I was 17 years old when I moved to the US. I was already a sexaholic back then, I just didn’t know it. I was one of the lucky kids who had parents that granted me the opportunity to study abroad. After only 3 years of zero limits, I ended up hitting rock bottom.
A few months back the opportunity came up to help to translate and diffuse our daily reading from ‘The Real Connection’ via WhatsApp into French. My mother tongue is English and I live in Nice in the south of France. I am seven and a half months sober, although I’ve known SA for between 25 and 30 years.
Over three sober decades in SA there have been quite a few pieces of “bad news” for me as a recovering sexaholic. They all arise, like my entire program, from my experience, strength, and hope:
One of the most effective Practical Tools is HUMOR. Recently a sexaholic had a severe car accident. He had followed his sponsor’s suggestion to always look at his feet when he saw something that might trigger him.
I had many friends, a loving family and a caring wife. But all this was not enough. I wanted others to see that I was confident and knowledgeable. Wanting people to only see what I wanted them to see. Yet in the quiet moments I felt alone. My thoughts and actions of lust separated me from those relationships.
I’ve physically acted out in my sleep. An old-timer who had the same problem suggested that I wear pants under my pajama pants. Acting on this suggestion has helped me avoid touching myself, providing as it does, an extra layer between myself and lust.
Not long ago, I did it: I put a Desire chip in my mouth. And no, it didn’t melt.
