Taking liberties

MPJ over at A Room of Mama's Own was tagged for a reading meme that works like this:

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages)
2. Open the book to page 123
3. Find the 5th sentence
4. Post the next three sentences
5. Tag 5 people

Now, MPJ didn't tag me, or anyone else, and that's just fine, because I'm not going to tag anyone either. However, I did like the concept of this meme and happen to be in love with books.

Of course, I'm sitting next to four bookshelves and there is not one book closer to me than the others ... and selecting one of these now becomes very difficult, so I'm going to go over and the first book I put my finger on, I'll pull it down and do the meme.

Here I go ...

Ahh, good, it was one I was hoping for -- as if they all weren't in the running:

The book: "Living to Tell the Tale," by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It is the first installation of what is to be a trilogy of his autobiography. This particulra volume was published first in Spanish in 2002, and then in translation in 2003.

Pg. 123, sentences 6,7 & 8

"I felt very uneasy about this change in my life. I had been to Barranquilla several times to visit my parents, as a boy and always in passing, and my memories of that times are very fragmentary. The first visit took place when I was three and had been brought there for the birth of my sister Margot."

Marquez wrote the book on which the recently acclaimed movie "Love in the Time of Cholera" was based. However, I most love his book "One Hundred Years of Solitude." In fact, many of my favorite writings bring to mind solitude. Thoreau's "Walden" comes to mind.

And just since I am making up my own rules here, I'll do one other "reading" from Pg. 123 of Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous, a book that I always keep close.

Sentences 6,7 & 8 from this book happen to be the 7th, 8th, and 9th traditions of the program:

"7. Every SLAA group ought to be fully self supporting, decling outside contributions.
8.SLAA should remain forever nonprofessional, but our service centers may employ special workers.
9. SLAA as such ought never to be organized; but we may create service boards or committees directly responsible to those they serve."

What does it feel like?

When I use another person to get the euphoria of my sex and love addiction, I am also allowing myself to be used in return. And there is no high so high in using that it can balance out the pain and humiliation of being used.

I want to write today what it feels like to be used. I do it because I want to get it out of my head and truly look at it.

I must write by example ...

First example, there's a man in recovery who was such a close friend to me in my early days in the program. When I needed to cry, I called him. When he needed to cry, he called me. We could be honest with each other and we could share at a level only two people could who had known the demonic feelings of having had our childhoods stolen. But we were not ready for that kind of intimacy with a member of the opposite sex, and what was a friendship turned into a love addiction, for a short while a sex addiction, and then into only pain, then resentment, then a note:
"Rae, I'm not sure what's happened between us, all I know is that without it, I am incomplete. I am sorry if offended you in any way. I love you very much."
And thus started my flurry of responding, waiting for his response, texting, waiting for his response ... needing even a crumb, hearing nothing, feeling sad, even more resentful. I know him well enough to know that on his end, he couldn't handle a friendship that did not give him the choice of isolation. And I had not, still have not, let go of the resentment that prevents me from having a friendship with him that does not involve enmeshment and a "savior" mentality. The last conversation we had ... all I could do was try to solve his problems, as if he weren't a full grown man, with as much recovery as me.

Next example:

I used my last acting out partner to help me feel adored and special and I also used him to help recreate the idea that I would never be quite special enough. He was truly more interested in transexual males than women -- but he couldn't admit that completely, and he used me to remind him that he really did like women. After all he was married and very "devoted" to his wife. We both used each other to pass the time and enjoy doing fun things together like see movies, go to plays and have dinner.

Next example:

I guess one has to expect when they keep a public blog about their recovery from sexual addiction, that there will be unrecovering sex addicts who will find it and want to engage in conversation about what sex addiction has meant in one's life. This happened to me recently, and while the intial contact gave me no reason not to respond to the reader, by the second e-mail my response was against my better judgment. I felt my temperature rising, my desire to engage in discussion fervent, and thus flew a string of e-mails that while tempered, grew gradually more sexual in nature. By three or four e-mails I knew I was dealing with a regular old addict, just like me with the same justifications for his behavior and mine as well. I began to feel uncomfortable but said "Keep the questions coming." That's that part of me that sits in one seat and lets the addict take charge while I watch, my hands tucked under my legs and my lips persed together. In the end I was able to stand up and say ... "Enough!" and walk away. I was using him for a hit, he was using me. We were both anxious to know where it would lead ... but for me, I was hoping that this was a test of my sobriety, and as it turns out, the part of me that wants to stay sober was stronger than the part that wanted to act out. I was thankful, grateful actually, and humbled.

So, what does it feel like to be used? For certain, it feels familiar. At some level, I suspect it even feels justified. After all, I do believe at a deep level that I am a bad person. Being used hurts, it makes me cry and feel unimportant. It contributes to the thoughts that I'm not really worth being treated with respect. It makes it difficult, if not impossible, for me to trust anyone who says they care. I feel very alone, because after all, didn't I bring this on myself by using them in the isolation of my disease? It makes me feel angry because some part of me knows I DON'T deserve this. And it makes me even angrier that I have nothing to justify my anger with, because I was an equal partner in the using. Those who reject me, at whatever level, make me feel as if I'm not enough. I take it personally, which means my ego is in the way. The healthy truth is ... their disease is no more about me than mine is about them. But it is not easy to see that when the disease has a face and a voice (or at least an e-mail address and a name).

I don't guess I was looking for answers here ... just the opportunity to own my feelings. More will come, I have no doubt. Getting them out of my head and out in front of me helps me to sort them out.

Like friends do

I spoke to R. yesterday. His voice sounded familiar ... but the feelings (neither love nor hurt) didn't churn inside my stomach until they turned to hurt or anger. We just talked and then hung up, like friends do.

I went to a writer's group for the first time last night and absolutely loved it. It was great to be among other creative types and also to hear some really good work. Mostly it was great to have others hear my writing and say ... "Wow" and sincerely mean it. It was a good boost for me.

I'm doing some recovery writing work around my stepfather and that seems to be going well. When I know it is time for me to sit down with it, I feel a little scattered and try to distract myself with other things ... but at the moment, it's at least not sex with strangers. To be completely honest, I do have someone I am talking to daily, developing a friendship with that will likely be sexual during the times that he is in town, which is about once a month.

Whenever I am in these types of relationships I know I separate myself from my husband, not to mention the higher power that guides me in all my life's choices.

Ain't No Love in Here

I recently heard a woman speak at an OA meeting ... she was fantastic in her story telling. Something she said about her refrigerator keeps sticking with me though. She said she has a note on her refrigerator that says, "Ain't No Love in Here."

For people, like me, who struggle with compulsive overeating, they find comfort and love and understanding in food. Food is a place they can retreat and be pleased ... not to mention, shamed and degraded.

I read this in an e-zine this morning, "Compulsive overeating is accompanied with much guilt and shame. People with this condition often feel that they are not good enough and are ashamed that they could not control their eating habits. This only makes it worse because their negative feelings only lead them to more compulsive overeating. Food is how compulsive overeaters deal with their craving for acceptance and appreciation. Some use their overweight appearance to keep people away because they subconsciously feel undeserving of love, while others use it as punishment whenever they feel bad about themselves. One does not become successful in overcoming this condition unless they gather up the courage to face the real emotions they are afraid to feel and unless they can honestly admit the issues that cause them to be stuck in this destructive behavior. All this of course, would be a difficult accomplishment without professional help and the support of friends and loved ones."

For me, my compulsive overeating and sexual addiction are closely intertwined ... for it was in being sexual violated beginning at age 3, that I turned to food for comfort and protection.

As I was trying to pull myself away from the computer this morning ... where I sometimes sit for hours, chatting, e-mailing, searching for that "hit" or that person to meet ... I thought of the woman's note on her refrigerator ... Ain't No Love In Here.

If I were to post a personals ad that said ... "There is a hunger of the body, a thirst of the mind, but it is the craving of my soul that cannot be satisfied," I wonder if any human power could ever satisify that? I think not.