I would like to share a metaphor which B.M. of the Ft. Worth group shared recently. He said that his sexual addiction could be described as follows:

“I’m walking along and I come upon this huge balloon—like a hot air balloon. There’s this large rope hanging down from the balloon. As I grasp the rope, the wind begins to blow briskly. I cling to the rope excitedly in anticipation of being able to soar high above the earth, floating effortlessly off into the balmy blue sky. But instead of soaring, the balloon begins to drag me across the ground. In my mind I’m still believing that somehow I’m going to fly; thus, I mindlessly hang on with all my might. Far off in the distance comes this barely perceptible voice above the howl of the wind: ‘Let go of the rope! Let go of the rope.’

“Ignoring the warning, attempting to drown it out, I am screaming: ‘I’m going to fly; I’m going to fly!’ Strengthening my resolve, my desire to fly is so intense that I cling to the rope with all my might. But in spite of my hope and my resolve, I never fly. Instead, the balloon, as it rushes across the landscape, drags me along. I am pulled through cactus, sewers, across hills and through pastures. Never do I fly. My body is bruised and bleeding, yet with feverish determination I cling. Finally, I hear again, faint at first, but growing stronger with each repetition, that strangely familiar voice calling, no begging, pleading: ‘Let go of the rope! Please let go of the rope.’

“Fearfully and hesitatingly I let go—first one hand and then the other. The surroundings become calm, my torn and aching body finds its rest, and to my amazement, I find that I can fly.”