IN THE CURRENT MAGAZINE

Lust is ugliness disguised as grace. Lust is disgust staring into my face. Lust possesses my entire living space. Lust takes all my hopes to erase. Lust removes the beauty from life. Lust fills the room with unbearable strife.

I entered the world of SA through an invitation from a friend of a friend. At the time, I didn’t recognize my own lust addiction. I simply enjoyed the company of women, and I sometimes (read: constantly) indulged in pornography. To me, those explicit images were no different from any movie broadcasted on TV. And when I heard about Sexaholics Anonymous, the word "Anonymous" intrigued me. It seemed to hold excitement, secrecy, and freedom—words my lust craved.

Dear Porn, I gotta say that this is the weirdest thing for me to be doing right now, but I wanna thank you for lotsa stuff. Y’know, we haven’t been in contact now for like 126 days (but who’s counting), and I’m not gonna lie—I DO miss you. A whole lot. See? I even count the days! That’s how important you are were in my life!! And although I don’t want you in my life anymore, there was a time that you were crucial to my survival. We’ve been through a lot together and, although it’s time to say goodbye, I really must say thank you first.

The chapter in the White Book titled "Lust—The Force Behind the Addiction," is, in my view, a magnificent introduction to the underpinnings of what lust is really all about. In that chapter Roy defines lust as "an attitude demanding that a natural instinct serve unnatural desires" (SA 40). That was certainly my experience.

For me, sexual lust started as a simple game that I played with the kid next door. I never imagined that such a game could develop into a "way of life." My family paid more attention to my beautiful, smart sister, and to attract their attention, I started stealing from them to get more attention. This didn’t work. I didn’t know how to say, “I’m here! See me! Love me! I need my father to hold me!”

I love plants! I have plants in my living room, kitchen, bedroom…everywhere! All that greenery in the house makes me feel good, and since I'm in recovery, I can take good care of them, too. Before, all my plants were dying. I just wasn't able to give them what they needed, which isn’t surprising, considering I could barely keep myself alive.

I reached out to an SA member in June 2017 in response to his email sent two months before, and I knew I had a problem with my compulsive behavior. On a daily basis, I was satisfying my “needs” like an automaton programmed to perform repetitive searches. I kept trying to fill the terrible emptiness that my secret life hid for ages.

As a chronic, hopeless sexaholic, I have no human defense against lust. When I lust, I cannot stop. As a chronic sexaholic I have a physical allergy to whatever chemicals, neurotransmitters, hormones—you name it—that are produced by my own brain and body when I am lusting or engaging in selfish sexual behavior. My mental and physical reaction to those substances differ from the reaction of normal people.

I was born in Nicaragua. My parents divorced when I was a baby. I was raised by my maternal grandparents in the countryside until about 8 years old. When I was around 6 or 7 years old, I was sexually abused by two adult men who were neighbors.

My name is Jon, and I’m a grateful, recovering sexaholic. I’ve been powerless over lust for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately, it took decades for me to finally acknowledge this fact. I am originally from the United States, but my wife and I currently reside in the Philippines.