Church

I was having a tough conversation with a very good friend of mine who was, and still is being hurt by the church.

Because of her current circumstance, my friend had to make some very difficult changes in her life. Someone well respected in the faith who disagreed with some of those changes asked her, "So have you renounced your faith?" insinuating that a certain "choice" she had made meant that she had turned her back on God, or that for some reason God couldn't love her anymore because of something she couldn't control. And it's messed up. While it's possible that the person asking was concerned for my friend's walk with God, the question itself is so insulting and marginalizing for someone who is hurting and trying to navigate their new normal. 

It may also bring up feelings of abandonment from both peers at church and from God. I truly believe my friend made the right decision to move forward with her life. Those changes came at a huge cost and tears and required a lot of courage. I can't imagine making a change like that knowing that it would also mean that God would stop loving me.

When I heard of my friend's situation, it was familiar - but I felt that I couldn't relate because I had never experienced this myself.  At least directly. 

As I read more about addiction and the 12 steps I realize how addiction support groups are all borne from the same fear that people have of abandonment from the church or from God. I've been a member of four different churches in my adult life, and I don't think I would feel safe admitting my addiction, fears or issues with anybody on a Sunday.  The risk is that if I admit the addiction, I would become that guy with a sexual addiction. I would be that guy that doesn't have the faith to conquer his sin. I would be the that guy that wouldn't be safe to have around their children or wives or girlfriend. I would be that guy that turned his back on God to masturbate.

In his book "Samson and the Pirate Monks", Nate Larkin talks about a person who decided to take the church's rhetoric about grace and forgiveness at face value and bare his soul in a desperate bid for freedom:

As soon as the fateful words were uttered he looked around, hoping somebody would say, “Me too,” but all he heard were crickets. After a pause, a curious investigator launched into spiritual cross-examination. Then a few concerned “ex-sinners” gathered around him and preached a series of sermons disguised as prayers. Finally, a helpful brother prescribed three Scripture verses to be taken in the morning and at bedtime. Later, the guy was assigned to a probation officer—excuse me, an “accountability partner”—who would check in on him for a few weeks to make sure he had actually turned around.

In all this religious activity, he heard this message loud and clear: “You have lost status, boy. For the foreseeable future, you can forget about being a leader in this group, or even a trusted member. Maybe later, if you can demonstrate that you have been fully rehabilitated and if you promise never to speak that way again, we will consider reinstating your membership.

I feel like there's very little safety in the Sunday church for those that have problems, are hurting or need to talk.  The Sunday church is great if you want to serve, learn, talk about sports, and feel like you're a part of something. The people mean well, and I don't say that with any cynicism - but most are simply unequipped with dealing with the hurt and those that are seeking help and support.

Many people who attend addiction support groups consider their time with each other what the real church should be. There is a real freedom in being able to share something, and being met with the kind of silence that means understanding, heartbreak and solidarity.  The feeling that you get when you know somebody is hearing your story, internalizing it and carrying you through it.  There is a real freedom in knowing that someone else has also fought your battle, is still fighting the same battle, and has found daily victory.

It's so true when Nate says:

In church we are allowed to speak of past victories over sin, but not battles that are still underway. As a result we promote a gospel of our own construction. This is not the gospel the New Testament talks about, the foundation strong enough to bear the weight of the world and the depravity of the redeemed. Ours is flimsy, too fragile to carry our failures.

I'm thankful I do not have to deal with this addiction alone, and my heart breaks for those that feel like they have to face their problems without any help.  Addicts like to keep things hidden, and they do that because of fear. Courage from fear can only come from a place where they can see victory in sight, where there are others to help them, and where they won't feel abandoned.

App: I am Sober

So I've decided to start using an app to track my sobriety rather than just noting it on my calendar. I did a quick search on Google and found the "I Am Sober" app.

Click here to download on Google Play
Click here to download for iOS devices

At a first glance, it's easy to use and it looks like it has most of what I need:

• A calendar that keeps track of my relapses
• A way to easily track my current date of sobriety
• A calculator that tells me to the very second how long I've been sober.
• Sobriety milestones

And I also like several of the other features:

• Tracking how much time or money I have saved being sober.
• A daily check-in, where I review whether or not I stuck to my pledge.
• Daily motivational quotes and phrases to help keep me going
• The ability to share my sobriety timeline and goals.

There are additional paid features, but most of them are cosmetic and different sets of motivational quotes. An additional paid feature is the ability to lock the app - but since I generally don't allow others to use my phone I don't need it.

There is one thing that I wish the app was better at, and that's the sharing feature. I was hoping to be able to keep a live counter or sobriety calendar on this website. The sharing feature is currently available for export, meaning others can't see how you're doing unless you choose to show them that day.

I'm beginning to realize that I need some structure around my sobriety, and that involves daily reflections, check-ins and boundaries.  This app doesn't solve any problems (only God can do that), but it does provide motivation, encouragement and a tool that can help me reflect a bit better.

I haven't checked out any other apps (I've heard another app "Nomo" is fairly good as well), but I'm satisfied with what's here.  Let me know if any of you have found any other tools that has been helping you out.

Seriously.

Relapsed again. I need to start getting serious about the whole mess.

I'm afraid to put any boundaries in place because the addict in me always wants to leave the door open a crack just in case I want (or need) to act out again on the addiction.  But if I'm serious about the whole thing, I'm realizing I need to be relentless with the boundaries and putting some in place that would be difficult for me to break and aren't just soft mental barriers.  If anybody has any ideas for me on how to handcuff me, at least to get started on my journey, then please share.  In the meantime, I really have to put pen to paper start planning.

The Unfortunate One

From Chapter 5 of he Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous:

Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to the simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty. Their chances are less than average. There are those, too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recovery if they have the capacity to be honest.

In 2012, I went through the 12 Steps. It was a year long, grueling period of my life with a lot of self-reflection, hard work, time and effort.  But as described above, I now see myself as one of the unfortunates that couldn't be honest with himself, or develop a manner of living that demands rigorous honesty.

As I'm going through the material a second time, I read in wonder how none of these texts on honesty ever jumped out at me or made me feel guilty the first time I went through it. I can't remember any of it -- and the books are filled with pages and pages about how foundational honesty is to sobriety. I was so wrapped up in staying sober by the other practical methods (boundaries, check-ins, habits) that I neglected where I feel now the real healing is.  You can't maintain any sort of happiness or joy if you aren't honest with yourself.  You also can't have or maintain any genuine friendships without being honest with those that care for you. And of course, as I'm learning these days, a marriage will not survive without honesty.

The true delusion is that I have always thought of myself as an overall honest person, except when I'm not.  I know of all my lies, omissions and half-truths - and there are a lot of them - but for some reason I still see myself more honest than the average person.

Upon reflecting on my entire life, I'm not so sure. I do recall a time in Jr. High (Middle School) where I did tell myself that I lie a lot. I boasted about a lot of things: things I could do that I really couldn't, events in my life that never happened, and virtues in my life that I never really had. I had an artificially inflated ego, and because I was already accomplished, likable and seemed trustworthy I feel like everybody accepted it.  I was never called out on a lie, because I was just so good at it. I did have a fear that I would be found out, and I sometimes did have trouble keeping all of my stories straight, but I managed and nobody knew me well enough to know for sure.

I have a person in my life that is a chronic liar. He lies about everything, even if there is no reason to.  I hate it. The fact that he thinks I'm stupid enough to try even attempt to lie to me about something as innocuous about how much he paid for the latest video game he bought drives me to anger. I don't even care in the first place how much you paid, guy - even if you claim it was 80% less than retail. But I'm pretty sure the reason I hate it so much, while my wife just lets it go, is that I see a lot of myself in him - and I have always been self-aware enough to see that.  We both lie to get validation, affirmation and to inflate our egos.  It takes one to know one. The difference is that his lies are easily debunked, and mine are easily hidden, hard to prove, convincing and damaging to those around me. 

While this liar in my life lies about dumb things like what great deals he gets at the store, tall tales where he stood up for his principles, and exaggerations about his popularity in his teenage years, I can at least read him like a book. He is still somehow genuine, even with his lies. He doesn't hide who he really is.  I know his passions, his faults, I know what bothers him and I know his convictions.

On the other hand, I lie about who I fundamentally am. I hide and lie about my passions, thinking that others will make fun of me. I hide and lie about my opinions, in case someone thinks differently than me. I hide and lie about what hurts me, because I don't want other people to know that I'm broken.  Nobody really knows me, and it's not because of my lies - but rather my lack of honesty.

It's strange to think that one can be a liar but still be a genuine, authentic and transparent person.  Maybe even honest.

This time around, I do know that the only path to my ongoing sobriety is rigorous honesty.  It will be hardest part for me.  Eight years ago, when I first worked the steps, the hardest part for me was disconnecting myself from screens and media for 90 days.  Yes, it was hard, but looking back it really wasn't any work and it was easy to see how it would be good for me to do so.  Honesty though? Being genuine? I've knitted my entire world around lies, and to undo the whole tapestry that has taken me 40 years to build will be painful for me, those around me, those I love, and even for future me.

I do hope that I'm not one of the Unfortunate Ones. Born incapable of honesty. Unable to ever find recovery. Right now I feel like it's a huge mountain to climb. I'll feel exposed.  Naked. And even I don't know what I look like under 

Mr. Blue

Good things come to an end, and last night I watched the final eight episodes of BoJack Horseman on Netflix.

It's the best show I've ever watched. In fact, nothing comes close. The show is important to me.  But I have a hard time recommending it to anybody - because for a animated series it's insanely real and at times can be overwhelmingly depressing. The show BoJack Horseman depicts addiction, depression, codependency, and relationships in an incredible way. If you're an addict or in recovery, try to give it a watch - although there may be some triggering scenes in there if you're a recovering alcoholic, sex-addict or drug addict.  Addicts will find out something about themselves in each character.  Also, if somebody you care about is an addict, please give the show a shot. It's eye-opening, and will help you see what's best not only for the addict, but for yourself as well.

 I'm turning 40 this year, and I've been fortunate enough to never really lose anybody close to me to death (except for my dog) and I've never lost an important relationship before. It's all new to me.  I'm trying to come to terms that there are some things that... simply just end. Whether they be marriages, friendships, lives, chapters in your life, or even your favorite television show. And sometimes there's nothing that you or anybody else can do to control the inevitable.

My wife told me a month ago that for the whole marriage she "tried so hard to love me."  The implication in that statement is that she never really did love me, but she tried.  And at the time she said this it crushed me. But I think that through our 20 year relationship the love was always there.  Even now, I can feel that she cares deeply for me, my recovery and the path that I set out before me.  But even though the love is there, sometimes love can't conquer divorce, death, or change.

In the end of BoJack Horseman, two of the main characters set diverging paths for themselves. They clearly have a love for one another, but in order to move on and to be happy they both have to leave each other behind, ending the relationship.

I understand my wife needs to leave me to find her happiness. It's impossible for her to be happy and still be in this marriage and I respect and honor that. It's shitty and I wish things were different. But there are small moments where I can see the beauty in it as well.  Sometimes, to find happiness and wellness we have to leave behind the things that we love.

Mr. Blue - Catherine Feeny (Finale song from BoJack Horseman) 

Mr. Blue
I told you that I love you
Please believe me 

Mr. Blue
I have to go now
Darling don't be angry 

I know that you're tired
I know that you're sour and sick and sad
For some reason
So I'll leave you with a smile
Kiss you on the cheek
And you will call it treason 

Mr. Blue
Don't hold your head so low that you can't see the sky
Mr. Blue
It ain't so long since you were flying high 

That's the way it goes
Some days a fever comes at you
Without a warning
And I can see it in your face
You've been waiting to break
Since you woke up this morning 

Mr. Blue
I told you that I love you
Please believe me

Sometimes I hold on to hope that my wife will "come to her senses" and will realize she will be happy if everything went back to the way things were.  But "the way things were" doesn't really exist anymore. Things can't be undone. No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.  And I realize now that for her, there was no happiness to be found in the past.  Not with what she knows now.

"You Just Can't See it Yet"

I met with a former sponsor last Thursday, and as I take steps to build my support foundation I'm glad that he's a part of it.

We talked about divorce and recovery, and on those two topics managed to fill 3 hours at a small Italian eatery. The whole time I was fully aware of how much of the talking that I was doing - telling my story, complaining, hurting and seeking. As a part of my recovery I've been trying to find it in me to do my best to care for and listen to others, but I realize that I'm still in a state of crisis and I really need to just let others care for me for now.  I just talked, and talked, and talked.

And through my talking I healed a bit. I realize now that healing doesn't mean happier. It doesn't even mean not being as sad. I don't know if I even feel more acceptance of my situation, or even if I believe that things are going to be okay.   If I could describe what healing feels like to me, it just seems like my soul and everything inside of me is just making more sense of things.  It's not as loud in my heart and in my head. My soul has just stopped screaming for a moment.

 Right now, it just feels like my heart is quietly absorbing everything: the magnitude of what's ahead, the sadness of moving out, how I feel like everything is out of my control, and how hopeless the whole situation is.

And the way that I see it, it just seems so hopeless. I have to get a new place, I will see my kids less, and I won't have the companionship that I had with my wife for 20 years.  She's my best friend, and the crazy love that I had for her is starting to resurface now that I've made some steps to recovery. It's awful knowing that telling your wife that you love her will just make things worse... so you don't. That's not the way things should be at all.

I told my sponsor that the only paths that I have going forward are:

1. I move out, and then I go on a bender with my addiction. It's what I always wanted, isn't it? I've always felt like I had a wasted youth, as an awkward and shy teen that could never really read signals from girls.  I know that feeding this addiction will ruin me in the long run, but it's been with me so long that fighting it is going to be exhausting.  Or, I can
2. Stay sober and in recovery my entire life. While it's the opposite path as the above, it's also what I really want. But doesn't that sound so depressing? I have to spend hours each day reading recovery material, getting accountability and NOT doing some activities that I enjoy for the fear I might get triggered.  I still don't get my wife back, or my life back to "normal." It looks like if I follow this path, I might have a lot of missed chances for happiness, or at least I might have several missed opportunities to have some fun while I'm still healthy, young and relatively good looking.

Either path seems awful to me, but I'm drawn to both - almost exactly 50/50.

My sponsor listened to my rambling. It felt weird to unload and word-vomit all of my anxiety and insecurities to somebody. I was having a very controlled panic attack in a public place and I was having trouble breathing. Having an epiphany that you've ruined your own life and there is no happy path forward has a way of shutting your brain and body down. The carb heavy plate of pasta and buttered bread didn't help either.  I finally shut up to take some deep breaths.

"I think through all of this, your life will be better.  You're just not in a place right now where you can see it."

As a person who plans conversations in his head and runs exhaustive 'what if' scenarios for every situation in my life, being in a place where I can't see one happy path is painful.  But for my sponsor to say (with a smile, mind you) that my life would be better someday was brain-breaking. I couldn't see what he saw. It's not that I didn't believe him. My mind had just stopped working. It just seemed so impossible. Even though I know other people on the other side that have made a better life for themselves (my sponsor included), my situation seemed so much more hopeless by comparison.  It felt that way, at least. I knew it wasn't, but it felt that way.

I think my sadness is deepening.  I feel terrible, and my heart drops at random times during the day. I find myself in meetings at work, and I'll just completely black out with sadness (instead of the usual boredom), not hearing or seeing anything for a few dozen seconds.  But I'm healing. I guess. And it makes each day easier.

Relapse

I kind of knew that the day would come when I would have a relapse, and I thought it would be easy to do a write-up about it and how I would feel like a failure and what I'm doing to recover from it. I thought I would come out of it stronger or that there would be a feeling of devastation or loss.

Problem is that writing about it is not easy at all, and it's taken about a week for me to figure out how to write about it and I still don't have an answer.

The thing that surprised me most about my relapse a week ago is that absolutely nothing happened.  I'm not sure what I expected, but what I expected certainly wasn't nothing. I didn't feel too much guilt. There was nobody there to set me straight or to shame me. I didn't feel like calling out to anybody. I didn't feel like God was rolling his eyes and that I let Him down.  It was like the countless number of times I had indulged when I was thick into my addiction. Just medicate, and get on with life. Nobody knows, nobody cares, and nobody got hurt.

But a few days after, I'm starting to realize that feeling nothing is something, and it's what started this whole mess in the first place. Prior to the relapse I was a whirlwind of emotion. I was feeling the crippling guilt, the shame and the damning sadness for all the things I put my wife and family through.  Moreso, I felt empty, lonely and desperate for change in my life.

For the days after my relapse: nothing.  Of course, there's still some of the sadness in moments when I'm with my kids, or am in close enough proximity to my wife to feel that warm but painful energy that only love or heartbreak can bring. But overall, I feel like there's a numbness all over my body and soul as if somebody shot novocaine straight into my heart.

I know that it makes me so much more prone to relapse again, as I'm so unaware of how the addiction is affecting me now. I'm no longer white-knuckling sobriety and my guard is down.  I haven't relapsed again, but the big problem is that I just feel so safe with the addiction.

When I close my eyes, there are so many things that the addict in me is saying right now:

• Nobody cares about my addiction, and with the divorce I'm no longer hurting anybody by acting out.
• I've gone 5 days "sober" with little effort after I acted out. Perhaps letting myself indulge every once in a while is better than the hard path of stressing myself out every day.
• Sobriety is of very little importance compared to being truthful and honest about it.
• It just feels better to feel nothing.
• I'm making huge progress.

The addiction I have is like a best friend. It tells me the truth from their point of view. It might not be the full reality, but it sure sounds like it. I actually do believe all of the above, and arguably it's all true. Very true in fact. But I have to keep reminding myself that, while the above may be true, this friendship I have with my addiction is very toxic. It's not healthy, it's enabling and I can't listen to these targeted truths that weaken my soul.

Planning

My wife and I started to talk about how the separation process is going to work. I don't think any amount of time could prepare me for even just the 10 or 15 minutes that we talked.  My brain kept short-circuiting as the reality had set in that we would need to prepare for the logistical consequences and aftermath.

We talked about how each of us would take turns with the kids' evening routine, including dinner, playtime, bathtime and bedtime... while the other leaves the house and makes themselves scarce.  Up until now, the ritual for bedtime is we would each take turns with a kid for one night, and swap the following night.  The kids were good with this as they loved us both.  It was honestly my favorite time of my day and what I looked forward to every night - spending time one-on-one with one of my kids, which is rare any other time of day as they both vie for your attention. That's gone now.

It feels so surreal to be planning this out. I feel like I'm planning a vacation. When planning a vacation you know that even though there will be a disruption in normal routine, you also know you'll be coming home and things will eventually get back to normal.  But for this they won't. We're moving towards something bigger. I will eventually not be there to put the kids to bed some nights. There's no going back to normal, and my kids will be forced to adjust because of my addiction and dishonesty.

My therapist told me today that my kids could really grow and flourish still in the midst of all of this. Perhaps they can see how a model divorced couple should be, where we love them and still treat each other as human beings. Perhaps they can see my journey and recovery and, as they get older, perhaps they can find strength in my resilience through my failures.

It's hard to see that far ahead.  It's hard not seeing my kids hating me for this. I let my kids down so early in their lives.

I'm a wreck.  My wife, on the other hand, seems so strong with so much resolve.  She was emotionless, as I realized I have been to her for so many years.  Before our conversation ended, through tears I asked her, "We're not going to be friends, are we?"  I don't know why I asked her, because based on her demeanor and the way she carefully worded things, I didn't want to know the answer.  I knew I hurt her so bad, and I was trash.

She surprised me with her answer: "I hope we can be."

Now I feel worse. I haven't unpacked why. I just do.  I should feel better, right? I think there was no answer to my question that would have made me feel better.

Treading Water

So since my wife found out about my relapses and the secrets I've been hiding from her, I've set a few helpful boundaries for myself as I aim to keep sober.

1. No Porn (of course).
2. No Masturbation.
3. Stay off the phone unless I have a specific, worded purpose in mind.  "I am opening my phone to..."
4. Start reading recovery material
5. Start attending recovery groups
6. Find friends
7. Find a sponsor or an accountability partner.
8. Get off Reddit.

I sort of break the last boundary from time to time as I need to keep up with sports chatter and I've found a few recovery subreddits that I go directly to.  I do think it is still a danger to my recovery so I will need to deal with fencing off Reddit in the near future.

I have started to realize that with the boundaries I have a lot more mindspace and time in my brain. Right now my mind has the urge to just go and do things. So I've started a few projects that I probably won't finish, chatted with old friends who are very surprised to hear from me, applied for a few new jobs, am about 10 pages in for about 6 books and am trying to keep up with this daily journal.  I'm thrashing. I'm treading water trying to reach out for something to cling to.  My mind is trying to keep occupied as it tries to avoid getting triggered or trying its best to stay distracted when triggered.

For now, I'm not sure if me getting involved with so much busy-work is good for my recovery.  It's distracting, sure, but at the same time I'm tired, mentally exhausted and at the same time having a lot of trouble sleeping.  I'm unfocused at work, and I feel like for some reason I'm forcing my mind to suffocate.

I wonder if there's any peace in recovery.  One of the lines in the Serenity Prayer is to "accept hardship as a pathway to peace."  That doesn't sound like peace to me. I hear in SA meetings of people that struggle every day like me, and they've been at it for years. That doesn't sound like peace either.  I'm working hard on my recovery right now, and I haven't tasted any piece of peace.  It's just work, will and walking daily towards a goal of sobriety that moves away the same distance every day. 

Maybe I'm just equating peace with nothingness.  In the midst of all of this craziness I would love to taste a nice juicy nothing-burger right now.  But I think I had a lot of that while in my addiction. Acting out could erase all those stresses in my life temporarily and it would be easy to sleep, easy to rest and easy to ignore all the things I had to, or wanted to, do.

Maybe I should try yoga or meditation.  Let me add that to the list.

My Sexual Addiction I

I attended my first recovery group over VOIP phone today. It wasn't bad. I have to say it's nice knowing there are others like me all over the world and really struggling every day.

I also purchased and downloaded the Sex Addicts Green Book, and the little that I've read so far has been helpful.  Many of the programs out there use the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous as the guideline for recovery, but even though the steps and the addiction pieces are the same I think I'm going to find the Green Book a lot more relatable.

So yes, I am a sex and love addict. The addiction has consumed my life, soul and spirit. It's not something all that easy to talk about, as it has an incredibly negative social stigma tied to it and a lot of people out there still don't recognize it as a real addiction.  But the way it has taken over my life, ruined relationships, and stripped me of any hope of a normal future makes it just as much of a disease as alcoholism or an addiction to narcotics.

I literally cannot understand how there are people out there that don't have the urge to look at pornography or close their eyes in fantasy every single day. Or need their daily dose of affirmation, either through a perceived flirt from a cashier or a "Like" from social media.  Since first going into recovery a number of years ago I've learned to temper those urges.  I white-knuckle my urges to look at porn (probably not the healthiest thing), which has reduced the sexual fantasies that swim like jellyfish in my head.  I'm rarely on social media, and if I post it's probably about my kids so that I'm not fishing for compliments. However there's still a moment every single day where I have to make a decision. Some days the decision is really easy, and some days it's hard. On occasion I make the wrong decision.  And this daily struggle... the grind and the resistance and the conscious decision to not act on it -- I think this is something normal people do every goddamn day. But they don't. Really? Really. They Don't.

Isn't it messed up how I started this post saying it's nice to know that there are others like me all over the world like I was part of some exclusive club? And then just now I just said I thought everybody was just like me? There's still a lot that I need to figure out, and I think that's okay.