Nonetheless, one of the advantages of anorexia, as I’ve said before, is that it surgically removes all traces of sexuality. It lifts out the whole network of neurones that govern sexual or gendered behaviours or thinking, not just the raw urges. When you’re ill, being sexual is utterly, utterly alien to you. I didn’t even want to want to experience desire. Not only was I incapable of having sex, I was incapable of regretting that I couldn’t. Sex acts seemed like pointless physical tics, crimes of passion the inexplicable behaviour of another species.
Anorexia also allowed me to demonstrate some of my intrinsic vileness, the original sin I was afflicted by, to hasten the inevitable exposure, and get it over with. Now everybody was disappointed in me and thought less of me. I’d disgraced myself, but at least I could get some relief from the awful effort of hiding it. I could stop pretending to be nice. Now I shall give my sensual race the rein…
Middle-aged Male Anorexic 