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).
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