I can now see how my sexaholism isolated me from family, friends, workers, and employers in the past. I found fault with them in my “terminal uniqueness.” Nobody had a story like mine; therefore, I could not relate to anyone else. In the end, all I had was my sexaholism.
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.”
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.
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.
Although I had finally gotten sober for several months, I was still very disturbed by old resentments and fears, and was dragging my feet on the Step I was supposedly working on. One day, after expressing frustration over my stagnation to my sponsor, he suggested that if I did some sort of service it would raise the ante in my program.
I’ve always had an approach-avoidance relationship with working the Steps. I always feel great after having done some writing on a Step, but it can take quite a long time for me to stop the squirrel cage long enough to actually sit down and start writing. The fact that I took five years to work the first three Steps in the program tells me that I wasn’t in any great hurry to recover from my self-destructive behaviors and attitudes.
When I sit in meetings listening to others sharing their personal issues, I have a tendency to compare myself to what they are describing. In doing this I miss the point of my recovery. My personal truth is that listening to someone else’s difficulties makes me feel comfortable that there is a group where I can express the same frustrations. I really loved that at first.
I suffer from a sort of hyper-vigilance. Something in me wants to identify and define every object, every person, every angle and surface in my physical environment. My ears are open; my eyes are taking in the very texture of things around me. This drive to know everything that’s going on around me could be a useful trait if I were Batman and dwelt in Gotham City.
Okay, I understood that part about no sex with anyone other than the spouse. Heck, that’s what got me to Sexaholics Anonymous in the first place. But no sex with myself? Who were these guys kidding? Didn’t they understand that if I refrained from sex with self, something terrible would happen? I might even die, or explode, or something equally dire.
