IN THE CURRENT MAGAZINE

I stood in disbelief. The computer screen had three emails from women at work that I was acting out with. My wife was crying, asking me, “Why?” I was in shock. I stood there physically present, but emotionally far, far away. I was numb to my feelings, to my life, and to myself.

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.

I have found no way of permanently eradicating my ego. For me, living in Steps Ten, Eleven, and Twelve are not enough. It takes resubmitting to all the Steps formally again and again. It is not really that hard when I can see my current level of unmanageability to do a new First Step.

Tonight I had the honor of presenting my SA sponsor with a 19-year chip. It is a brand new chip. He saves his chip and presents it to me each September, fifteen months later. We have been doing this for years. I think that receiving a chip from a member who has carried it for a year makes it even more special.

All I can share is my experience, and my experience has been that so many times I have had opinions and given advice to others about matters about which I never had any experience. I was like a man who tried to tell someone how to fix his carburetor when he had never opened the hood to his own car.

Being born in August and growing up near the ocean, it was natural for my family to celebrate my birthday each year at one of the nearby beaches. After a day of living it up, I would come back burned to a crisp and covered with lesions given me by the local stingrays (well, okay, they were only jellyfish, but being an addict I tend toward the dramatic).

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.

Last week a guy who had just moved to the area attended our meeting for the first time. Afterwards he commented, “It is so nice to walk into a group I have never attended and feel immediately at home.” As good as it must have felt to him to say that, it felt even better to us to hear it. What greater compliment could a group receive from a newcomer?

Yesterday God gave me an Eleventh Step prayer. At the time, I was in my head, fussing over one of my sons, making an inventory of all the things I wanted for him. It was a typical dad-list, including things like a better job, a better education, a better place to live, and a meaningful relationship.

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.