities again.
Remember, you don’t need to “be fulfilled.” You need to “be filled.” With dick.
Lead Image: flickr/ Sarah C