Monday, March 28, 2011

S.L.A.A

It's hard to imagine love being a disease, but in essence, it can be.

An aquaintence of mine began waxing on the reasons he's remaining celibate through April. Frankly at first I was curious as to why this person was revealing all of, what you assume to be private information. But as his (long winded) conversation rolled on he continually used the phrases "do you understand what I'm saying?" and "that's not crazy, right?"
I obliged, but realized what he was seeking from me was validation, almost like he wanted my permission his actions were ok. Why did he care about my opinion so already?
About thirty minutes into his almost one sided chat I started paying attention and realized what I was speaking to was another un-self aware sex addict. Now, I don't have his sexual history to go off of, but his reasons, his need to explain his actions and seek understanding and approval, and his main excuse of "work is stressful and I take it out in my sex life and it increasingly has bad consequences" were all code for: Do I need to get help, or is my celebacy going to be enough?

I guess sometimes when your shit gets so bad, you are willing to share it with an almost total stranger. So I listened, I got irritated, then I listened harder. When he finally more or less asked me what I thought he should do, or if his fast was wise, I told him that the celebacy without realizing the behavior for why he was becoming celebate to begin with was useless. He needed real time for self reflection, therapy, and likely meetings. He asked if I'd ever attended and I told him I had.
I gave him the very basics (as I'm not willing to share all the details with anyone at this point) as to how I decided I should try it, what I got out of it, how long I went for and why I stopped. I think more than anything he was relieved to hear someone say "you're not crazy."
I think my letting him ramble was simply something he needed, and others had either dismissed the conversation (likely his "bros") or shushed him so he never got the validation he was seeking.

I guess the only real thing I took away from the meetings was that I did in fact have a problem with love, which translated into a problem with sex. But when I realized I couldn't get anything more sitting around in that enviornment, hashing out the beginnings of a fledgling understanding, I opted to stop.
When my relationship ended I went into full on withdrawls.
Ha.
It seems so stupid, really.

I did everything I could to make "my drug" feel it was ok to stay in touch, because even if I couldn't have him in an intimate sense anymore, going cold turkey off of something that intense is pure, unadulterated torture.
And so I fell. I fell for a long time...

I fell into a few desperate phonecalls. I fell into a complete nervous system failure that led my lupus to flare up, which landed me in the hospital. I went home and fell into a person I no longer knew. I didn't think there was anything worse. In fact, I knew there wasn't. I had made myself sick. I do not blame anyone but myself. I want to make that perfectly clear.

My next phonecall was for help. 2 weeks later I was sitting on a couch telling someone and an intern my life story, and how my ass had landed on that couch to begin with. As in 95% of women in recovery, part of my story began with sexual abuse. Eventually the intern excused herself as I watched tears well in her eyes listening to my story. I wondered how fucked up I really was. I wondered if there really any help anyone could offer, or if I would end up another statistic. I wondered how long it would be until I would feel like myself again.

Meanwhile I found my next "fixation." Dating was not on my agenda, nor was having any physical connection of any kind with anyone. I knew it could easily make me sick, or draw out my old demons, and in fact, it eventually did. But luckily(sarcastically) he was a predator. Another addict. He was self aware. He was also a complete asshole. Even though he knew what he was capable of, he was not remorseful, nor did he want help. Eventually he ended our friendship with the words "I think you're just too nice for me."

Point in fact, I definetely was.

I was sickened at the fact he had drawn me in so quickly. Was that something I did too? Did he see too much of himself in me? Longing for that connection? Wanting to confirm that connection in the most basic ways?
By stopping the train early, by knowing now how easily a train like that could break me, I had learned something. I began to realize I was learning quickly.

Therapy became my meeting, only in these meetings I had feedback. I was taught the beginnings of making boundaries. The boundaries that had never been set in motion, not because I didn't respect myself enough, but because I was afraid having boundaries would make people leave me.

Then she said the thing that resonates with me, I may never forget: "If everyone leaves anyway, why not tell them exactly how you feel?"
As in maybe my not having boundaries made it easy for me to be walked on. (Shit, yeah. I know I've been a doormat. I KNOW it's not sexy. I didn't know how to change it.)
People leave people they don't respect. My niceness in an effort to never hurt anyone, lest they pushed away sooner, was in my way.

So I began to slowly change my behaviors, and try out this new approach. I wasn't crazy about it. Some people in my life went away. People that were used to the old me.

I focused on creating what is now "Sparrow Music." When I would meet people it was solely for business contacts. It made things clear in my mind, and I needed clear.

When someone would cross my path that sparked an interest I began a real, serious assesment of whether or not that person would be good for me. I always landed on the answer 'no' and moved on. I refused to become attached.

Even though I doubt I will ever fully be able to kick the habit, as love is such a crazy amazing feeling when everything is going right, I am able to follow my brain down that path now, and not my heart, my addiction, or lust. It doesn't mean I have to abstain forever. It just means for now, I'm either not ready or I am finally learning quickly what things will be more healthy in a relationship for me. I am also following the rules that are the groundwork for finding people that aren't that interested in me... And not getting attached, and moving on, back to work, and back to my life.

I don't think anyone who hasn't been through the horror of sexual abuse can fully understand what it does to a female (or in the asshole's case, a male- let me clarify while I empathize, I do not condone he continues with the behavior created, and I hope for his sake and anyone who crosses his path that he eventually gets some fucking therapy).
But while the damage is done, and getting people to understand and accept my shit is an uphill battle, I hope someday that there is someone out there for me who will love all of me, even the broken parts. Who can listen to me talk, pull the hair from my face and look me in the eyes as I divulge my most secret self, and accept that while love can be dangerous, I am willing to take that chance on him.
It doesn't always have to be romanticide. I just have to make some behavioral adjustments, admit to myself honestly whether what I'm doing is addictive behavior, and take action in either direction. (Though the leaving may be painful, and seemingly impossible, I have to keep my network of friends strong, and my work to fall back on.)

I hope my aquaintence finds exactly what he's looking for, but he's going to have to admit to himself what that is first.

I hope I find what I'm looking for too, but only when I'm ready enough to hold onto it. When it's meant to be. When the universe finally gives my heart a safe place to rest for a time, and for the first time ever, it completely does.

1 comment:

  1. You sound like you are getting really healthy to me. Good for you.

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