The other night I had a dream which stripped my lust of its pastel pink and purple euphemisms. I have avoided the word lust in my litany—preferring to tell myself that I crave “an affair of the heart”—further dressed up by such phrases as “out of my deep loneliness and chronic disconnection from others, I have sought soul mates, persons to join me in (at worst) the warmth of romantic fervor.”
Lust is the driving force behind my addiction, and if I allow myself to lust, then I will act out, sooner or later. When I consciously harbor lust, even in small amounts, it’s the same as an alcoholic taking a drink.
In early recovery I was terrified of my lust. It led me to cause great harm in my life, destroyed my career, nearly destroyed my family, caused a great deal of public shame and embarrassment for my wife and me, and cost a lot of money. I found that when lust came up, my fear made me fight lust, and that made the lust stronger.
Before recovery I would go to any lengths to get my way. I would lie, cheat, steal and manipulate to get what I thought I needed. I was even willing to work hard to get my desired outcome. But once I got what I wanted, I soon began to want something else.
I was sitting on my front porch yesterday, enjoying the beauty of God’s world around me. There are lots of trees, birds, squirrels, and even an occasional deer to help me focus on the serenity of nature.
I’ve learned in recovery that sexual sobriety is a gift, granted by God as I understand Him. Sobriety is not something I can control, any more than I can control lust.
What if you never had to act out sexually again?
I acted out. I practiced hard at it. I started at a young age. I lived my life in fear and fantasy. I did not know how to live in the real world. I wanted to be any place but “here.” Fantasy would take me over “there.” I acted out to feel better; I liked it, and I pursued it to the gates of insanity and death.
Moved to task the Internet Committee to strengthen local website meeting information so that the burden of facilitating contact with newcomers and members becomes more of a local function than a SAICO function.
Dan N. was my sponsor. He died on June 22nd at his home in Kimberling City, MO. Having tried unsuccessfully to work the program on my own my first five years in SA, I decided after a terrifying night of acting out that I needed to work the Steps with someone who was successfully staying sober, had a way of solving his problems that worked, and had a peace of mind that I didn’t have. Dan had what I wanted, and was willing to share what he had with me.
