Withdrawal

Slowly but surely, I am "working the program" in my 12 step journey with sexual addiction. Slowly being the operative word.

Surely it is a difficult road for straight men, but I know this one gay boy is having a very difficult time. Since time immemorial, masturbation has been "close at hand," (no laughing please, well, don't laugh too much.) And when that evolved to hook-ups with men, it was down hill from there.

I have been off the drug for almost two weeks now. Not since I was in the hospital in 1972 have I gone that long. Never. Always, it's right there, easy to use, free for the taking. And I am feeling it. Withdrawal.

And with no more drug, the emotions have run the gamut. Anger, sadness, fear, and more fear. Resentments of all sorts. I've always "managed" my feelings rather closely. They aren't permitted to get out of hand. If they do, that's when I get out my hand. Nuff said?

There is a part of this that seems so unreal. I'm not a sex addict, just a gay man getting it where he can, trying to get over years of frustration; trying to find solace in this closet I've kept myself in . . . . . . right? Now, I'm wending my way out of this closet. All those woofy men around (and, God, there are some very woofy men around!). Is all the looking and leering something I have to give up, too? Not yet, I hope. I was just getting used to looking without all the shame and guilt from years of peaking through the cracks in the door.

One day, I will drink it all in, and act it all out, and play around with whatever takes my fancy (or other parts). But not today. Not today. Just for today, I will surrender it, because I really can't do it on my own. Really.

Surrender is such a slippery thing (no puns, please). It is something I must decide to do, yet is not something I can just will. With so much of my life out-of-control, there is much yet to surrender.

My sponsor tells me that it all sounds like a normal progression. What most people experience in their early stages of withdrawal. I've not often thought of myself as "normal," so guess that's comforting to know.

Onward, upward, but at least not downward.

Shalom & Cheers, Joe.

PS, I hope this comes up with a picture in it. Thanks to Picasa.

Mine, not yours.

I received this comment on a previous post and wanted to share it and respond to it. I would ask its author but have no way to contact him.

Joe - you seem to be linking this 'obsession' with sex, with being gay. Believe me, its not about being gay so much as about being male. There are plenty of hetero men out there doing the same. It's just with gay men, you get two men who want the same. Don't make this part of your reconciliation with being gay. Sexual behaviour is just that, and its only, I think, easier to find an outlet as a gay man than as a hetero man, since the girls don't seem to be quite so inclined (ok, I know, some girls are), but treat it as a 'sexual problem' not a 'gay' problem, or you just add to your woes. that's what I think anyway.

I appreciate the author's concern and care. It would be easy to mix up the gay stuff and the addiction stuff. In fact they are closely intertwined, but not inextricably so. Part of this journey into recovery is about separating them.

I know heteros do the same thing. Most of the folk in the 12 step group are straight. And, some of the straight men have acted out with other men - we know where it's easy to find. No commitment, no name, sometimes no face, just a hole in the wall.

My struggle with being gay is still there, but it's not about the addiction. I know that I am gay, and I am even coming around to being grateful for it. Yes, sometimes I wish I were straight, but then I wouldn't be me. And, my "wishing" is mainly about my family, my wife and children. God knows I don't want to hurt them in any way. But sometimes the truth is painful. Living monger with the Lie would be much worse. The truth is the only thing that will set us free.

Thanks, L, I hear your comments as supportive, and I appreciate them.

And another thing . . . . .
My addictive behavior is mine. I know now that is what it's been. This is about me. This is NOT intended as commentary, judgment, or ridicule of any one else or any body's behavior.

Is it OK to hookup with some hot guy now and then? to have a "fling", to have an orgy? I don't know. It all sounds hot to me, and I hope one of these days . . . . .
But my acting out has been obsessive. It takes over my life. It takes me out of reality and into a kind of trance state. And, I want more. And more. The trance state sneaks in, it keeps me from doing my job, I think about it, obsess about it. Then the Internet porn search starts. Meanwhile, hours -hours - have gone by and there I am, building up, edging, backing off, continuing the search, the high, waiting for the climax.

It has begun to control me. That's the problem. I'm not judging those activities. I think they can be OK, sometimes. But for me, it's gotten out of hand. (no puns, please).

Today has been a difficult one for lots of reasons. My wife and I have been talking more and more about details of separating this summer. It is so painful. One day at a time.

Shalom to all, Joe.

PS: I still can't add pictures, so you all will have to do with my pitiful writing. J.

Progress, Not Perfection

I've started attending a 12 step meeting for sex addicts. The more I hear from others, the more I know I'm in the right place. Surrender is difficult. Not sure I can do that, really. But I'm OK in the higher power department. That part is not a stretch for me.

For so long, I've thought I could handle this, I could manage it. But I can't. And that is a foundation of the twelve steps. Knowing you cannot. But that doesn't mean it can't happen. It's about relying on God to make changes in me, to transform me, little by little.

Of course, one would think I'd already tried that, and I suppose I have. I've prayed for years about it, and nothing seemed to happen. But I'm not sure if I really wanted it to happen. Or, I expected magic. OK God, wave the wand and let's get this over with.

Miracles do happen, but I don't think miracles and magic are anywhere close to one another. God makes things happen, but what we really want is magic.

I just can't find my wand. (No, not that one!)

Cheers, Joe.

Came to believe

Being gay means a great deal more than just "sex with men." But we know that is part of it. For me (and, I suppose, for many), that was where our journeys started. I can't say I recall ever understanding that I had an "attraction to men." Since men aren't wired to have sexual attraction to other men, then I couldn't, right? Ha! Who knew? Not me.

But, from about the 4th grade on, I learned something that would ease the pain. All those years of compulsive masturbation. The drug that helped me sleep. And then, orgasm, ejaculation. OMG. What was that? Surely the lining of my kidneys were coming out! Ha.

I didn't know about straight sex till I was a little older. I just masturbated. A lot. Then, discovering some other men, masturbating in a restroom at the mall, I was overjoyed. I wasn't the only one! Then they came out of the stalls. The wanted to see mine. My what? Then . . . well . . . . they had their way with me. I didn't know men did that sort of thing with each other. OMG. This can't be happening. Oh, but the feeling. The drug. Even stronger than before. And they wanted me. Me.

But, with no way to process this information (even though I was sixteen at the time), I slumped into depression. And there was always masturbation.

Being a large, older-looking teenager, I discovered book stores. Of the adult variety. And glory holes. Then rest stops and, in grad school in the big city, sex clubs.

I knew something was amiss. But still, I would never have said I was "gay." Any time I engaged in such activity, there was an almost trance-like state that came over me. It was the drug my body produced, the neuro-chemical reaction. O god, what a high! I was lost in bliss, and completely without the help of any outside drugs. Just the ones I made myself. (Except for nicotine, which I learned to ingest at an early age, too).

And, after that voluptuous high, the fall was all the greater. The guilt, the shame, the humiliation. The unbelievable incongruity of this nice, caring, prayerful, good Christian boy with this dark, sensuous, pornographic demon who possessed him from time to time.

Over all the years, all the prayers, therapy, etc., it still didn't occur to me that I was, in fact, gay. Is this what it meant to be gay, what kind of a life was that? I didn't want to be gay (still don't, sometimes). I just want to be the nice, caring, prayerful, good Christian boy who's normal, with the nice, normal family.

So, marriage, children, stable job, very active in the church. It didn't go away. I was just running away from relationship. It was a problem with intimacy. It's just an activity to which I have habituated myself. Addiction, maybe. Oh, and then the Internet came along. OMG! All that stuff online. The drug I can produce myself, and no need to leave home, even. Well, every once in a while, on the road by myself, the trance sets in. I go looking, and well-trained to finding it.

Hours spent looking. Lies to cover up "why I'm so late." Excuses. Guilt. Shame.

It's all in my head, right? With courage, I can work through this, right? Guess again.

So, I finally come to terms with it in my 49th year. And now, I must come to terms with more than just being gay.

Even though I have broached the subject with myself before, once again I have come to the point of understanding that I am an addict. Oh, yes, I am gay. This is not another ploy to fool myself in that regard. But now I have come to see that gay is not something I chose, nor is it just all that filthy, dangerous, anonymous, sex; in rest rooms, and bushes, and parks, and bookstores.

My deeper self does want relationship, intimacy, companionship, and sex. Being gay is more than what I knew. And still, I hear the call and have the desire to be Christian. But wait, look! There are myriads of other gay Christians out there! I am not alone! Though difficult, the journey is one toward the desires of my heart, not just the wantonness of my gonads.

But addiction is there. I have come to believe that. I've seen how my behaviors, past and more present that I want to admit, are not about being gay. they are about lust, the drug, the high, the all-too-temporary release.

I have come to believe that I am out of control. Oh, not all the time. I can control this, manage this, keep a handle on this, put a lid on this. Then, the trance starts, the buzz, the chemicals that surge through my mind and body as I begin the search. I start looking for it. Wanting it to such a degree that judgment is suspended. There is nothing else. Fear of disease, arrest, humiliation, disaster, all melt into the back ground. I am an addict. And I want my drug.

Insane. Out-of-control. Putting myself, my family, my career, everything at risk. Serious risk. This is the dark, incongruous side of this nice, Christian boy. And still it lurks in me.

So, near the bottom of the pit, I must do something. But I can't control it. But I have come to believe that there is One who can restore me to sanity. The journey takes another very unexpected turn.

Shalom & Cheers, Joe.

Winter Sadness

Winter can always be a depressing time. The lack of daylight, the cold weather, gray skies. It has other memories for me which add to the sadness. My closest friend committed suicide 21 years ago. And two other very close friends died in a car crash 19 years ago. Both events within 3 weeks of one another, in terms of the days, even though two years apart.

These were the closest friends I ever had. And still, I miss them terribly.

Now, too, with my "job transfer" not going through and returning to Go (without collecting $200), I am feeling numb. Numb. Just barely awake. Just going through the motions. Trying to stay focused but finding it nearly impossible.

Still we soldier on. I am sustained by foolish hope. Trusting that somehow, God has a hand in all this.

St. Teresa of Avila is said to have prayed, "God, if this is how you treat your friends, it's no wonder you don't have very many!" I can relate to that one.

It is hard for me to maintain much sense of good self-esteem. Though my head knows many things, my heart still hears voices of the past. "You shit head. You will never get it right." Voices from others, and voices I have imposed on myself. It's enough to make one want to go out and find some male body to ravage (or be ravage by). Not so much looking for a person, just sex. But that's all another posting.

The Best Laid Plans . . .

My hopes for nearby job transfer have been dashed. They chose someone else for the position. While my ego is not as wounded as I might have thought, it is a blow to plans for separation, etc. that would have "worked" well for dealing with children, others. It would all appear more-or-less normal. They don't need to know everything . . . yet.

But it is not to be. Back to the drawing board, or something.

I need to be off to a working weekend to keep the job I have.

Efficascious Ephiphany

Happy Epiphany, all. This is the feast remembering the arrival of the Wise Men. I'd love for some wise guy to drop by and offer me a gift. . . . . . but I'll just let that be, for now. Give me some time.

And, Happy New Year to one and all, as well. The year past was certainly one of many changes for me, and for my household. This new year comes with many more dramatic changes in store. It is frightening.

On the other hand, there is some excitement in the idea of some new "freedom." But I ache for my family, my wife and children, as to what this will all mean for them/to them. Yes, I know there are many challenges facing me, but I'm too well conditioned to worry about others, first. And, when it comes to my kids, well. . . . . . I don't ever want to hurt them. But the truth is the most honest thing.

And all at once the crowd begins to sing
Sometimes
We'd never know what's wrong without the pain
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same

from the song "All at Once" by the Fray, album How to Save a Life

No Pictures

Bummer. I can't seem to get my non-beta Blogger to do pictures. I push the "add image" button, but nothing works. I've tried turning off my pop-up blocker and it still doesn't work (though I'd already "given permission" for pop-ups on this page.

Used to be, I could post a picture through Picasa. That was a little more of a pain, but I could do it. That doesn't seem to work any more, either.

I am going to try the "help" thing, but I haven't found anything helpful, yet. Any suggestions, guys?

Cheers, Joe.

Family Systems

Family Systems theory, developed by Dr. Murray Bowen of Georgetown Univ., actually comes from physics, so I understand, from field theory. Things aren't just independent but connected in a field, a web of relationships. That's the way life is.

It is odd when so many things within families seem to happen at the same time. Bowen theory says that when one member of a family system seeks to change, the whole system will react to bring that person back to where he or she was. Really, the system is seeking some kind of equilibrium, be it the old balance or something new.

As I seek to differentiate myself, I do not seek to leave the system (indeed, one can't, even if you think you do) but to become who I am, a gay man, while staying connected. Of course, most of the system has no idea. No word has been spoken to parents, siblings, etc. And yet, the spirits move. The systems reacts. The emotional energy surges and blows where it will. It seems that we know not whence it comes, nor whither it goes.

I am coming out, separating from my wife, beginning to commence to get started on a new life. We are looking at my moving out after the first of the year. SO, this Christmas, for the first time EVER, my brothers from far away gathered to have Christmas with my 83 yr. old father and stepmother. My father lives closest to me (about 130 miles away). We (wife, kids, me) planned to gather with them all.

And to top it all off, while I am with my father and two older brothers, things go crazy. My dad has been to the ER three times in the last week. Retaining fluid, pneumonia, unable to urinate. So, they put a catheter in. He had to go back to the ER on the 27th for a "follow up evaluation" which was really totally unnecessary. So, on the 27th, I spent about 7 hours sitting in the ER with my father and stepmother. Not nearly the time to visit with my brothers that I had hoped for.

I came out to them and told them about plans for the future. They took it all well enough, I suppose. They were supportive and loving.

Then, it was off to anther city for visiting with in-laws and helping them move. My sister-in-law and her family (who live in that city) were there, too. Everyone together. At least their bunch isn't as, um. . . interesting as mine.

Systems always seek equilibrium, homeostasis, balance. To remain strong, non-anxious, and kind; to reduce the emotional reactivity, this is the task. And I am making it. I have never felt adult, like a man. God it feels good, too.

Though some may whine and complain "In the midst of life, we are in death," I am able to hold fast and rejoice that "In the midst of death, I am in Life!" (homage to Martin Luther).

So, as I go into the new year, I pray for shalom for us all.

Merry, Messy, Real

The story is old and well known. We've heard it thousands of times in word, play, song, and picture. Mary birthed Jesus in a stable, wrapped the babe in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger.

Christmas has become a neatly arranged, squeaky clean, all-too-cute story. It's sweet and pretty. It's "merry." But really, it was messy. Very messy.

But, if we read carefully, we see that it was neither neat nor clean. It was all too real.

An unwed teenage girl is pregnant. She and her fiance leave town. (Was it really because of some census? Or was it because of the shame that they had to leave their home town? Was there "no room in the inn" because of a heavy tourist trade? Or was it because none of Joseph's relatives would take them in? Hmm).

So, a cattle barn will have to do. Have you ever been in a cattle barn? Or around farm animals? Have you ever seen cows or donkeys snort and drool? Not a pretty sight. Is a stable a clean and sanitary environment? The smell is. . . .um. . . .well. . . "strong" to say the least. A manger is not some cute, folksy ornament picked up on sale at K-Mart. It is a feeding trough. Just the place those animals have been snorting and snotting and drooling. Lovely.

Have you ever witnessed the birth of a child? Even in today's sterile, hospital environments, there is blood, body fluids, goo, etc. And birth with no anesthesia? We are talking pain. Screams. Sweat. Terror. Yes, the birth of a child is a marvelous, joyous, miraculous occasion. I was present at the birth of my two children. The exhilaration is impossible to describe. But it is a messy situation, even with sterile gowns and attendant physicians, nurses, and technicians.

Shepherds were low lifes. The bottom end. Had they been drinking something to keep them warm as they "watched their flocks by night?" After talk of visions of angels, did folk wonder what kind of mushrooms were growing in that field? Who would take seriously the word of a shepherd?" A bunch of ignorant day laborers.

The story of God coming into the world as a human being is not a "pretty" story. It is rough, smelly, and messy, to say the very least. We've just heard it too much to catch just how messy. Into the smell of animals, manure, fungus-laden straw, and shifty characters, an out-of-wedlock teenage girl gives birth in pain and terror. And we think we have problems.

God-become-human happened in the middle of a really shitty situation. Can we have anything any shittier? If God can show up there, I believe God will show up anywhere. Even for us, and with us, and to us.

There is no word or legend that says the stable was miraculously cleaned up and sterilized. We are the ones who've done that. God comes in the shit, and lives in the shit.

So, no matter what our shit may be, God shows up. God lives with us in the midst of it. God-with-us.

To know, to realize that God is not what so many would make God out to be: the One who comes and cleans us up to make us just like everyone else. God does not come to make us into any image other than God's own.

There is no evidence that that image looks like middle-class, white, Protestant, straight America. Even though many would like everyone to look and be that way, God comes to us all, and each.

In the middle of broken dreams, shattered lives, shitty situations, and smelly messes, God comes. God-with-us.

A Messy Christmas is a Merry Christmas, dears.


Cheers, Joe.