Unscrupulous disease

The letters I have written to my stepfather are on my mind from time to time these days ... the words that are written there and the memories that are caught up in them. I wrote the letters to unleash the hooks of those memories, and have hopes that once he reads the words of the second letter, which ends with "These are my truths. Now we both know them." the betrayal bond will be broken. Of course, these are only my wishes -- my Higher Power may have other plans. We shall see.

This afternoon, however, I did have a bit of an epiphany as I thought of the words that I overheard my stepfather tell my mother one night when I was about 10 years old. He wanted her to have sex with him and she was resistant. He said, "You know if you don't give it to me, I'll go and get it from Rae. I already did once today." I heard those words in my mind many times until a couple of years ago I was forced to accept them as proof that my mother did know what was happening to me, but felt as powerless as I did to stop it.

As the words ran through my head this afternoon ... "If you don't give it to me ... I'll go and get it from Rae." I realized that this was just the mentality that kept me tied into the compulsive cycle of my addiction. I would seek a man's attention, acceptance and affection and take absolutely all that man had to give, and when he couldn't give any more, when he couldn't possibly fill the endless gaping hole inside me, I'd go after someone else. I kept multiple partners so that I never had to be without my "drug." When I would go from one man to another, driven by my own selfish cravings, I was essentially saying, "If you don't give me what I want ... I'll go and get it from some other source." Like my stepfather, I was saying ... "Do what you will, but I will not go without."

I've said it before ... the disease of sex and love addiction has no boundaries, has no scruples. It is willing to hurt and devastate anyone in its path -- whether my friend or a stranger -- in order to be fed and nurtured. It is selfish and without a conscience. Without my program, it runs my life and ruins the lives of the people around me.

For these reasons, I will keep coming back, seeking recovery and a daily reprieve from the unending need of my addict self.

Two letters

It's sometimes amazing how long it takes me to make it back here to write about what's going on in my world.

There has been a lot going on actually -- but I wanted to write today of some resolution to the "black cloud" that has been hanging over my head regarding whether to see my stepfather on Father's Day. We have not been communicating for some time and my life is pretty much more sane when it is that way. However, I also know that underneath I have a feeling of something unresolved between us and I have a fear that if I don't resolve it before he dies (which he's likely to do soon), I might be stuck in this limbo for the rest of my life. (As I write that I realize that there's an underlying need for surrender there.)

Anyway, in reaction to all this I have talked with my therapist and shared with program support people, and have been blessed with something beautiful. I was to have a letter to my stepfather drafted by last Wednesday outlining what happened to me as a child, the results of what happened, and what I was doing about it. I did everything under the sun to put it off, not necessarily conciously, but at least subconciously. Then when Tuesday came and I knew I had to write the letter, I started writing everything I remembered about my abuse in detail, but as I moved on to 'the results' portion of the letter, I kept zoning out and almost dozing off. (Traits of trying to slip away from reality for me.) I was so frustrated and I felt like I was babbling in my writing. Later that day, after sharing my frustrations over the letter with a friend in another fellowship, I got an e-mail from him with the outline of a letter that was the perfect precipice for writing all the words I needed to say. It was very simple, yet exactly what I wanted to say and couldn't find the words for. I was so grateful.

The next day when I met with the therapist, I read her both letters. When I read back the words of the letter I was so frustrated with, I saw that it made perfect sense and was filled with all the truths of what I had been through. Then when I read the more general letter that came as a result of my friend's assistance, it just seemed to bring everything together. My therapist suggested that if I do choose to see my stepfather on Father's Day -- which was a perfect reminder that the choice is mine and that it's OK to see him if I want to -- to give him both the letters as I leave and ask him to read them after I'm gone. Alternately, she said mailing the letters on Saturday, to arrive on Monday would be another option. She thought both letters were appropriate, because one was filled with the truths of what happened to me, and she thought that was important for him to read.

What I felt after finishing the letters was that what my stepfather needed and felt was irrelevant. These letters were for me. As I wrote to him, " It is not that I don’t care for you, but now I must care for myself. When I was small, I was powerless, but now I am taking back my power. I am working to heal my wounds through the help of a therapist and a network of support friends. I no longer keep what happened to me as a child a secret. The secret was the harm. And the truth has set me free. It has allowed me to recognize that forgiveness is not a gift I can give away. However, it is a gift I can give to myself, so that we both can be free. I pray for peace and love in both our hearts."

I do have some sense that he will get some closure as well from reading these letters. I know I certainly have felt a weight lifted in writing them. Once they are delivered, I hope that all fears of obligation to "act as if" nothing happened and everything is OK will be gone. If those fears do not disappear ... then I know I have more work to do.

For today, I'm grateful for the work that has been done.

Thanks for listening and being with me on this journey.

FOG = Fear, Obligation and Guilt

The 12-Step Programs have a lot of great acronyms that help to keep us all sober and focused on recovery. Today I was grateful to read this one: "FOG stands for FEAR, OBLIGATION and GUILT. When we work on these three issues the FOG begins to clear."

These three emotions are exactly what I am feeling as I consider the fact that I'll be back in my home state where my stepfather lives during the Father's Day weekend. I just told my therapist yesterday that my FOO (family of origin) has a real committment to obligation. With the obligation comes guilt.

The truth for me today is that no one can MAKE me feel any emotions I don't choose to feel. However, I can make a decision to turn my sense of fear, obligation and guilt over to my Higher Power and ask for guidance in my thoughts and actions. I can ask for healing and acceptance in my heart and in the heart of my abusive stepfather who I truly want to forgive, not for him, but for me. I have realized I cannot give away forgiveness. It is a gift I give myself. But I cannot do it alone. I need others to help me learn to love myself enough to let go absolutely.

People have told me for years ... "You don't owe him anything." I KNOW I don't, but knowledge carried in the head, doesn't always make it to the wounded spirit that still wishes for those beautiful father/daughter relationships you read about on Hallmark cards. There's still that feeling of being unsettled, knowing that my stepfather could die at any time, and I might feel as if I never took the chance to release my pain face to face. I chose to stop talking with him about three years ago, because I was tired of "putting on a happy face" and pretending that I was not hurting, but unwilling to scream and rage at him either. At times my silence has been punishment, and at times it has been necessity. But because of it, I've been able to heal without continuing to live the lie.

I'm grateful today to be able to speak these truths, to have this wisdom and to desire healing that will come in God's time, not in mine. I'm grateful for the willingness to pray for God's guidance and to be quiet and listen for it. My therapist and a recovery friend have both recommended writing a letter to my stepfather (not necessarily to be mailed) which outlines what happened, what the results were and what I am doing about it. Both have said that unless I can own my own power, that going to see my stepfather during this trip was not a healthy move, but one based in classic codependence. Just for today, I can accept their guidance as gifts from my Higher Power.

Somewhere between the jagged edges

I've been in a weird, bifurcated place lately. On one hand I feel as if I'm growing and on the other as if I am in the pits of hell.

I was able to release some tears last night during an SLAA meeting as I expressed how lonely it feels to be in a committed relationship with someone who often feels very absent from my life. My husband's workaholism is raging and my addict continues to knock at the door and remind me that it's there "to help."

I have always been open to my Higher Power's will in my marriage and continue to be so. I'm also acknowledging that I'll be open to my Higher Power's will in my relationship with my therapist as I meet with her tomorrow and tell her for right now I think it's most important that I focus on my own personal growth rather than on the growth of my marriage. My husband and I are at a place where I'm not sure we're ready to grow and after much prayer and discussion with others, I have to believe that I have to focus on the things I can change, which are within me. I have felt at odds with my therapist over this and skipped a week's session with her to get more clear in my own mind about how I wanted to deal with it.

It is true that my marital relationship could be more fulfilling and that is sometimes triggering to my addict. It is certainly not that I don't think our marriage needs work. It's simply that I know my husband well enough to know that he's living so deeply in his own disease (workaholism) that he will most certainly not be present for any joint work we might attempt right now.

In the meantime, I am reminding myself to live life one day at a time, living in the solution, feeling my feelings, whatever they are. I am reminding myself that medicating painful feelings with the disease means rather than practicing healthy behaviors such as setting boundaries and self care within my marriage, I am using those efforts on a dead-end situation, which can be incredibly painful. I am reminding myself that if I give in to the subtle call of the disease, I'll be caught up in a mental prison that keeps me obsessed with seeking reassurance, checking e-mails and feeling empty when nothing appears, feeling obsessed with a need to hear from and be with the unfortunate bloke who falls into the addictive trap. I am reminded, that while living in the disease, there are never enough emails, phone calls, text messages, dramatic expressions and blow ups. There is never enough face to face time, never enough committment, never enough balance. It's just an empty vat of never enough anything, and suddenly my life is completely unmanageable as I try to make it enough by reading the same e-mails over and over, thinking until it feels as if my head will bleed, and feeling as if my life is completely not worth living.

One day at a time, I am attempting to show myself before a power greater than myself who can restore me to sanity, rather than send me down a very rocky road where the lessons are earned on the edges of jagged rocks.

My body hurts

Over the past few years, I have been releasing, little by little the emotional pain of being molested for the most precious years of my childhood. Yesterday my body began to experience the pain, the aches of being so tied up in tension, fear, dread. I could feel the presence of the wounded child spirit cowering. Today I'm not sure if the pain I feel is a continuation of those feelings or just soreness from the experience. Whatever it is ... my body hurts, from head to toe.

On an unrelated subject, I wanted to write here that I have "awakened" to realize that I fear the vulnerability of intimacy with my husband. He's too close. He knows too much about me. It's easier for me to experience some excuse for love and intimacy with someone who is all but a stranger to me than it is to even think of laying beside my husband and having him caress my body. Sometimes I can hardly stand for him to touch me. It makes me afraid of what will come next, almost as if he is the abuser.

I had already had this realization when I heard someone share at a meeting recently that he could more easily have sex with a complete stranger, than he could with his wife of 30-plus years. It felt good to know that I was not alone. The man followed his comment with, "How's that for insanity?" Sign me up, friend, I'm in the crazy line with you.

I've been reading and hearing so much lately about the importance of full-disclosure to spouses in order to have hope for recovery and healing. How's that for vulnerability ... being really, completely honest with someone else and still expecting them to love you.

I should also acknowledge that I have been focusing my attention in program on the people who just can't seem to make a relationship work in their lives. It's like they are either addictive or they are alone or they are so ill at ease in their own skin trying to pretend to be something they aren't that they can't make it work. But I also have to be honest with myself and say that I have seen recovery change some relationships and some people. There's no reason it can't work for me, if I'm willing to do the work.

The least I can do

I have not written here, or most anywhere, for a month. I received a note from a blogger buddy who asked if I was a stuck as my blogging seems to be.

I'm neither stuck nor growing, neither clear nor confused, neither drunk nor sober, neither perfect nor imperfect, neither happy nor sad.

I'm in this bizarre place that I can't seem to find the words to describe, other than to use a tired phrase, "I'm in a state of transition and change." This particular state is not easy to describe and I have been unwilling/unable to write about it.

There's been a lot written, even by me, about living life in balance, in the middle, in the gray areas. Addicts are known as extremists.

I do find that I am not writing ... not e-mails, not blog posts, not journal entries, not snail mail.

I am also finding that I don't feel passionate or committed to anything. Everything, literally, feels fluid, as if there is nothing I can count on, and nothing that will last. I am reluctant to start new things because it feels like they won't last, and it feels impossible to accept that there is nothing on earth that lasts forever.

My therapist suggested some flow of consciousness writing to express myself, and I guess this is what this is. I'm emptying some of my confusion, some of my struggles out onto the table in hopes of making better sense of it.

While I'm writing I'm going to acknowledge a fear that I have to lose my husband in order to really get a chance to start over. Not only is he being forced, in very small ways, to look at his own contributions to the losses in our family. I am also seeing my part. I heard a man say at a meeting the other day that in order for his marriage to survive, the old relationship, filled with guilt, shame, fear, anger, resentments, dishonesty had to die. He killed it with complete disclosure to his wife about his past, and now, together they are working to rebuild from a point of honesty and commitment to recovery. She has her program and he has his.

I don't know what will happen in my relationship with my husband. I left that up to my Higher Power a long time ago. My heart is open to continuing the relationship with a man who I admire, love and have built a friendship with. My heart gets scared at the thought of losing what we have built, and my gut tells me to continue to work toward a place of acceptance with the things that are flawed and to live my life in a way that will do as little harm as possible. Only time will tell the outcome and the answer. When it does ... I'll write it down.

"You're too fat to fuck"

No, that's not just an eye-catching title for this post, it is the first words of Judith Moore's brilliant memoir "Fat Girl." While plenty of the men I have pursued for sexual purposes in my disease found me perfectly acceptable for naughty chat, phone sex or even a roadside or office "servicing," they too have found me "too fat to fuck." Even more men, upon seeing my photograph, simply stopped talking, disappeared and pretended as if the online conversation never started. And while I might catch the attention of a few dozen men with my online antics, I've never been someone who would be picked up at a bar ... unless it was closing time and even the ugly fat girls get pretty then. A dear friend chose this week to disclose that while he had been sporting a hard on for me about a year ago, once he saw what I looked like he was "physically turned off by (my) weight." He told me this as if I weren't already keenly aware of why his attitude had shifted. We remained friends and value one another on a host of levels ... but the pain is no less.

My friend's disclosure prompted me to begin to write about something that has been calling to my writing fingers for a while now. For some time, maybe months, I have felt the need to write about and talk about the fact that for as long as I can remember I've been not just overweight, but obese -- to explore at some level how much I hate my body and at many levels myself.

Interestingly, it's far, far easier to share the shame of my sexual escapades than it is to talk about being fat. I suppose one reason is because in my addict mind, sex gives me significance. Obesity, while it is there for the world to see, strips away any significance I hope to have. Whether it is in a job, a friendship, or simply walking down the street, the first thing people notice about me is that I am fat. I carry my fat with me everywhere. Yet I hide its pain deep inside.

I'm the person for whom people have to think twice about which table to choose at a restaurant or even a dinner party to accomodate my fatness. I'm the person who has to ask for a "lap belt" when I ride on an airplane. I'm the enormous person in the room who is invisible.

And, psychology tells me that I am invisible because I want to be, that all my fat is "protecting me" from the things I fear most -- sexual attraction, intimacy, and transparency. I don't have to be anything else because I am fat. My therapist often tells me that my behaviors and choices are always serving me in some way. I suppose she is right, and at some level I can accept it, but I'm not sure I can dwell on it long enough to even absorb its truth, much less accept it.

So, at least I broke the ice in writing on this topic. I want to explore it more and hope to come back to it.

Drinking from a fire hose

Some days I feel as if I'm "stuck" and other days it's like drinking from a fire hose. The "awakenings" and realizations come so fast that I can't seem to process them fully.

Today, I am realizing that my prayers that my character defect of dishonesty be removed and replaced with transparency are being answered one day at a time. I have been avoiding contacting my sponsor and even though I didn't know why -- I was honest with her and told her what I knew -- that it wasn't personal, that I wasn't trying to hide anything, but it just seemed to be something I was avoiding.

I talked with my therapist about this avoidance today, along with some goals I have for working toward healthy sexuality and intimacy in my marriage. In our discussions, a pattern was uncovered. I feel comfortable with giving to others -- whether it is physically or emotionally -- but I feel very uncomfortable, and ill at ease in receiving nurturing, care and support. I don't feel comfortable with my body, and this aversion to contact with my sponsor tells me that I also don't feel comfortable with exposing my spirit either. I love talking with the women I sponsor and other recovery friends. I love rubbing my husband's back at night. But turn things around and I'm so ill at ease. I don't have the answer for how to resolve this yet, but I have faith that more will be revealed. I am feeling certain that this continues to center around my need to be "in control."

These realizations come on the heels of reading this profound statement in Maureen Canning's book, "Love, Anger, Lust": "In the childhood abuse, we sexually addicted people suffered, we were forced to disconnect from ourselves. It was the result of sacrificing our authentic emotions in order to serve our immature and needy caretakers. The characteristic perversion resulting from this disconnection is that sex addicts lose the ability to get pleasure from sexual activity, even as they declare their need for sexual pleasure. In fact, they don't know what sexual pleasure is. The abuse they suffered in childhood caused them to fuse fear, shame, lack of power and intensity with sexuality. Until addicts recover from this abuse, sexual motives will carry the rest of the painful bundle."

Something that came up for me after my session with my therapist is the realization that, while being molested as a child, sex felt like rejection to me. I was being violated because I was the "step" daughter. If I'd been "real" - I might have been good enough. I have spent my entire life feeling that sense of "not good enough." But this concept of sex feeling like rejection is new to me. It makes it more understandable that sexual intimacy with my husband has been so difficult through the years, while sex with strangers and men I've engaged in extramarital affairs with gave me a "high." Again, it goes back to control - I sought out those men, I pursued them and "caught" them. In a marriage, sex is not about control, but about sharing -- yet it has felt like something I was not allowed to say no to.

I recognize that some of these thoughts have still not gelled and may seem disconnected ... I am trying to get them out so I can look at them and process them. I do know that I could never get to this level of self-examination as long as I was acting out. Too much of my time and energy was spent focused on one person or the process of finding the next "high." I am grateful to have the clarity to seek these answers and to have these awarenesses. I am grateful to truly understand what it means to say ... "This program is about you."

Sharing some space in the blogosphere

I recently discovered Eli blogging over at Eli's Addict and really admire the level of honesty he uses in writing not only about his addictive self, but also about the complexities of being the spouse of a sexual abuse survivor. I encourage readers here to sneak a peek.

I also want to send out some blog love to Mary over at A Room of Mama's Own who is struggling to keep her head above water as she works her recovery program, keeps her readers informed about everything from autism to addiction, and actively participates in the blogging community at The Second Road, where life intersects with recovery. The story of Mary's relationship with her husband Mark, who among other things is a sex addict, has been a great inspiration to me and I'm so thankful to share a little space here on my blog to recognize her as a true hero.

I also want to thank Willow at Making My Peace, Margaux at Love in the Time of Addiction, and the speed demon herself at Vicarious Rising for all the wonderful support they have shown me over some very lonely months. Each of these women is one their own journey and again, I'm grateful to share some space here in the blogosphere with them.

I identify with my fellow codependent sex addict and bluegrass fan Being Made New, who is struggling with that question that comes to all of us who leave our addictions behind and then are faced with the question, "Is this all there is?"

Scribbling Mum asked me in a comment recently: Do you have issues/a pattern with "scanning" a room/restaurant for men when you are out in public? Like an automatic thing? Looking in cars, etc.? Does it bother your husband? Have you worked on this issue?

The answer Mum is I don't think that women struggle as much as men with this issue -- though I can really only speak for myself and say that overall scanning the room is not something I have a lot of trouble with. However, I do find myself looking at men and "reading" the likelihood of whether they are a fellow sex addict. I can usually spot my fellow addicts pretty quickly and now and then get triggered. What I do have trouble with is "eye sex" while sitting in the car at a stop light. I'll stop and look into the car beside me and just continue to stare at the male driver until I get his attention then give him a smile that has just a hint of "You are certainly sexy." Because I get such a "kick" out of it, I've had to go so far as putting it on my bottom line behaviors. I never do it with my husband in the car ... as for this addict at least, everything that is addictive is done in hiding.

Gentle Path has a great commentary on how to create a sex addict in her "About Me" section. I encourage you to take a look.

And, last but not least, I really liked Ken's approach to Step Six, which his has posted on his blog My Sex Drug. Ken is doing some great service and recovery work and I'm particularly thankful for his creation of the online recovery community Sex Addict Support.

The devil inside

As the brittle wisps of the willow turn golden again, I am reminded there is hope for a better day. RMB

NOTE: This is an exercise in expressing some very angry and frustrating thoughts. The language and content may be offensive and triggering, particularly to fellow sex addicts. It is not to be taken literally or as a serious threat to myself or others. It is an attempt to rid myself of an anxiety that is plaguing me with unbearable frustration. Some people run, some people box, some people drink. I write.

I am filled with an animal-like rage ... an anger that seems to have no definition, no specific target, just a breathtaking power that leaves me screaming inside. As it screams it leaves behind dark, dark whispers of what a horrible person I am.

I am furious that I am trapped inside a mind that no matter how hard I try I neither escape nor understand.

I am enraged that every single day takes more effort than moving a mountain and that even the slighest variation in "plan" can cause each step to go all the slower, if there's even a step at all.

All I can think right now is that I would like to chop off a rock hard cock and slice it to bits, stomp on it and stuff it down some man's throat, then kick him in a sewage pond like the piece of shit he is.

With enraged anger, I want to bite off the horny tool of some asshole and rip still another off at the core using my bare hands, watching the blood drain right out of him.

I would like to slap the shit out of you -- whoever you are and scream and scream until all this anger is released. To kick you in the balls, to spit on you, to claw at you and scream "I hate your fucking guts!"

Then I'd like to turn to that high-talking buxom blonde you want to fuck and rip her hair out by the handfulls. To slap her the way I've slapped you and tell her to get a fucking grip. To punch her and tell her to stop acting like a twit, to kick her and tell her to stop pretending she is stupid and naive, to hold her beautiful body in front your dickless self and scream, "What are you going to fuck her with now!" To force her head between your bleeding legs and ask her if she likes to suck cock now!

I HATE you and I don't even know who you are!

You are everyone and you are no one. I find you in pieces in every man and every beautiful woman I see. I hate your power to decide who is good enough to fuck and I hate your body is the one that is always a lure for the hard dick radar. I hate your very existence.

And through it all ... I can't wait for all this anger to end, so that I can either live or die. I hate living with this anger inside. It scares me and causes me to feel bad about myself. The more I stuff it, the more it kills me ... but I'm afraid of expressing it for fear it will turn out just like this, that it will be out of control, that I will be crazy and never able to stop.

How does one person carry so much anger? How did it even get inside me? I didn't invite it! I feel its tension in my back, in my body, between my ears -- screaming in pain. It only takes a second for it to build, but it seems to be taking a lifetime for it to dissipate.

I remember an angry poet who once fucked me with wild abandon before I was married. I spent months being incredibly aroused as he screamed out words he called poems on a stage shared by other "performance" or slam poets, before one drunken night the opportunity arose for the anger to be expressed between us in full sexual force. Sometimes I wish I could take the rage that he had in his words and use it to just push all this anger out of me. Of course, the relief would only last a little while. It would all come flooding back when he didn't call the next day.

I'm not done but I don't know what else to say. I'm furious and there seems to be no relief.

Practicing honesty

Wow, the miracles just keep coming. I just shared with my sponsor with complete honesty about some uncomfortable feelings I am facing. Dishonesty is an isidious tool of my addiction that has permeated every corner of my life. To have the opportunity and the willingness to practice transparency and honesty feels really amazing.

I've been feeling triggered lately and the triggers just keep coming. I know I am in an emotional/spiritual place where I have historically been prone to act out. The difference in today and the days and years of the past is I shared my feelings with someone. Previously, I would have fought the triggers with all my might, considering myself bad for having them, until eventually I would give in to acting out. Then I would have "failed to mention" my slip, felt shame around it, and yet secretly "empowered" that I could "get away with it." All of this would cut me off from my source of healing, my Higher Power and my true self. I am incredibly grateful today to have been given -- and trust me it was a gift, not something of my own making -- the willingness to share so openly with my sponsor.

Just a bit about where I am: Last week it seemed that one small trigger turned into another and then another and another. I shared those triggers with my sponsor, as well as my therapist, as they came up, and sought their source to the best of my ability. In usual form, my husband was the scapegoat, getting most of the blame for why I was feeling triggered. He wasn't paying enough attention to me, he was spending too much time at work, I was feeling lonely. This is that old tried and true strategy of putting the blame on him for my problems. As a result, I've been really needy with him and spent much of yesterday acting like a child who needed attention. Trying to manipulate him to be more romantic on Valentine's Day in all sorts of ways that would make me sick if I saw someone else doing them. This morning he got up and went to work and indicated he'd have to go back this afternoon. It just feels like we have no "us" time and I've put myself in a situation where he is too much of my source of entertainment, companionship, etc. By doing this, I know that I am in a state of depletion. Also, I'm doing a lot for him and feeling as if I'm not getting the same in return.

I think even deeper than all this with him is I am continuing to struggle with perfectionism. I am making these to do lists each day with full intention of getting through a lot of stuff. Some days I do, and some days I don't. I allowed myself the room when I said I would make the lists each day that I didn't have to accomplish everything, that they were just a guide for doing the next right thing. Still, I can feel that I am beating myself up for not being perfect.

For comic relief, I'll share one way perfectionism recently caused insanity in my life. In order to make my life more manageable and to have a focus for doing the next right thing, I make to do lists each day. On Friday and if I'm not mistaken maybe even on Thursday of this week ... I spent so much time and energy trying to figure out what was the "right" thing to do first, that I ended up feeling deflated at the end of the day because I had accomplished so little. What I needed to do was just do something, but I was too worried that I wasn't doing the perfect thing. Egads.

I'm grateful I have the slogans and a set of 6th Step Affirmations of SLAA to get me through one day at a time. And I'm grateful I have a sponsor and a fellowship that I can get honest with, so that my feelings and my triggers are "right-sized" and I'm far less apt to act out, and more apt to continue to grow in all my relationships.

Thank you to the women on the other side

I wrote this to a fellow blogger this morning and wanted to share it here. It's not something I haven't said before, but it bears repeating.

The wives of my fellow sex addicts who blog about their feelings, experiences and struggles have saved my life and helped me heal in so many ways. You all have helped me to see the pain that my husband has never been able to express, and more than that to recognize that when I act out with a married man, I'm doing far more damage than this senseless act could ever be worth. Margaux at Love in the Time of Addiction, Mary at A Room of Mama's Own, Woman Anonymous7 and so many others are doing healing work. I'm just sorry it takes so much pain to be the healer.

I hope in some small way that by saying things that perhaps their loved ones cannot say right now, that I have been a healer too.

The opportunity was there

The opportunity was there this afternoon to spend some time online, reading ads written to entice an afternoon lover, or maybe responding to someone 'looking to chat.' I even opened the site and found myself looking for jobs -- of the employment variety. I admit I browsed a bit in the casual encounters section, but felt a sickness in my stomach almost immediately. It wasn't shame or even judgment. It just didn't feel good. It's amazing really. A miracle.

"Don't give up before the miracle happens," is the program slogan. I didn't give up. And today there is no desire to seek that "high" I could have had. I am humbly grateful and admittedly a little lost. As I've slowly let go, surrendered this vice, in pursuit of a life that is real, I've found that there are a few disconnects. Addicts live off that rush that is bigger than life, or wallow in that misery that is lower than the belly of a snake. Life in the middle is hard to accept -- which is the reason I even found some temptation in the "opportunity" to play in the old playground today.

I want to see a movie ... I'm enjoying listening to music ... I'm doing some work. I'm living my life on life's terms. Thanks be to God.

Peace and Prosperity

I am so grateful this morning to be fully aware of my presence in this body and my prosperity on this earth. I am thankful to have just returned from a walk with my loving dog, through my safe and diverse neighborhood, where I was able to connect through nature to a world much larger than myself. It's a world that whether hot or cold, wet or dry, flat or hilly has something magical to offer, a reminder of the perfection of an otherwise chaotic universe and its constant availability for my peaceful connection.

I am grateful to several years ago have had a Native American sponsor who taught me the beauty and connection of praying outdoors. I am grateful that I can say words like "prayer" and "God" and know that they are limitless expressions of my heart, unbound to the definitions others hold of them. I am grateful today to be working with a sponsor who is helping me to grow in areas much larger than the mere cessation of acting out, rather in the complex, but beautiful ways I connect with my fellow human beings, myself and my Higher Power.

I am grateful to have sat around a table in a small church last night, with six other sex and love addicts, from all walks of life, and shared our challenges and triumphs, and to read from our literature. I am grateful to have watched that fellowship grow from one to two, to three, and now a regular crowd of 5-7. And I'm grateful for a fellow addict there who I can love, support and pray for heartfelt peace, even though he incested his own stepdaughter, just as I was molested by stepfather. He is a gift, as are the beautiful women I sponsor in this fellowship. They inspire me and teach me and fill me with love, and I am humbled beyond words to have the opportunity to be one small part of their immense lives. And I am grateful for each and every person who has read this blog -- you've been with me in sickness and health.

I am equally grateful that I awoke in the night and couldn't go back to sleep because I was too warm -- not too cold like so many people who don't have the money to pay their heat bills, or who in the lower regions of the U.S. were without power last night because of an ice storm. And I was grateful to have the energy to get up and get a few things done before I had the privilege -- unlike most of the rest of the world who had to go to work -- to lay down and complete my rest. It goes without saying that I am thankful for a husband and a marriage that I disrespected, ignored and almost gave away in favor of living in my addiction, but which thrives today in friendship, acceptance and love.

I don't share any of this to brag. I share it because I feel it in my heart and I'm so very grateful to feel thankful, to feel present, to not be mired by a numbing and isolating depression just for this moment. And I share it because if an overweight, out of work, depression patient, raised up on a small town farm, where she was regularly molested and abused, who grew up thinking her only worth was sex and sought that worth with more men than she can count, who almost left her husband for an abusive alcoholic who she thought she loved can make it here ... can make it to this place of feeling fully aware of her presence and her prosperity ... you can too.

What will you do today to seek it?

10 Honest Statements

How many ways can one woman write about honesty you ask? Let me count the ways.

My fellow blogger, Ken, over at My Sex Addiction, was recently tagged to write 10 honest things about himself. He chose not to tag anyone, but I chose to tag myself for this one ... because, after all, honesty is my favorite and most allusive pursuit. (Plus, I'm feeling a bit guilty for being so lax in posting here lately.)

So, here I go - 10 Completely Honest Things About Me

1. I'm currently procrastinating my work on Step 6 in SLAA for no reason that I can pinpoint other than I am a procrastinator.
2. Rae is not my real name and never was my nickname until I used it when I first started acting out online. Since then, I have also used it in recovery, and more recently when asked for my name for a waiting list at a restaurant.
3. I love country music, and my codependence sometimes lets me feel ashamed of that.
4. I sometimes worry that I'll never be better than I am now and I'm not happy with where I am now, even though it's light years ahead of where I was. It reminds me of the prayer, "I am not what I ought to be, I am not what I wish to be, But, by the grace of God, I am not what I used to be." In a recent prayer I said to God, "I don't like who I am right now." The response in my heart was, "Then accept yourself."
5. I miss the feeling of family and deeply desire to have people around me, yet I doubt I could stand it for half a day.
6. My house is filled with books I've never read, and quite a few I have no desire to read.
7. I still struggle with little white lies, that seem to help me manipulate others' opinions of me, or how much "flack" I hear from my husband.
8. I don't like to exercise, but I like the way it makes me feel.
9. I recently began to see how closely my compulsive overeating patterns are to my sexual acting out. I get the most pleasure from it when no one in my "real life" knows. I feel great shame afterward. I make pledge after pledge to stop and the next day I'm walking into the convenience store buying two king sized candy bars. And in most instances both forms of my disease are about "stuffing" my feelings, most usually feelings that I am never even consciously aware of.
10. I am afraid to reveal something that would disclose in some small way my real identity.

Sunlight on the snow

It's a sunny day, but the temperatures are frigid. The sunlight looks beautiful on the untouched snow and the sky is the color of periwinkle. It's something out of picture postcard.

I'm not sad, but I'm not happy. I'm just here. I'm not sure if I'll ever understand myself completely. My efforts to be transparent aren't going so well, but I'm thankful that at least I'm not hiding acting out behaviors. Instead I'm saying I did things I didn't do, making up stories about going to the gym when I didn't, eating pieces of chocolate that I swore to myself I wouldn't eat and letting my husband believe that I'm making healthy choices.

My therapist is helping me to understand that my dishonest and judgemental ways are all a part of trying to control everything around me. For as long as I can remember I have taken people to task for being less than perfect. I've always had someone to rail against. I've usually attributed that to my low self-esteem. The therapist is opening my eyes to the kind of person I really am behaving like underneath -- a manipulative, controlling dishonest person. Don't get me wrong -- she's not saying those things about me, nor am I saying I'm a horrible person. Rather she is revealing to me ways that my negative feelings are coming out sideways.

A woman in program said to me recently, "I don't want to be the person I am." Isn't that why all addicts use? They are trying to avoid being the person they are, the person they can't stand.

One question that came up in the course of my reading over the past few days was "If you saw someone behaving the way you are behaving what would you say to them?"

Well, if I saw someone writing what I'm writing right now -- I'd probably tell them that beating yourself up is not going to help. The whole point of this lesson you are being presented with is that you must first accept yourself as you are. Rejecting who you are is your first and foremost problem. Stop running away from who you are and work, practice each day to become the person you want to be.

That is my message to myself today, this sunny day in frigid cold.

A model of transparency

Yesterday I met with my therapist who is quite wise in the ways of sex addicts and their problems with honesty and transparency, and shared with her my goal for the new year to become less of a leader and more of a participant.

I told her that I have subconsciously sought out leadership roles in order to support the facade of "having it all together." I fear judgment, because I fear rejection even more, and to compensate for that I like to pretend that "everything's fine and dandy!" I do not like to talk about myself, even to myself. I'd much rather be in a position of examining other people's lives and giving advice.

But this is not what recovery is about. Recovery, as I have so aptly told others, is about self discovery, self-acceptance and cultivating a fulfilling relationship with a power greater than myself.

My therapist told me that real leadership would mean working toward becoming a "model of transparency." My mouth dropped open. I thought, this woman clearly does not know who she is talking to. Transparency? As in a life lived in a glass house, free for the world to see? Are you kidding me? But I've done such a good job of setting a fine example without all that full disclosure.

This means that I have to admit my weaknesses, share when I have slip ups, let the world see my vulnerabilities! This means I have to be who I say I am and do what I say I do. Are you sure this is the only way, boss? I've made the shell of a life out of showing people the person I think they want to see and controlling their emotions by avoiding conflict and averting the truth. What if they find out the person I really am is not as good?

This is scary stuff, folks. Really scary stuff. So if you start scratching your heads and wondering where that other Rae went ... just remember that she's trying to expand her comfort zone and learn a little about this transparency stuff. On the other hand, feel free to ask me a bunch of questions in order to support my attempts to be transparent.

A new start

As a school-aged child I used to love the fall, because it meant a chance to start again and as an adult, I have always loved the new year, because I see it as a chance to renew my commitments. I'm not one for making "resolutions" anymore, but I do take advantage of a fresh calendar to set some goals for the upcoming 12 months.

For many years, on New Year's Day, I would take time to write in my journal about the past year and to write down my goals for the upcoming year. I always found it helpful in honoring the passage of time and the growth in life.

As I reflect on my recovery in 2008, I see more progress than any other year since entering the program four years ago. I broke through some barriers that kept me stuck in a constantly revolving, reworking, procrastinating Step 4. Essentially I had been stuck there for almost three years -- at least one of which I was in complete relapse. I chose someone I trusted with whom to share my Step 5 and I am now working on Step 6 with a new sponsor.

I am no longer beating myself up for being a slow learner in the program. I am accepting my journey as my unique path. Likewise, I released the unrealistic expectations that recovery meant that God would take care of everything and I just had to wait for my Higher Power to show up and erase all temptations to return to my old patterns of acting out with anonymous partners or seeking out a new extramarital "love." I accepted, as a gift of Step 4, that I do have a part in my recovery, that ours is a program of awareness, acceptance and ACTION. I also began to anticipate the temptations that arise when my emotional immaturity doesn't know how to handle what it's facing. Today, I expect addictive temptations to arise, just as a diabetic expects to crave sugar. I take responsibility for my actions, and recognize that giving into temptations has dire consequences. I have a choice -- the quick high or the enduring consequences. I see this as a major step in letting go of the role of victim and embracing an inner strength that is real.

In the past year, I have added to and began to use more fully my recovery toolbox, not just for dealing with temptations, but for improving my life one day at a time. Our program draws on five major resources (sobriety, sponorship/meetings, service, steps and spirituality). I'm learning to use all of them. Being fully involved in service has been a timely reward. I've really gained a lot from service to my home group, this group and to four wonderful sponsees.

Some general goals for the upcoming year include:
* taking a step back and seeking less to be understood and more to understand
* to experience humility and inclusion by being a part of fellowship rather than always a leader
* to work toward embracing outreach rather than hiding in isolation (specifically making more phone calls and pressing my comfort zone by expanding my circle of support)
* to continue to nurture and grow in my relationship with my Higher Power and my sponsor.
* to experience acceptance and detachment more fully.

Ten years ago today

Ten years ago today in a little chapel in the country, my husband and I exchanged vows we'd written just for us. The chapel perfectly held our closest friends and family and I remember being fully present, fully surrounded by love and support. It was a beautiful day ... that will always be remembered.

Little did I know that marriage is about far more than that first day and those vows. As we smiled for the cameras, neither he nor I knew what would transpire in the years ahead, the people we both would discover as our marriage progressed. Back then I was still living in numbness and denial about so much of my past and present. I was a sex and love addict even then, having had at least two lovers during the time I had dated my betrothed. Still, something kept propelling me forward blindly and as a result all the things that have progressed -- cross country moves, the emergence of a raging addiction, an affair that almost ended my marriage, illness, depression -- have been a part of our still relatively story. In many ways, I finally feel our story has a chance to begin.

Things are not perfect and the good news is I no longer expect them to be. I simply express gratitude for one more day to learn the lessons of being a present partner in my relationship. I no longer take for granted my marriage. I know that if it is the will of my Higher Power for it to continue, it will, and I will have received a blessed gift. And if it is not, then I will be facing the consequences of my past actions, and surrendering to the will of a power greater than myself, but I still will have received a tremendous gift -- the gift of learning to appreciate something more than I disrespect it.

My marriage and my husband matter to me, today. That in itself is a miracle. For much of my marriage, I was willing to break our vows and I was glad to get him "out of the way" so that I could act out. What an uneven tradeoff that was. Today I am willing to do the footwork to make it work, to make it valuable for us both, and to leave the rest to God. I am thankful that my husband has begun to ask me questions like, "What is at the root of that feeling?" whereas before he pretended like feelings never existed and ignored utterly questionable behaviors that allowed me to stay stuck in my disease.

To say I am humbled that our marriage has lasted and survived the intensity of my acting out in both my sex and love addictions, to say that I am humbled that I have even survived my dangerous and outrageous behavior -- would be a great understatement. I am humbled beyond words and grateful beyond measure.

My thanks to all who have been a part of our story through your support of my recovery. Your contributions have been invaluable and I am deeply honored to give you thanks.

Taking responsibility for the rage

I had an epiphany this week as I wrote the answer to one of my sponsor’s questions. The question came in response to me sharing some things I had read in Kelly McDaniel’s “Ready to Heal.” McDaniel states that a woman who is violated sexually carries the rage in her body, and that in the triangle of victim, perpetrator and rescuer – she can only be the victim for so long until she has to somehow reclaim some sense of power.

I shared with my sponsor:
All my acting out against men and women (by way of having sex with their husbands) is part of my rage. Yet, I've never been aware of the rage. All my anger has been sexualized or comforted with food (or in rescuing others)and it is so demoralizing to think that I have to deal with that original trauma of my incest before I can begin to stop this uncontrollable rage from killing me and damaging the lives of everyone around me too.

One of my sponsor’s responding questions was:
Does the compulsion to seduce the husband have anything to do with pulling a power play on the wife? Or is she merely the supplier of an object to seduce and act out the rage on?

My reply:
It's interesting that you ask this. One of the greatest blessings for me in recovery has been discovering the blogs of several women who are wives of sex addicts. As I read their pain, I identify so very much with them and also connect to the reality of what I have done in my active addiction. I've become friends with a couple of the women and I've found we have a lot in common. Even in acting out, I was always curious about the wives of the men I was sleeping with. Curious not in a comparison way, but in a way of thinking ... "What would they say if they knew what their husband really was?" Or sometimes I would feel sorry for them and think how lonely they must be living with men like these. It's almost humorous the way the addict mind works. At times I would convince myself that I was doing these women a favor -- because they didn't want to put up with their horny ass husband's constant demands for sex. And as I write now, I think of the conversation that I overheard one night when I was about 11 or 12 between my stepfather and my mother. He was trying to convince her to have sex with him, and she didn't want to. He was drinking a lot back then and he told her, "Well, if you don't give it to me, I'll go get in from Rae. I already did once today." For years, I tried to deny hearing this conversation, or rather disassociate from it. I would not allow myself to believe that my mother, who I loved more than anyone in the world, knew what was happening to me and did not protect me. But the truth is she did - and she was too weak, too scared to do anything. She needed my stepfather's financial support. She had already gone through raising three kids (my older siblings) on her own and it had worn her down. It had worn down her health, her spirit, and what facing life on her own with three kids hadn’t done, living with my stepfather’s controlling ways killed. The only thing that wasn’t dead was her ability to make each of us feel loved unconditionally. The problem was – there were conditions. In her own way, she said, “Keep your mouth shut,” too.

I know today that one of the things I was trying to do with my silence as a child was to hold my family together, and to protect my mother from further suffering. I hated my biological father for leaving her and causing her and my older siblings such a hard life, and for forcing us into this miserable life with the bastard stepfather. Like most child molesters my stepfather would tell me that if I told anyone what was happening "between us" my family would fall apart, that I would be taken away and that my mom would be left alone because he'd have to go to jail. Today, as I think of the curiosity I had about the wives of the men I acted out with, perhaps I still thought somehow I was protecting them from the pawing hands of their dreadfully horny and animalistic husbands. Maybe somehow I tried to take even their burden. I never connected those dots, so thanks for asking.

--

I think I'm still trying to figure out if this is a crock of shit my addict is telling me... blaming someone else, now my mother. I've blamed all the men in my life for everything so far -- so now am I going to start blaming the women? Perhaps it's called working through the resentments. I don't know.

I’ve shared before that I’ve always had trouble with relationships with women. I found them weak and whiny and superficial at some level. Either that, or I found them judgmental and bitchy. It’s not that I never admired women. I have admired many women. Being friends with them and loving them without judgment has been more difficult. It makes sense that if I felt somewhere in my subconscious that I had to protect them in order to maintain the relationship – my internal rage may have pushed them away and resisted that tendency to take on one more person’s responsibility. A therapist once told me that my added weight may have been a result of carrying such a heavy burden inside. "It takes a lot of strength to do that," she said. "You needed all that weight to carry the burden."

I welcome feedback on this, as I’m trying to process it all. I’ll be honest and say that I fear provoking the anger and rage of some of the women who have helped me so much here … my fellow bloggers, whose husbands, like me, are sex addicts. I would tell you that your anger and true feelings are justified, whatever they are, but it is not my place. I will only say that I take whatever responsibility I have in creating the rage that lives inside the women whose husbands have lived in the throes of their own disease, and me with them. We have all been victimized. And today I am willing to take responsibility for being a perpetrator as well as a victim. It is painful and shameful to admit these things, but I have to so that I can move on.