I was 18 when I first went to a gay bar. I had to wear a wristband to get in. I stood in the corner on the edge of the dance floor nursing my virgin Rum and Coke. My hair was unkempt. I wasn’t manicured. Every time I tried to connect, all I could say was, “God this music sucks.” I was desperate to make friends, but I couldn’t seem to break through.

I would gravitate to confident people because I utterly lacked confidence. I wanted desperately to be wanted. But I would suck all the oxygen out of a room as I tried to sell myself to some other person who I really liked (lusted after). If a guy liked me (if he was weak enough to like me) that meant he was a tasteless loser and not worthy of my time. I didn’t know then that I was motivated by a poor self-image, but I see it clearly now. I would only accept perfection (fantasy). I wanted my “grown-up love life” dream to come true. I assumed that everyone was identical to me.

I was living for fantasy. I hadn’t a clue. Love was a mystery I had only just begun to pursue. I was sure that “real love” must involve sex (lust). How could this rush not be inherently good? My selfishness was not apparent to me. I saw myself as loving and good.

Today, 15 years after that first visit to the gay bar, I have learned from SA that in those encounters I was really trying to connect with my Higher Power. I was seeking God’s love; the sexual encounters were missed connections. Still, I thought I wanted sex. I called it “gay monogamy” or “I’ll give you everything and love you and you give me everything and love me.” This sexual/emotional “everything” that I had placed my hope in turned out to be frail, impotent, and fleeting. I was never satisfied. I kept on acting out, hoping that my fantasy would just somehow kick in. I kept hoping that “Act out, Despair, Repeat” would yield different results. The results were undeniable. This descending course of obsessive sex was killing me.

For me, that very first year of teenage bar hopping was like pouring oil on the downward addictive slope. By the time I was 19, I was disillusioned, and I started casually glancing at religion for answers. I had spent four nights a week at the bars during the first teenage endeavor to satisfy my lust, and for what? Mom and Dad were terrified. My older sister insisted, “Something’s not right!” I started with nothing and now had less. I was losing my self-respect. I was losing myself.

As the years passed, I would turn only occasionally to bars for comfort and companionship. Instead, I was seducing others into my addiction. At home, I was leaning heavily on a lifestyle filled with pornography, masturbation, alcohol, and isolation. I tried to use all of these inherently mutilating weapons as tools to manage my crisis that I called Life. This life was always unmanageable. Through the ensuing years of trial and error, I crossed boundary after boundary. I was now doing the things I would never even have considered. I would turn to God again and again with no intention of actually surrendering. Unsuccessfully, I tried to juggle my desire, shame, and faith. I really wanted God (love) and my addiction (lust) to be compatible. They never were. I sought advice. Everyone had different expectations, opinions, and suggestions.

Mom said, “Go to school.” Dad asked, “What are you going to do with your life?” Friends said, “You just need to find a nice man and settle down.” Distinguishing the difference between what I needed and what I wanted eluded me. I thought I could see clearly but I could not. I was deliberately keeping God separated from the part of me that so desperately needed Him. Where my lust was concerned, God was not welcome. Amazingly, through everything, God never lost faith in me. I could hear God calling, but I was not ready to surrender my addiction just yet.

As I sought the missing components I so obviously lacked, I began to think and pray. First I thought, “I need to be straight.” Translation: “I want to please everyone and be a good boy.” After half-heartedly trying to be straight (sober) and finding I couldn’t change, I thought, “Okay, I’ll just be celibate.” Translation: “I am in control and I can manage this.” But instead of celibacy, I got a regular sex partner (brilliant!). Next, I thought. “Okay, so we’re not committed. Well, at least I’m not serious (invested). I mean, we both know this is all BS so it’s okay.” Translation: “I am desperate, clueless, and lonely.” Finally came, “Okay, I know porn is bad but now I’m celibate (technically?).” Translation: “I can’t live without this porn or lust. I can’t let go. I will NOT let go.”

I didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t see that I was powerless. Time was passing. My appetite grew. My heart grew calloused. God wanted surrender. I knew this. I just couldn’t commit to who exactly was going to relieve my sexaholism. Was it going to be God or me? I persisted in masturbation, pornography, and lust. God allowed my obsession to lead me to my bottom; I came very near to the boundary I would not cross.

I began to be severely triggered by young teenage boys. I finally felt terror. There was something more tangible than morality at stake and that was me. I was going to die. God could not forgive me if I did this horrible thing because my heart truly knew better. I had to run for my life. The belief in God that I held so tenuously was about to change. It had to change. As I sat soaked in tears, I surrendered. There was nothing left to wait for and no more reason to hold back. I had life, love, sanity, and freedom to gain from shedding my isolating obsession. I went to God directly. Well actually, I went to confession. The priest suggested SA. WHAT?!?! But I went, and I stayed.

I came to SA bringing my devout Catholicism, so my definition of healthy sexuality was identical to the sobriety definition in Sexaholics Anonymous (192), including the asterisk regarding marriage between a man and a woman. When I read Sexaholics Anonymous it was as if someone had cultured my soul in a Petri dish and given me back an insightful, detailed analysis. Like most, I was a wreck at my first meeting. My inclination in the first few meetings was to just dump. “Okay, you’re really here for me? You’re really with me? Okay, take it! I don’t want it anymore!” But this didn’t work. I wanted to be rid of me (just the bad, of course); I wanted total recovery, immediately. “I’ve earned it,” I thought. Hmm. Patience, waiting, taking Steps, making calls—damn this is hard!

Then I was shown that The Problem is actually me (SA 203). I was also shown that The Solution is God and others (SA 204). “Encouraged to continue, I turned more and more away from my isolating obsession with sex and self and turned to God and others.” I’m encouraged. Now at meetings, I try not to dump and run. I don’t need to share everything at the meeting; it’s not appropriate. But I do share everything somewhere (Hello sponsor!). Recently I celebrated six months of sobriety.

Today, I know I’ve found my everything through the fellowship of SA. Not until writing this did it come full circle. It’s God. God is my Everything. He is my pure and perfect provider. I find Him in my prayers, my sponsor, my church group, my family, and in the fellowship of SA. He even shows up in complete strangers to whom I never speak. God truly is my all-loving Father. YES!!! That’s it!!! There He is; my Everything, my perfect companion. I can give Him everything: my faults, my hate, my resentment—even my pungent lust. Wow. As my surrender continues and deepens each day, I see that God never runs out or runs dry. To my surprise, God clearly manifests this miracle of recovery daily—if I’m looking for Him. It blows me away that God is working in me through my faults every day. Through my SA group I hear Him saying, “Keep coming back! It works, if you work it, so work it ’cause you’re worth it!!” Am I listening to Him? Well now, this is the battle for all of us every day, right?

And finally, God says to me, “Hey Greg, here’s your homework, just for today: Be sober, listen softly, take the actions of love . . . oh, and Greg . . . call your sponsor!”

God bless,