Today, I have been sober (sexually, that is) for two months. Of course, I realized this while I was thinking about how much time I have left in my six month trial period, so I can start acting out again. Progress, not perfection, right?

Sorry I haven’t written much lately. I’ve been out of town, and I am doing well. I will try to write a longer entry soon.

I’m Cured!

Just kidding, I’m not even close. I did, however, have a very proud recovery moment tonight. HC contacted me after nearly four months. He said he missed me and that I had been on his mind a lot. If he had sent the same text two months ago, I would have wrote back, “I miss you too. I think about you all the time.” Instead, I thanked him, but told him I was no longer available.

While I’d like to think this means I am “cured” from my sex and love addiction, the fact that this happened a few hours ago and I am still shaking, tells me otherwise.

My sponsor says that even though I wasn’t looking for it, I took a big “hit” off my drug tonight, and I should expect some major withdrawals.

I don’t talk about the God stuff too much on here, because before I got into recovery it used to weird me out a little to hear people going on about God (probably an issue for another post). I’m still a little uncomfortable talking about my relationship with my Higher Power. But I need to mention him in this entry, because tonight he did for me what I could not do for myself.


Snapped Back In

In my last entry, I wrote about how I’ve been struggling the last week or so to stay present and how I had to keep forcing myself to take contrary action. I’d been kind of taking a mental vacation, but today I received some stressful news and I was forced to snap out of it.

If I don’t find a less expensive apartment and cut down my costs as soon as possible, I won’t be able to pay my rent in a few months, and I won’t have any savings left. Since I am a sex a love addict, I “sexualize stress, guilt, loneliness, anger, shame, fear and envy” and I “use sex or emotional dependence as substitutes for nurturing care, and support.” My first reaction was to find some man to take care or me, fuck the stress away, and make it all better. As appealing as that strategy sounds, I know from past experiences it does not really work out so well in the long run. So I’ve been facing the stress head-on — looking at apartments (I actually forgot craigslist could be used for something other than finding dates/sex partners), contacting consignment stores to sell some furniture I have in storage, and dealing with other money dramas.

I even placed an ad on craigslist (no, not that kind of ad) for housing wanted. I know it’s a long shot, but my sponsor always says to put things out to the Universe. My hope is some kindly mansion-dweller will be charmed by my ad and rent out a room to me. You never know, right?

Since I can’t deal with the stress I’m feeling now with sex, I used yoga, my sex alternative. I took a class today, and it was really hard for me to let go of my stress. My teacher had to keep reminding me to breath. We did a lot of hip openers in this class. I have always heard that hip openers can make people really emotional because feelings like guilt and stress that go unresolved are usually stored in the hips. I never really bought this because I am full of un-dealt-with emotions and my hips are so open I can do the splits. But the hip openers we were doing today were different poses from the ones I usually do, and stretched a different area than I am used to. I actually started crying in class! Luckily, I was able to quickly get myself together, and I don’t think anyone noticed.

Even though today has been stressful, I am grateful that I am able to be present, and that I am dealing with my affairs like an adult.





A classic Gemini, I am full of dualities and have always felt I have two opposing selves. The healthy me wants to do yoga, meditate, pray, eat healthy, write, keep in contact with my sponsor, make outreach calls, do step work, and go to meetings. The healthy me wants to do these “top line” behaviors every single day, because she wants to recover and live a healthy and happy life.

The unhealthy me, let’s call her Lulu, says “fuck that shit,” to all of the above. Lulu wants to do what she wants when she wants. She wants to eat junk food, drink a lot of wine (or beer, or whatever you’ve got), sit on her ass watching tv or, more likely playing mind-numbing video games (cause let’s be honest, Lulu usually doesn’t have a long enough attention span to watch a tv show). And when Lulu gets bored of sitting on her ass eating, drinking, and drooling all over her laptop; Lulu likes to fuck — the more inappropriate and unavailable the partner the better.

The last few days Lulu has taken over. Fortunately she hasn’t gotten bored of the sitting on her ass phase yet, but she has wreaked some havoc. Lulu wants to throw in the towel on this whole recovery thing, but the healthy me made a commitment to myself to try out this 12-step program for at least six months (we’ve got four left to go).

So I’m trying to keep Lulu in check and taking contrary action as often as possible, which is why I’m writing this blog right now instead of playing The Sims.



Late last night I had a slip. I was looking up a friend’s page on facebook. Her name starts with the same letters of HC’s name. While I was typing her name into the search bar, his name and new picture came up. Before I knew what I was doing, I had clicked on his name, and was on his profile. We aren’t friends and his profile is private, so there isn’t much info I can squeeze out of his page except that he has changed his picture. Seeing his picture was all it took, I was off.

I looked at his wife’s page, his mother’s, his brother’s, his wife’s twitter, his wife’s blog. I did a google search for his name, her name, their names together. I went on craigslist and searched for the terms I know he used in his casual encounters ads — he is still posting ads almost daily. I did this for about an hour. I don’t know what I was looking for, but I didn’t find it. Nothing I looked at told me he was divorced/getting a divorce or that he gotten his sexual addiction under control. However, everything I looked at told me, “yep… you’re still crazy.

This man has not been in my life for more than three months now, what business of mine is it what he is doing? I have no right to secretly pry into his life. My sponsor says that whenever I find myself in my addiction, instead of berating myself for being such a creepy stalker, a slut, or whatever; I need to go back to Step 1. What I did last night is evidence that I am indeed powerless over this addiction.

Last night was a slip, but it doesn’t have to be more than that. Today is a new day. I am powerless over my addiction, but God is not.  Everyday I need to remember that I can not do this without God. When I give my will and my life over to the care of God, I will be taken care of.


The past few weeks I seem to vacillate between, “Holy Shit, I’ve cured myself! Every thing is wonderful now and I am completely ready to have a healthy relationship!;” and, “Oh my God, what the fuck is wrong with me? Will I ever be normal?” One day I am ready to conquer the world, the next it is a struggle to even leave my apartment. Yesterday I wanted to act out on all my bottom lines and I had to force myself to do anything healthy. Today I am being all kinds of productive and doing everything right.

When I was in the active phase of my addiction, I thought that having a the perfect boyfriend/husband/lover would be the magical cure-all to all of my life’s woes. Now I realize nothing — not even the 12 steps is going to magically cure me. I have to work hard and use all the tools at my disposal to become whole.

Since I’ve been in recovery, I’ve been practicing yoga 4-5 times a week. Like everything else, yoga is not magic. I do, however, notice a huge different in my mind, body and spirit on the days when I practice. I feel more centered, and like I am approaching wholeness. It takes the edge off when I want to act out, when I’m depressed, when I feel like I hate everything in my life. Yoga reminds me to count my blessings, rather than count my disadvantages (which, unfortunately, was my default system of measure for most of my life).

Physically, I am more flexible, stronger, and have more stamina. My balance has improved, but I still fall regularly and am usually the first and sometimes only person in class to fall during a pose. Today, during class, when I lost my balance during a crescent moon pose (high lunge). The instructor said something like, “they say good balance is a sign of a peaceful mind.” That made sense to me, as my mind is always jumping from one extreme to the other.

I suspect when I learn to find a peaceful middle ground in my head, balance between extremes, I  will find physical balance as well.

I Want to Act Out

Don’t worry, I probably won’t, but I want to.

Craving sexual oblivion or some way to check out from my thoughts, my feelings… my self. I want to see HC or at least spy on him online.

How long do I have to go without this guy before my obsession ebbs? It’s been three months already. I know he isn’t sitting around thinking about me. This is pathetic. If I wasn’t in this program, I would have found some new guy to make these feelings go away, or at least to stuff them down for a bit. Which, I know isn’t a solution, but at least I wouldn’t be feeling so pathetic.

I just did a phone meeting and I wasn’t into it at all. There is a yoga class starting in about an hour that I usually go to, but I don’t want to. There is also an in-person meeting starting in about an hour. It’s one I haven’t been to before. Maybe I should go to that? I kinda just want to buy a bottle of wine, a wedge of brie, and turn off my brain in front of the tv.

Praying for the strength to take contrary action.


Update for my many three readers: I skipped the yoga class and the meeting, for the brie and the wine; but instead of checking out with tv, I made a series of outreach calls, and talked to three other women in my program. I did not act out. I guess this would be an example of “progress, not perfection.”