IN THE CURRENT MAGAZINE

Six years ago, when I was 21, I was shocked to hear my counselor say he thought I was a sex addict. I was in college and trying to be cool and impress my friends. The last thing I wanted to be was a sex addict. But today I realize that his diagnosis was the turning point in my life.

I love this quote: “In between black and white thinking is not grey; in between black and white thinking is where the colors are.” I want to share with you the rainbow that recovery has given me.

I’m an 18-year-old virgin sexaholic. I came to SA in March 2006, worried I wouldn’t be accepted because I’ve never had actual sex. But at my first meeting I was assured that I was quite qualified.

In 1998, I believed I had a good life. I was 50 years old and satisfied in my marriage of 25 years, secure in my job, and content to have raised two grown children who were now out of the house. At the time, computers were the latest technology, and the Internet was an intriguing way to spend time talking with people from all over the country.

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.

Recently I met with a newcomer who was inquiring about SA. He had identified five different fellowships dealing with sexual addiction. He wasn’t quite sure where he belonged. He wanted a fellowship that would support his involvement in a same-sex relationship.

I started sex-addiction recovery in 1994 in another sex-addiction fellowship, and spent the next eight years in a state of chronic relapse. Sometimes I couldn’t even get one day of sobriety, although a couple of times I reached six months. But five years ago something changed, and I have been able to stay sober.

I recently read a book that describes how our consumer society works. The author suggests that we are manipulated into believing we have personal value by what we own. Our identity is linked to what we possess and by how others judge us through these objects.

Dear brothers and sisters in SA, I’m writing today to check in with many of you whom I have known in the fellowship over the years. It has been a beautiful and long journey since I first began attending meetings 10 years ago in Detroit, then hit my bottom and got sober in Columbus, OH and continued with SA in the mid-Hudson region of NY.