My honest truth

Where do I even start now?

Honesty. That's where I'll begin.

I had an encounter this weekend. It was sanctioned, I had permission, and it was safe. I've been with this man before and I trust him, rightfully. This is a long history, one that began perhaps three years ago. The decision was long thought out, discussed, and approved.

I'm trying to sort out what I really feel about this. I didn't feel crazy. I didn't feel out of control. I do feel that addictive sensation now, though, and by that I mean the craving for more, the sadness that I can't capture time, and the loss after the excitement died down--and the extreme fear of abandonment and of being used.

I don't think I could go backward now; I don't have the insane drive for the unknown anymore. I realized that I did not desire a strange man, a new encounter, the extreme tension and artificial intensity of a new conquest. I am happy with a familiar lover. This is a positive sign, and I am relieved.

I obviously still need the validation sexually of a man outside my marriage. I wish I could change that, but I don't know how.

It has now been five days. The ecstasy has completely worn off. I am depressed and feel a cold emptiness inside. This is the pattern of sex addiction, is it not? I am feeling desperate for contact and reassurance; and the other feeling, which goes hand in hand with having been covertly invested, I believe, is a cruel disappointment that I didn't capture his heart. I don't need it or even want it, but when I fail to seduce body and heart, I feel worthless and hopeless. This scenario feels very familiar to me, from my past.

The emptiness is difficult to cope with. I gave away an unusually strong aspect of myself this time. And now I am fighting a battle within, trying not to sacrifice my dignity, as I have done in the past. He asks nothing of me, and I want to not need to ask anything of him. But this is not my nature and I'm playing a persona I am not.

I always hurt after these encounters, simply because of who I am. I wish I didn't need this drug. Real life felt so awful and I jumped at the chance to dissociate. Its the same with all addictions, wouldn't you say?

All The Way For You

When I listen to certain music, it affects me so much that I have an irresistable urge to share it. Most of what I listen to is heavy, deep, and dark, and given my life circumstances, you can probably understand why that would appeal to me. Every now and then a group catches my ear, and they are so unique, so talented, so versatile that I feel it my duty almost to share.

I've posted videos from Poets of the Fall before. This particular song illustrates their flexibility and creativity. I love music that tantalizes in one direction and then shocks by becoming something different, and All The Way/4U is a perfect example.

You think you are being lulled into something soft, mellow, and calm, but just wait and they will surprise you. Doesn't everyone crave to be loved the way POTF describe here? Just close your eyes and let the sound wash over you.

These guys' music is REAL. Alive and vigorous. Haunting and exhilarating. Everything else pales in comparison.

Morbid thoughts

I am listening to Emilie Autumn's The Art of Suicide and thinking about that topic.

When I was feeling suicidal, I couldn't understand what was so bad about it. If life was so intolerable and painful, why keep struggling? If you're so tired in your bones and your soul, why keep plodding along? I was so exhausted in these ways, all I wanted was rest and peace, and while I was still drawing breaths, I could have neither. "Rest" to most means to lie down and recuperate--to me it meant to be still and silent and done. It's not as though I wanted this to be temporary; I wanted my poor body and soul to be released and this life to be finished. I didn't want to feel sensations, physical and emotional, any more. I was only living for me and "me" was a mass of pain. The suicidal feeling is difficult to put into words because it's a FEELING. A deep, heavy feeling. Perhaps like having been in a drenching rain in heavy clothes--a  thick wool sweater and boots--in the chill of a fall morning, and having to stand outside for hours...and developing pneumonia. I don't know if that description even comes close.

And the only panacea is hope--not just any small thing to hope for either, something life changing and affirming  Something to live for, and I mean, really live for. Not job, notoriety, accomplishments, or, in my case, even my loving husband. I needed something that would have its entire world changed, a lifelong effect, if I disappeared. Yes, friends and husband would have a changed life, but I only felt guilty if I left them. They would eventually move on, really, because that's how life is.

I never did resolve these feelings; I have been on antidepressants so I don't feel so much. For now, ritual and structure are helpful. I love my child.  I'm relatively happy. I'm afraid what would happen should I stop the meds, though.

Jesus hung out with the broken

And how can I consider myself a Christian with my imperfections? Because God is love and forgiveness. I sincerely believe that these trials were meant to bring me closer to God. Unconventional trials, unconventional solutions, but they led to the same place: God's love.

Didn't Jesus hang out with the broken among us while He was on this earth?

...then there's me.

The effects of covert incest, continued. I have a hard time making and keeping female friends. Many times, I begin to feel they're "winning out" over me--that I'm losing in the competition for male attention. My self-esteem, especially in the physical realm, couldn't be lower. As Brad Paisley sings: 

There's two feet of topsoil
A little bit of bedrock, limestone in between
A fossilized dinosaur
A little patch of crude oil
A thousand feet of granite underneath
Then there's me

Sounds funny, eh? Well, I can't go to the mall without running home in tears because I am not as thin, young, blond (well, I'm dark haired, so that's always an issue), sexy...as these other girls. Never mind that I'm 41 and I'm not supposed to be!...I feel that other women exist to make me feel bad about myself. Especially strangers. If I get to know a woman very well, and we have a connection, then I thrive, but that doesn't happen often. Twice in my life--in ACOA and during the psychodrama workshops. And maybe that's because I could see the hurting human inside of the woman in these cases. 

I almost feel as if every female of male-attracting age is my dad's wife. That's exactly how it feels. There to steal something sick away from me. It's so hugely messed up, isn't it? I'm constantly fighting to get it back.

And this is why I got such a boost from all the male attention on the sex site. Think about it: if you got 100+ replies from men wanting to "meet" you, what hole do you think that would fill??? Even if you never intended to do anything about it, it would still be potent (and most women on that site didn't do anything; I was probably one of the few who followed through--at least that's what I was frequently told). Having one man who adores you and has committed to you for life just isn't good enough for victims of covert incest (by their fathers at least)! You are just not convinced that you are good enough for the rest of the world, if "only" one person loves you! What insane thinking!! To me, having this attention was like having air to breathe and water to drink. I felt nothing without it; it didn't matter WHAT my husband thought about me; I couldn't hear his compliments. I needed strange men who (and I'll be bluntly honest here) got stiff cocks when they thought of me in order to feel "worthy." Like I said before, I am dysfunctional, but at least I know it.

My obsession got to the point where I contemplated leaving my husband so I could indulge in this addiction full time. Really scary. I remember the urge; it was nearly impossible to contain. Somehow, I allowed common sense to ground me, and I don't remember how. It's like amnesia now.

But we did get off the site after about a year. There were a couple of men I was still in contact with, but I hadn't met in person for a long time. It all seemed to simmer down. Until I got pregnant. The entire self-hatred, self-rage, worthless crap came back with a vengance then. I felt terrible; I was gaining weight like crazy, my body was changing and I was terrified that I was lost. I was flailing in quicksand.

So, I went on craigslist. You can probably guess what happened next.

This was the scariest encounter. A complete stranger, who knew I was pregnant, who knew who I was, where I worked, but who wouldn't reveal his identity.  We just happened to work in the same institution, and he found my work phone number, and started calling me anonymously, teasing me about how he was going to walk into my office and I wouldn't know who he was...this was a married man, about my age. I was in a constant state of excitement and anxiety, waiting, wondering. He once told me he was outside my building, but decided not to come in. This was too much. I think this is called "rock bottom." I hated going to work then--my hormones were a wreck in the first place and I started getting anxiety attacks. I would run out of the building during these attacks, crying, feeling haunted, ashamed, tormented. He texted me one evening, asking me to meet him right now. I did. I met him behind a swimming pool, in back of an isolated apartment complex. I realized as I parked there, that this could be it. I could be murdered or raped. The thought that I wouldn't mind dying flitted through my mind as I stepped out of my car. I was afraid that I was bringing a baby into a terrible world, that I couldn't cope, and I was open to it being the end of us. (I know, it really is horrible. It really is. I know this.)

I was definitely being protected by a higher power because this man was a good man, I found out, despite his cheating nature. He wouldn't have harmed me. He was military and was very polite and gentle. Even a little romantic.

The fact that I could do this, knowing about his wife, illustrates how I felt about other women being my competition for attention. I felt bad, yes, but my obsession was driving me. To be able to attract a married man, that should prove my worth! So went my dysfunctional thinking. Luckily for me (I now believe), I never saw him after that. He began to draw away and I finally cut contact. And that was that. I still wonder if I see him during the week, and I suspect he probably has a bit of professional interest in what I'm doing. But there hasn't been any contact.

This is the story I can't tell in person. But on the web, it seems okay to share it, if only what I've done helps someone else.

For more information about the sexual addiction process, see  Sex Addiction Cycle (credit for the diagram above to this site).