False Evidence Appearing Real (FEAR)

Over the past month, at the advice and direction of my counselor, I have began undergoing EMDR therapy to help treat my PTSD. The most accurate way I've heard EMDR described thus far is "talk therapy on steroids." It is certainly stirring up the shit that has been eating me alive underneath for a long time. To say it is unsettling is an understatement. To know there are underlying feelings that I've been avoiding is one thing, to begin to feel them all at once is a whole other ballgame. But I'm not complaining -- I'm ready to begin to live with some level of freedom. I have struggled and fought against myself for so, so long. I'm willing to walk through whatever this therapy brings to the surface in order to feel it and recognize that past trauma is over with, so I can live fully present in today.

One of the most surprising realities that has surfaced as a result of the EMDR is the fact that I felt some sense of safety when I was being molested by my stepfather. In the "outside world," where we weren't hiding everything from the rest of the family, he was constantly yelling at me, telling me how I could do nothing right, hitting me, all causing me to feel afraid and so very small. But, during the acts of molestation, all I had to do was show up, endure, get it over with and I never had to face any of his chaotic berating or anger. From the time I was three until I was 13, that was the only time I felt safe around him, otherwise I felt worthless and like I was in the way. I carried that definition of safety with me into adulthood, and into the secrecy of my acting out in this addiction. While I might never feel I could do anything right in the eyes of the world, while I might not be good enough, pretty enough, or smart enough ... there was one thing I could do that was right ... do what Daddy taught me. I'm ready to put an end to this lie at all levels of my psyche. I have violated myself in ways my stepfather could never have thought of, and put myself in more dangerous situations than anyone ever would consider "safe." I am tired of being used by men who have a skewed view of acceptance and of using my sacred sexual self to gain a false sense of acceptance, safety and control. I am ready to accept myself as an imperfect human being, who doesn't have to control the world around her in order to live.

One day at a time, I am getting better. I could never have tackled it any other way. It was simply too much. It still is and always will be. I thank God for these 24 hours and the opportunities that lay within.

Sunday morning reflections

This morning I was trying to remember something from the time in my life just before I discovered the Internet and uncovered my sexual addiction. It was the time right after my mother died, and I made the decision to move out on my own, separate from my roommates, who happened to be my niece and her husband. I remember almost every nook and cranny of the house I moved into -- the smells, the feel, the sounds, everything. I remember different acting out partners who I brought there, the first time I invited the man who is now my husband there and I remember how good it felt just to live alone there. But interestingly, I can't remember a thing about how I got my stuff there, or even how I got some of the stuff that went in there. I simply remember that I had to work hard to fight off depression when I first moved in and it wasn't long until sexual addiction became my way to do that. I was already escaping through work, spending more than I earned and eating, but that was no longer enough.

My mind is a parallel universe, that part of me that "disappears" when things get too difficult has saved my life. As an abused child, dissassociation took me away from the emotional and physical pain that my young body was not able to endure. Long term, however, that thing that helped me, has also has made wholeness feel nearly impossible. Isolation and fear are two of my biggest character defects ... one sends me running into that "other world" and the other keeps me there, nursing me like a comforting mother in ways I can neither remember nor forget. Duality is a life that recovery can repair. Thus, even though it is sometimes very hard for me to avoid slipping into that "invisible world," I keep coming back to grow, working the steps, working through resentments, discovering character defects, forgiving myself and others. I am one of the ones whose recovery is coming slowly. But it is coming, one day at a time. I can see it and I walk toward it ... even on the days when I veer off the path. I pray for courage to do the will of my Higher Power today.

Today

Sometimes I think it would be better if I wrote here every day ... but some days I'm too wrapped up in my disease, other days I'm doing my best to run from it. In an old post -- from July 2004 -- I write about my parallel lives, and say that someday I hope me and Rae meet. So, sometimes I don't write here because I am totally out of tune with which life I am leading: the successful business woman (who, by the way, has recently decided to launch her freelance career), or the sex, love and food addict with depression who sometimes can't get out of the house, or only gets out to have sex with a stranger or two.

It's funny, along the way, I have had a lot of people who read this blog or in the recovery rooms and even my therapists warn me about the dangers of meeting strangers from the Internet. At one level, I always know they are right, at another, I think people would find it interesting to meet all the people I have meet online and in person. I've been lucky that I've never (yet, due to the grace and protection of God) met a real whack job, though I have met a few people who have wanted to do disgusting or humiliating things to me, or vice versa -- wanted me to do those things to them. I have been "fortunate" to have met some very interesting people. A lot of men who are lonely in their marriages, those who are simply wildly horny and as obsessed with sex as I am, and some genuinely nice people who don't know what they are looking for. I've had some amazing conversations, made some good friends, and even been inspired by some of these people I've met. They range from highly successful executives and business owners to blue collar, financially strapped husbands, who just need a little relief from the day to day stresses of life. Some of them, I feel, take bigger risks than me, and I often tell them so. Read my post from earlier this month, where I wrote a letter to one of my "suitors" who had sent me erotic pictures of himself using his real name. He responded with indignation and threatened to use "all his resources" to protect himself. From what? Me? I am not the threat.

A number of you have read my blog for some time ... some of you probably feel sorry for me, others may think I'm a self-righteous whore. You may wonder if I ever think of the wives and the families that are being impacted by my continuing to live in my disease. The answer is yes. It feeds my need to hate myself. I used to think of them a lot more. Now I often only think of the men, and how I use them ... and often toss them away, leaving them feeling rejected and worthless and used. Again, it feeds my need to hate myself. (By the way ... I welcome all comments and questions. Sometimes i can't see my own stuff as well as I can see the stuff of others.)

In the dynamic of my parallel lives, there is a part of me that actually likes many things about myself. This diseased self, I am afraid I will always hate who I am. It reminds me that my mother used to tell me, "Love and hate can't dwell in the same heart." I was talking today to a man I met yesterday. This was our second meeting, and after our first, he told me he felt guilty. Today again he feels guilty ... feels that he has let down himself, God, his family. Like me ... he has the civil war inside his head.

A letter to help someone else

Dear D,

I have given a lot of thought to the letter I am about to write. I write it out of understanding, not judgment.

You put yourself at a major risk this week when you sent me those erotic photos and video under your real name. (Name removed), Louisiana, to quote you is a "small town." And sometimes the United States is even a small town. As it so happens, you sit on a committee (according to a 1 minute Google search of your name) with a long-time friend of mine.

Had another person, a poser or even worse, someone insane -- been on the receiving end of those photos, or for that matter someone who was actually in (your town), this could have been disastrous for you. I'm pretty certain you probably have a wife, otherwise you would be online at night. Even if you don't ... I know you have a good job, and a good reputation, and if you were telling me the truth, a daughter.

I also know what overwhelming, obsessive sexual desire is like ... feeling like no matter what needs to be done in the "real world," no matter what is at risk, you have to get that "high." It feels like you can't live without it. I can see this in you, because you know all the tricks ... You have perfected it all. You know how to find the woman who can address all facets of your fantasy life. You're good at it and you can't live without it.

I also know what it's like to want to be loved and cared for and also to be hurt and used and demoralized. I know all of this, because it is my life too. I am addicted to sex in the same way that men and women are addicted to cocaine, gambling, whiskey and all other vices. I will do any thing for it, that little taste of heavenly high, but it is ruining my life, my marriage, my sanity. Despite all my efforts of trying to heal from years of childhood sexual abuse, I will always find my way to men like you ... who need to control and own and manipulate, because of their own pain ... and make me feel like small helpless child. Or to men like you who need to be used ... so that I can make myself feel like my abuser. It's what made that slap the other day feel so fucking good. I wanted to use you and hurt you and scream "How could you possibly be like every other fucking man on the earth who tells me he loves me just so he can hurt me?" Over and over and over ... I find men like you, so that I can continue to hurt myself.

I don't expect you to tell me your story ... I just wanted to tell you mine, so you would know I understand, and also to send up a cry for you to please get help before, like so many other men I have seen, you get yourself into a holy horrible mess. I am not one to share with you the successes of such help, because I'm clearly in relapse ... but, getting involved in therapy and more importantly a support group for sex addicts saved my ass four years ago. In all this moving, I have let a lot of things go ... and boredom and loneliness are two of my major triggers for the addiction -- thus you found me, throwing out hooks (online). This group www.slaafws.org meets in (your town) and is a place where you can find help and other people like you. For a list of meetings in the area ... send an e-mail to (address removed). It's a completely anonymous fellowship. There are others like it: http://www.sca-recovery.org/ which has online meetings. There is http://www.saa-recovery.org which meets tonight in (your town) at 7:30 p.m. at St. Mary's.

Again, none of this is an attempt to judge you or control you or even tell you what to do. I'm just telling you my story and sharing with you the information I have.

You seem like a very kind and caring man. I am the same. But I am filled with demons that won't leave alone.

Taking stock

I've had a rough couple of weeks that have just passed. I had been doing very well with my food and for a long, long time with my sex and love addiction issues. But relapse came on like a thunderstorm in both program ... the sex, notably after the food.

Today I went to the gym and walked for 50 minutes. I watched "Spanglish" on TV as I walked and it made me think of a conversation I had last night with one of the latest men my addiction is courting, in which we agreed (or I deferred to his sanity)that what we were pursuing was merely a friendship. God knows if that's what I was pursuing or not, but it certainly deflated any ideas that this man was going to become the next "love of my life." After my walk, I went to the bathroom crying ... I seem to be doing that a lot lately ... I can't stop crying. I cry at every emotion that comes up. Anyway, as I'm in the stall in the bathroom I just say to whatever force is listening ... "I don't think things will ever be OK." The message back was a "Do you trust me?" message and a reassurance that things will not always be this way. I was also reminded to keep going to the gym, quit lying about going to the gym, and actually go there and exercise every day, no matter what. Exercise is good for my mental condition and it also gets me out of the house.

Just for a point of record, I need to note here that over the past week I met a different man every day (M-F)and had sex with three of them. When I am away from the situation, it is hard to say how I feel about it ... Obviously, I'm walking around crying at the drop of a hat, so this behavior is emotionally damaging. Likewise, I can't focus on anything and the need for "more" is always there. Yesterday I was with my husband and also for the most part today ... so the food didn't seem to call me much. At some points the sex and love addiction did. I'm just trying to make it through this latest storm and am thankful that I see at least one window every day where I find the willingness to say a prayer.

I went to a meeting yesterday and the day before I called people on my outreach list ... but still I am in the mode of life where I am watching myself from the outside in. My behavior seems like my own, but there seems to be this sane person who just sits back and lets all the insanity happen, numbed to the effects. I guess this is all about PTSD, I honestly don't know. I wonder sometimes if I need to go to a psychiatrist for testing ... but then I'm not even making the appointments with the counselor.

One day at a time ... I am just going on. I am thankful for the small successes, the many miracles and the willingness to just keep going.

Bubbling up from the inside

It seems like so much is coming at me all at once ... all good stuff (for the most part).

This morning my husband said a couple of things to me about the house being in a mess and I reacted with anger. I told him that I wanted him to treat me like an adult, not like a child. Then I also explained that what he had said affected my self esteem, because I felt guilty and shameful for not doing a better job of keeping up with the housework considering that I'm not currently working. Then a bit later he came to me and talked to me as he often does in a cooing voice like someone might speak to a little kid. It was, as it always is ... so irritating to me, even though it is his way of trying to soothe things.

I spent some time thinking ... "Why does this bother me so much?" And I realized ... first of all, I never was a kid. I was always "responsible" for holding my family together, by hiding my sexual abuse (or so my stepfather told me in those private moments when he would incest me), I was also responsible for my younger sister, I was told. Because I began to use food to "stuff" my emotions at a young age, I was always fat, so never really fit in with kids my age. But I could impress the adults around me with my maturity, my brightness and my sense of responsibility. So, I spent more time with adults than with kids my age. Second of all ... I didn't like my childhood and I don't want to feel like a child. I feel that children are not really loved, they are just placated. (My inner child speaking)

So, then I spent some time thinking ... OK how do I get my husband to stop doing this? Then I realized ... It's not him who you (in healthy circumstances) need to change. I need to change myself and my attitudes. I'll have to work on that.

Next, I started thinking about how the cards of my life have come together ... I never told anyone about my sexual abuse until after my mother died when I was 25. I wrote a note in a journal this morning, "My mother died so I could tell my story." That's pretty deep stuff that didn't come from my concious self. What did come from my concious self was that I have always tried to maintain that sense of responsibility for my sister. My stepfather is her biological father, and I never wanted her to think she had such a monster who could begin molesting children at 3 years old for a father. I hadn't had a real father in my life. I wanted life to be different for her.

I have always felt guilty that I was the successful one in our family -- the one who graduated from college first and made a career for herself. But then after a few years, my depression and addiction took care of all that. Suddenly I became unsuccessful ... was it perhaps because I have always felt that my sister hated me for being successful and that's why she rebelled? She has made tons of poor choices in her life, and I've blamed them all on myself because I feel like she did them to "get back" at me.

It's amazing how all these things are rising to the surface, so fast that my fingers can't hardly keep up with it all. But I have to tell you ... I am so thankful it is coming to the surface, so I can begin the process of dealing with it ... and learning how to heal.

My state of mind

Many of my conversations with my therapist focus on what is real and what is not real. I am a person living with PTSD, sexual compulsions and people and food addictions. Those things are a part of me, but they don't define me. They do, however, at times make it hard to see me -- even for me, thus my dilemma with what is real and not real.

So during a conversation with my therapist yesterday I shared that I had felt a lot of depression, cried a lot, felt overwhelmed as time moves closer for me to move yet again to be with a husband who I love, but who does not meet my emotional needs for support. He is someone I cannot be honest with. It's not that I choose not to be, it's when I try to be honest with him, either he turns his head, or I just can't get it out. So, I've given notice at my current job ... and moving forward as if I am going to leave and go be with him, but I have no real desire to go there. I feel like going there will dissolve all the work I have done to get better -- all my work in therapy, all my work to heal from my sexual abuse, all the work I have done to manage life with all the above mentioned issues. I will just go to him, exist with him in a financially secure world, with no emotional support.

As I talked about this in therapy, I described my feelings as two worlds about to collide -- the part of me that has lived in an emotionless marriage, who disassociates from the trauma of my abuse and strained relations with family and friends and the part of me that needs love, support, caring and compassion. My therapist told me that these increasing feelings are real, that my feelings of being overwhelmed is real, and that my pain is real.

I replied, "but I don't feel it as pain." She was puzzled and said, "But you felt pain on Saturday when you laid in bed and cried and screamed, and you felt pain today when you stayed home from work because you were feeling so depressed." I said that's not pain... that's insanity. She smiled and said that my mind was playing some clever tricks ... letting me hide out in the idea that I'm insane, rather than feel pain.

My mind, which is a constant state of civil war, is a source of pain ... it holds memories, it creates chaos, it helps me function and keeps me from functioning. My only key is acceptance. I accept my life, and trust my Higher Power to guide me, pray that I can get out of its way, and have the courage and strength to do the next right thing.

My Two Selves

Yesterday I did some work with my therapist trying to clear some confusion from my head. She asked me to have a debate between my "thinking" self and my emotional self. I changed positions on each end of the couch in order to have this debate. Essentially, my thinking self told my emotional self that it was the reason for all my problems, and my emotional self was a smartass and said, "Oh yeah, well without me you can't feel a damn thing."

I've done a lot of good work with the therapist and on my own lately. Some things I've discovered:

• I may have married my foreign-born husband who has a totally different culture than mine, a different lifestyle, a different way of loving, to escape everything that was known to me. Yet there is still a small child in me that cries for the familiar -- who wants to have things and relationships that are very familiar.
• I need love and affection because I have old wounds that need to be healed. It's OK to need those things.
• My thinking self tries to stay in control, pushing the emotional side away, so that it can remain in control. But that does something bad to the emotional side that I'm not completely sure of ... but am working on figuring it out.
• When R. -- the other man in my life -- tells me that my marriage sucks, I feel ashamed and judged and it causes that emotional side to throw up a big wall.

My husband has a new job now ... he's moving away. I'm staying put, at least for now. I may never join him. It all feels weird, but that it is happening without decisions being made.