Never Mind, I’ll Find Someone Like You

Adele’s “Someone Like You,” could have been the soundtrack to the end of many of my “relationships.” I’ve heard the song many times before, but never really paid attention to the lyrics. I saw the video for the first time today and couldn’t stop replaying it. Her voice is haunting and the lyrics are beautifully poignant. I’m sure many people, love addicted or not, can relate to the feeling of not being able to get over someone who has moved on.
“Someone Like You”
By Adele

I heard
That you’re settled down
That you found a girl
And you’re married now
I heard
That your dreams came true
Guess she gave you things
I didn’t give to you

Old friend
Why are you so shy
It ain’t like you to hold back
Or hide from the light

I hate to turn up out of the blue
Uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away
I couldn’t fight it
I’d hoped you’d see my face
And that you’d be reminded
That for me
It isn’t over

Never mind I’ll find
Someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you
Too.. Don’t forget me
I beg
I remember you said
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
Yeah

You’d know
How the time flies
Only yesterday
Was the time of our lives
We were born and raised
In a summer haze
Bound by the surprise
Of our glory days

I hate to turn up out of the blue
Uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away
I couldn’t fight it
I’d hoped you’d see my face
And that you’d be reminded
That for me
It isn’t over
Yeah

Never mind I’ll find
Someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you
Too.. Don’t forget me
I beg
I remember you said
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead, yeah

Nothing compares
No worries, or cares
Regrets and mistakes
They’re memories made
Who would have known.. How..
Bittersweet
This would taste

Never mind I’ll find
Someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you
Too.. Don’t forget me
I beg
I remember you said
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead

Never mind I’ll find
Someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you
Too.. Don’t forget me
I beg
I remember you said
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead
Yeah, Yeah..

My Ideal Man

A couple of months before I got into recovery, my good friend (probably frustrated by hearing about my “relationships”) suggested that I make a list of traits I wanted in a future mate. I made a list that looked a little something like this: musician, rich, dark hair, tall, big cock, good at sex.* She pointed out that these were all shallow things, that didn’t have anything to do with who a person really was.

So I changed “musician” to “creative,” “rich” to “good provider,” “tall” to “masculine,” “big cock” and “good at sex” to “sexually compatible.” There wasn’t really anything I could do with “dark hair.” I also added: intelligent, happy, loving, funny, honest and loyal; because no one wants a stupid, depressed, mean, dull, lying cheater.

I still have this list saved in my phone, and was looking at it earlier tonight. While I suppose having a checklist of character traits is better than having a checklist of list of bullshit things like hair color, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to have a checklist at all. I’ve read The Secret. No, I’m not some secret The Secret devotee, but it can’t hurt to put it out there and ask  the universe for what I want.  Do I really know what I want, though? At this stage in the game, the first checklist  still looks way more appealing to me than the second one. But those things probably aren’t what I need.

I’m currently dragging my feet on finishing Step 3, “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God.” So maybe I should just let my higher power deal with the checklist. Besides, I won’t be able to even entertain the idea of dating for at least another three months.

I’m curious about other people’s opinions on having a checklist. Do you/did you have a checklist? If so what’s on it?

*If this describes you, please get in touch… kidding!… kind of

What Things Were Like 90 Days Ago

Today I have 3 months of sobriety from most of my bottom lines. Some of my bottom lines I have more time from, for example I haven’t contacted my “qualifier” (HC) in almost 5 months (before I even started going to meetings), and I haven’t had sex with an unavailable man (or any man) in about 4 months. One of my bottom lines, online spying, I’ve struggled with on and off. Currently, I have one week off of that.

So what exactly do I have 90 days off of? I guess the best way to explain that is to look back on what my life was like right before I started program.

For years, I’d been hooked on online dating sites. I’ve been on various sites at various times, but right before getting into program I had a profile on Chemistry.com (I was too low-rent for eHarmony). On Chemistry I was ostensibly looking for “Mr. Right,” but all I was looking at was the pictures and the stats in the right margin about height, education, and income. I rarely read someone’s profile text. I also had profiles on CollarMe and FetLife. On these sites I was looking for some combination of a dominant/daddy/boyfriend. In addition to these sites I was also checking out craigslist ads and posting some myself. On Craigslist I was looking for sex in the casual encounters section, but I was also browsing the M4W section, looking for dominants and looking for Mr. Right. I was occasionally looking at w4w and mw4w ads too. You really can find anything you’re looking for on CL.

I had so many balls in the air. There were the men I was seeing, men I had met once and  was waiting to see if I would hear from again, men I would meet just because I was bored that day and had no intention of seeing again, men I was talking to online, men I was talking to on the phone, men I was texting with, men I was planning to meet, men I was trying to meet. Going on these sites and corresponding with these people was a daily ritual. It was how I used all my free time. My guess is I probably met at least 60 guys for dinner, drinks, or coffee in the year leading up to me joining program. Most of these guys, I did not sleep with, or even go on a second date with. Most of them I forgot about as soon as I met the next guy.

I started going to meetings around the end of May or maybe beginning of June. The main reason I went was because I couldn’t get over HC, but I told myself I was going to try to stop dating for six months as an experiment. Around that time Ryan texted me. He was someone I’d gone out with a handful of times a couple of years before. He was older than me and had blown me off two years earlier with some line about how we were in two different places. I agreed to go out with him again. I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere, but I figured I’d fuck him and have one last hurrah before starting my six month experiment. He took me to a nice dinner and was very polite, then took me home and we had sex. He was rough with me and called me a whore. He made me call him Daddy. He came fairly quickly, way before I had a chance to get into it. By the way, this was a guy I met an eHarmony-type site, not a bdsm site. Ryan was probably just doing what he had remembered I’d been into the last time we were together — rough sex, humiliation, incest roleplay. This particular night, though, I hated it. All I could think about was how different he was from HC, who was a passionate, gentle, giving  and long-lasting lover. I wanted Ryan to leave as soon as he was done and then cried myself to sleep that night, missing HC. I’d thought sleeping with Ryan was going to be one last fun thing I did before giving up sex, but instead it left me feeling even more depressed than I’d felt before.

Again, I resolved to go six months without dating or sex, but the very next day this guy, let’s call him Josh (cause I can’t remember his real name to save my life), called me up. He was some stoner grad student/artist who had answered an ad I had placed on CL a couple of months earlier. When he’d sent me his picture, I’d thought, “hmm, that’s some interesting facial hair,” but hadn’t been particularly attracted to him. When he called me up he told me he was leaving for Europe in a week, where he had plans to spend the summer. He mentioned that he was going by himself, but it would be nice to have a girl to go with him. I decided that my six months could start in the Fall, after I’d returned from Europe, and agreed to meet him the next morning for brunch. It was a Sunday and we were meeting at a popular spot (popular because of the cheap price of their bottomless champagne brunches, not for the quality of the food). I had trouble finding parking and had to drive around a bit before I found a place. Before I parked I saw him standing out front and almost decided to drive away. I don’t know why I expected him to be more attractive than his not very attractive photo, but he wasn’t. In fact, he was a lot less attractive. With his abundant facial hair, and thick, long coat (it was a chilly, rainy morning), he looked a lot like a homeless man. During brunch he was a grump, complaining about everything. He claimed he had been to this restaurant several times before, but he threw a fit about his food. He sent back one thing, then got agitated that the restaurant didn’t have organic maple syrup and refused to order anything else. When the bill came he got up to go to the bathroom, and I thought, “no fucking way am I paying for this shitty experience.” I didn’t touch the bill and when he came back he was visibly annoyed, but threw down some cash anyway.

So, again, I decided to start my six-month experiment. The very next weekend, I got a call from Greg. I had met him once for a drink several months earlier. He was quite funny in an off-beat kind of way, and occasionally he would call me up and we would shoot the shit and talk about hanging out again. This particular weekend, Greg told me he was housesitting at his friend’s very expensive beach house and asked if I wanted to come over for a beer and to watch a movie. Of course, I did. Although Greg is a nice guy and funny, there is not a lot of chemistry between us. We watched a movie and drank a couple of beers without any filtration or cuddling. Then, around midnight, when I was half asleep, he finally made his move. He started kissing me, and I remember his mouth tasted awful (a combo of steak/beer breath). Then he turned me around, started spanking me (this was another guy I had met him on a “vanilla” or non-bdsm site), and eventually stripped all my clothes off. I was so tired and not at all into what he was doing, but limply went along with it. I turned my head away when he tried to kiss my mouth, but I let him kiss my body. He got out his cock and wanted me to suck it. Part of me wanted to. It almost felt natural. There was a voice in my head that said, “you’re a whore, and whores suck cock.” At the same time I knew that if I did give him head, we’d end up fucking, and I didn’t want a repeat of how I felt after I’d fucked Ryan. So I just laid on his friend’s couch like a rag doll and let him masturbate on my breasts. I almost felt bad. It can’t have been a great sexual experience for him to have a girl lying there like some passive rape victim.

Very soon after that I met my sponsor. I told her I had resolved to go six months without dating or sex. She thought it was a great idea. The next day I reactivated a profile on one dating site, and started talking to a slew of men. A few days later I met a guy named Adam for a drink. Adam was four or five years younger than me. He worked as a professional writer. He had just moved into a new place walking distance from the bar we met at and wanted to show me his place. He seemed harmless enough so I agreed. I assumed that we were walking to an apartment, but he had actually just moved into a huge two story house, in a very nice part of town. “Are you renting this place or did you buy it?” I asked in disbelief. He owned it. I instantly became more attracted to him. Honestly, I think it was more about jealously than being a gold-digging whore. Here was this guy, five fucking years younger than me (!), who could afford to buy a giant house, and had a very successful career as a freelance writer. This was my pie-in-the-sky fantasy for myself. While I have published a few articles, I never got paid very much. Besides, it’s hard to have a career you have to do much more than just show up for when all you can think about is when and where your next fix is coming from. I wanted Adam’s life for myself, but didn’t have the energy to put any effort into achieving it. Right then and there I imagined moving in with him, imagined he would show me the ropes and teach me the discipline to be like him. Then I imagined bringing HC over when Adam was out of town, and how much nicer it would be to have sex with HC in this huge house than in my shitty apartment.

Adam was shy and it took him awhile to make his move. Finally he kissed me. He was a surprisingly good kisser. We didn’t do much more than kiss that night, and when I finally left (close to 3 in the morning) he begged me to stay and hang out some more. The next day I texted him and told him I had a nice time, he wrote back that he had had a nice time as well. I told my sponsor about him and told her I needed to see how things played out before I started my six months. I kept going to meetings. After about two weeks, he hadn’t contacted me.  I realized it was unlikely I was going to hear from him. I deleted his number, his texts, and the numbers and texts of most of the other men in my phone. I deleted all of my dating site profiles, and wrote my bottom lines.

That was three months ago today, and I haven’t been on a date, or a dating site since then. I have finished steps 1 and 2 and will soon be done with step 3. This is the half-way point in my six-month experiment. Although I’ve had a lot of ups and downs, overall I feel like the last three months have been amazing. I’m finally getting to know who I really am.

My Dad’s Porn Stash

When I was around 8 or 9 I found my father’s stash of porn magazines in the garage. They were mostly Playboys, but there were also some hardcore ones. At the time I remember feeling a lot of shame that my father had these magazines. But looking at them, I also felt titillated and exhilarated. I enjoyed looking at them, which made me feel extremely guilty. I looked at them every opportunity I got, and every time I felt like the biggest creep in the world.

I don’t even really understand where the feelings of guilt and shame came from. I mean, I was 8, it’s not like I knew much about sex and it’s not like anyone in my family or community was directly telling a second or third grader that sex was this bad thing. Also my parents weren’t “fire and brimstone” religious types. My mom was somewhat religious, but fairly progressive, and my dad was an atheist.  Somehow, though, without even knowing what it was, I picked up that sex was “wrong” and “dirty.”

Is shame over sexuality just innate? Was it innate for me? Maybe my parents didn’t need to shame me, maybe it was just in my blood — Irish and German Catholic immigrants on one side, and WASPy descendants of Puritans on the other. Maybe some kind of shame gene was passed down.

Now that I’m an adult, I realize that finding Dad’s porn is a fairly common experience. At the time though, I felt like the sickest, dirtiest, most deviant person on the face of the earth. Even now, while I intellectually understand that it’s human nature to be titillated by pornography and sex, even at a young age, there is a voice in the back of my head that says, “No, there was something wrong with you. And there still is something wrong with you. You are a sick fuck. You should be locked up.”

So much of my sexual acting out was based on the same combination of emotions I felt looking at my Dad’s porn — shame, guilt, and exhilaration. For many years I was drawn to BDSM, for this reason (and many others). I needed to be told I was “bad,” to be humiliated, to be punished. It felt right. When I masturbate I usually need to think of being abused, used or humiliated in order to get off.

And while I’m on the topic of BDSM, let me clarity my feelings on it. I don’t think that practicing D/s, power exchange, role-play, bondage, or kink in general is in itself a symptom of sex addiction. I know many non-sexaddicted, healthy people who are a part of the lifestyle. Being a submissive was a big part of my sexuality for many years, and it might still be, once I get back into the world of relationships. As I progress in my sobriety, though, D/s does seem to be losing some of it’s appeal. Right now the idea of eventually having a healthy partnership with an equal is more attractive than the idea of having a Dom.

 

20 Things I No Longer Do

1. I don’t call people repeatedly after they have asked me not to.
2. I don’t respond to texts that say, “Have you been a naughty girl? Do you need a spanking from Daddy?” If I do, it’s with a polite, “Sorry, I’m no longer available.”
3. I don’t refuse to leave someone’s place until they call the police.
4. I don’t answer craigslist personal ads just because I like the penis picture the guy has posted. In fact, I don’t answer craigslist ads at all.
5. I don’t date or sleep with married or attached men.
6. I don’t sleep with people out of a sense of obligation.
7. I don’t create fake personas (an 18-year-old high school girl, a young single mother, a bisexual black dominant, an affable male plastic surgeon… to name a few) on dating sites and email accounts in order to talk to someone under false pretenses.
8. I don’t look up sexually explicit craigslist ads at work.
9. I don’t spend ridiculous amounts of money on “psychics” who promise me that they can get me back together with whomever inappropriate guy I’m currently obsessed with.
10. I don’t have sex with people on the first date.
11. I’m not looking to a man to parent, take care of, or recuse me. I’m working on parenting, taking care of, and rescuing myself.
12. When something goes slightly wrong, my first thought isn’t, “I’ll call __________. He’ll make everything better.
13. I don’t exaggerate or completely fabricate stories in order to get attention male attention.
14. I don’t look at dating as a hobby.
15. I don’t continue seeing someone after I’ve caught him in a major lie. Examples of major lies include shaving 10 years off one’s age, giving me a fake name, having a live-in girlfriend and forgetting to mention it, secretly filming me without my consent.
16. I’m no longer attracted to pervs old enough to be my father, who tell me I’m “too old” for them. In general, I’m no longer attracted to men who make me feel bad about myself.
17. I don”t harass men — sending my ex a text from my friend’s phone (a number he wouldn’t recognize) saying “my test came back positive,” for example — just because I think it’s funny. In fact, I no longer harass people for any reason.
18. I don’t have sex outside of committed relationships.
19. I don’t view people as objects, sexual or otherwise… at least I try really hard not to.
20. I no longer measure my worth based on who wants to have sex with me.

Progress?

I haven’t spied on HC in three days. Yay, me! I have, however, been stuffing my face like a pig, drinking like a fish, and masturbating like… well, like some kind of masturbation fiend. I’m sure the comparison has been made before, but my addictive behavior is like a whack-a-mole game. Once I whack down one, another couple pop up. Although, to be fair, I usually eat, drink, and masturbate too much. Also, I have a habit of spending too much, although I’ve kept that one in check for a bit now. So maybe it is possible to whack all those moles down one by one. It’s hard for me to imagine a life where I eat, drink, spend, masturbate, and obsess moderately (is it even possible to obsess moderately?), but anything is possible.

On the topic of masturbation (the most fun topic on the list), I’ve played with the idea of adding it to my bottom-lines. I once heard a woman in a meeting refer to masturbation as “making love to myself,” which made me secretly haha to myself. For me  Christine O’Donnell’s (crazy Tea Partier, “I’m not a witch” lady) euphemism, “self abuse,” is more apt, especially considering the things I have to think of to get myself off. Somehow, nothing has ever turned me on as much as shame and guilt.

For now, though, instead of focusing on everything I’m doing wrong, I think I’ll focus on the things I’m doing right (not spying on HC, for instance), and practicing my top-ine behaviors.

Babies

Today I went to a meeting. The speaker’s share made me think about a fantasy I used to have. In my past, when I was in a relationship with someone I was addicted to and felt them pulling away, the thought that I should “accidentally” get pregnant would occur to me. The fantasy was that if I got pregnant with the man’s child, he would stay with me. At first, out of obligation, but then out of love. Of course, logic would win out in the end and I never ended up trying to get knocked up. Thank God.

A few days ago I started a longer blog on the saying, “Rejection is God’s protection,” revisiting some old relationships and exploring if my life was better off now than it would have been if I had stayed with each person in question. The resounding answer in all of these cases yes. Of course, it’s not possible to actually know for sure. But it’s very unlikely I would be anything more than miserable with any of the guys I was obsessed with in the past.

I doubt I am going to finish the blog, which at first I intended to be funny, because it was just too painful thinking about these toxic relationships, especially the ones I had in my 20s. The idea of having a chid with any of these men is nightmarish. I think that’s why this man’s share was so upsetting to me. How much worse would my life be now if I was currently pregnant with HC’s baby? The idea makes me sick.

I really do want to have a child someday, but only under the right circumstances. The possibility gets less and less with every birthday that goes by, but I trust if it’s in God’s plan for me, it will happen. One thing that’s for sure, I’m glad it hasn’t happened yet. Right now I am struggling to take care of myself. I can’t imagine if I was responsible for another life.