Writing and journaling have helped me process the emotions of the end of my 30-year relationship with my wife. I am powerless over what happens to me and I’m powerless over the resulting emotions, but I am not powerless over how I deal with my feelings. Through friendships in SA and from hearing members share in meetings, I have learned that journaling is a helpful way to process emotions. As I wrote the following short story, sadness, grief, and pain flowed out. This was a healing experience for me.

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There was once a man who was a doll collector. He collected all kinds of dolls: tall, short, thick, thin, blond hair, black hair, green eyes, blue eyes, brown skin, fair complexion. He was a lonely man. His dolls kept him company.

One summer day, he ran across a particularly special doll. She captivated him. He knew at once that he had to add her to his collection—she would become the centerpiece of his menagerie. But he could not have her. The harder he tried to take possession of her, the more she eluded him. His frustration grew over the years. He knew he simply must have her, but how?

About to give up and return to what had now become a very mundane collection, an idea struck him. He had met a man years before who had offered him any doll he could ever imagine. The meeting with the man was short—he was an unsavory character, and what he asked for in return seemed unthinkable. The doll collector would have to give away his very self—his identity—in small payments over time. But with this man’s help, maybe the doll could finally be his, and he would be forever happy. He could even stop collecting.

The opportunity was irresistible. He went to the man and made the deal, which the man made even more enticing: “Not only will I give you the doll, but I will make her come alive before your eyes, and you will enjoy her beauty and presence forever.” It was too good to be true: the most beautiful doll he had ever seen would be his, and as a real person, she would bring him happiness and take away his loneliness! No price was too high. The lonely man would pay anything.

The day he had been waiting for finally came. This special doll came alive and was his! They danced together, laughed together, embraced, and cried together. They shared life: the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the joys and pains. It was a fairy tale dream. They were made for each other. Their story was special. It was too good to be true.

For many years, they loved and laughed. Celebrated and mourned. Rejoiced and sobbed. Everything life brought them they endured together. They were partners, soul mates. They were a team. There was nothing they could not do together. It was so good. The lonely doll collector finally had all he ever dreamed of.

One day, the unsavory man came calling. He had come for the final payment. But the doll collector could not pay. The unsavory man became dark and evil. “Then I shall take the life out of your doll, and she will forever remain a mere statuette in your collection.” The lonely man ached with pain and anger, but the price was too high. He simply could not afford it.

As the awful man left him, the lonely doll collector sat on the floor holding his lifeless doll, sobbing as the memories of the life they shared together played like a film in his mind. The wonder of seeing her alive for the first time, the excitement he felt when he was with her, the ache he felt in his heart when they were apart. The dancing, the laughter, the moments they shared, the hurts they experienced together. He rocked her as he held her, his tears wetting her wooden face. She could no longer share his emotion or his life. Her empty green eyes stared back at his. Silence. She was gone.

He would remember everything. She could not. He was alive. She was gone, the life they shared together a memory in his heart. His aching heart longed to have her back, but it could not be. The lonely doll collector grieved, the waves of sorrow doubling him over. He struggled to catch a breath between sobs. The fairy tale was over.

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This “doll collector” is me. I used women and even a 30-year relationship with my favorite “doll” to try to “satisfy what essentially is a spiritual drive” (SA 55). That passage goes on to say, “So, we used sex or lust or relationships to satisfy this drive, letting them take the place of God as source of our lives.” Over those 30 years, I had developed a pseudo-intimacy with my wife, a relationship based on control and taking. The intimacy I thought I had was not based in reality. However, one of the unexpected benefits of immersing myself in the SA program has turned out to be strong and lasting bonds of friendship with others in recovery. Today, through my friends in SA, I am experiencing true intimacy. I’m letting my Source write the rest of the story.