In my mid-forties I found myself full of fear, uncertainty, and loneliness—not knowing why my life did not have the shades of color I saw in nature, the sunsets, the immensity of the flowers. I felt that I did not belong—that perhaps my Higher Power had made a mistake. Lust had always been there, but at a very high cost.
Sometimes when I am on edge, I want to take in lust to calm myself. I obviously can’t look at porn or masturbate (or act out with another person). Because I would lose my sobriety and I’d have to disclose my actions to my wife. So my disease whispers in my ear that a “euphoric recall” is the perfect answer. I tell myself, “This will take the edge off my anxiety - and I haven’t taken any action of lust.”
Can I differentiate the true from the false? In my disease, I never thought about that question prior to recovery. It simply did not matter. I am a pleasure seeker. What makes me happy or comfortable was what was important. In recovery, I have the opportunity to examine my beliefs and ask the God of my understanding to help me see the truth.
The February edition announced a new practical tool called “The Game.” After a successful pilot project in November with six teams of four members each, The Game was kicked off for the worldwide fellowship on April 4.
One of the most effective Practical Tools is HUMOR. A man in a hot air balloon realized he was completely lost. He was overwhelmed, in despair and utter bewilderment. He saw a person on the ground and yelled down to him, “Can you help me? I don’t know where I am.”
Those of us with a little experience in recovery know the various strategies of the “18-Wheeler” for dealing with a lust hit (SA 157). I would like to add a “Number Zero” to the list. I have learned through prayer and through discussion with my daily sobriety renewal partner that part of the power of a lust hit is in the belief that the object of my lust has something I do not.
Recently, I was exposed to someone who tested positive for COVID-19. I had symptoms, so I called my physician who referred me to a “drive thru” test site for the virus. After the test was conducted, I promptly pulled my car into a parking lot while gripping the steering wheel, feeling so alone and afraid.
All my life I have been surrounded by loved ones with fatal and sometimes incurable diseases. The first person I knew to pass away from a disease was a three-year-old girl named Amy, who died of leukemia. My mother just finished chemotherapy for B-cell Lymphoma.
None of us can carry the pain of finality of letting go alone. That’s why we are here. Lean on us. The best advice a guy gave me in a meeting one day was, “Be a burden.”
I went back to my home group and shared what had happened. I had slipped and now it was time to face the dreaded walk back into the rooms and face the fellows I had been lying to for many years. The group was welcoming and supportive, I heard supportive and encouraging words like “It’s OK, it’s progressive victory” and “Keep coming back.”
