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

Turning It Over

So far today has not been a fantastic day. I had an appointment to look at an apartment about 10 minutes from where I am living now. When I started the car, a beeping alerted me that my tank was on empty. At the gas station my debit card was rejected. This came as a surprise because I just deposited a check, two days prior.  I called the bank to see what had happened to my deposit. It turns out that my bank has no record of the deposit and that they need to do an inquiry to figure out what happened to the money. The inquiry will take five business days. Meanwhile, my account is overdrawn $300. Lovely.

I don’t have a credit card, because in the past every time I have had a card, I always forget to make payments until the bank calls me and “reminds” me to pay. This is why my credit isn’t great. I had $9 in cash on me so I bought exactly 2.367 gallons of gas, which made me feel extra pathetic. My car gets good gas mileage, so I thought I would probably be okay. When I turned my car back on, it was still on empty. I didn’t want to be late to my appointment so I made some quick calculations in my head and figured I had enough gas in the car to get to the apartment and back.

The apartment was cute and in an alright location. The manager made it seem like my credit issues shouldn’t  be a problem because I don’t have significant debt. However the rent on the apartment is only about 12 percent less than what I pay now, and in order to start living within my means, I need to find a place that is at least 20 percent less than what I am paying now.

Even though I knew the fumes I had in my car should be enough to get me back home, I started freaking out when I got back to my car. What if I was wrong and ran out of gas on the freeway? I went through my mental address book to think of anyone I could call that would loan me some cash so I could get a tank of gas – all I came up with was guys I used to fuck. Most of those bridges have been burnt beyond repair and those that haven’t would expect something in exchange for filling up my tank. I thought of my Aunt Buffy, but knew that in exchange for getting some gas money, I’d also get a soul-crushing lecture about what a loser I am, how she expects me to be homeless soon and when that happens there is no way she’ll let me move in with her. During these lectures she also likes to throw in a couple of, “you’ll never get married”s. I know she means well, but I was already mentally giving myself this lecture and in no state to hear it from her, so calling her was out. The only other option I could come up with was my one female friend that lives nearby, Marie. She has always been so patient and generous with me and I am worried that I’m constantly on the brink of exhausting her friendship. I decided to text her, but knew she was probably too busy to get back to me right away.

Crying and saying the Serenity Prayer, I managed to make it home still on empty. Back home, I called my landlord. Next month my rent is going up $70, which is part of the reason I need to move, although even without this increase it is already more than I can afford to pay. Very politely, I asked her if I could keep paying the rent I am currently paying for another month while I looked for another place. She wasn’t so polite with her response. She let me know that this wouldn’t be possible, and additionally I shouldn’t expect to get much of my security deposit back when I do move, because my place “smells.” First, my place does not smell! I pay a cleaning service to clean my place twice a month, and it might be a little cluttered, but it is extremely clean. Second, she hasn’t even seen my apartment since I moved in years ago, so I don’t know where she is getting this. And third, how fucking rude is this bitch? I just want to pack up right now and get the fuck out of here asap.

I’m on Step 3 now, which is “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God.” I know everything I’ve been dealing with today is more a result of being an irresponsible, immature fuck-up than it is of being a sex and love addict, but I hope and pray that in turning my life over to God, my life will improve in all areas, because it just has to.

I also know that things aren’t anywhere near as bad as they could be. I am grateful for all that I do have: some money in savings, a roof over my head (and an apartment that smells extremely pleasant, thank you very much), an aunt who cares about me enough to give  me doomsday lectures, a car, and a good friend that is coming over tonight to loan me gas money. Additionally, I haven’t been tempted to act out today. Things will get better.

I Wish I Could

“All we knew was that we could not go back into our active sex and love addiction again.”

I read this line today while reading “Step 3: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God,” in the Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous Basic Text, and it gave me pause. I know that I CAN’T, but sometimes I wish I could. I wish I could in a way that didn’t have consequences, that is.

I wish I could date and fuck whomever I please without getting obsessed with any of them. I wish I could fall in love/lust left and right, and then just move on when it got old without getting hurt or hurting anyone. I wish I could do all this, all while managing to find a partner, start a family, and have a career I am proud of.  I know some people CAN do this. I know because I have fucked some of them. There are many men who do just this, and if their wife never finds out (and the wives/girlfriends I know in this position are usually in too much denial to ever realize what is going on), their sexual and romantic actions are pretty much free of consequences.

But for me, there are consequences. I am an addict. When I get hooked on someone, I become obsessed, clingy, and needy — driving him away. When I am acting out there is no room in my life for healthy pursuits, like career or personal advancement. I end up staying up all night scouring the internet, trying to find every single thing I can about the object of my obsession, and then having to call in sick to work the next day. I end up putting myself in dangerous situations with dangerous people – getting assaulted, being secretly filmed, threatened, intimidated. I end up in situations where the police are called. And as low as those bottoms have been in the past, I know they will get even lower if I return to my active addiction.

It isn’t fair. I wish I could be some dick guy without any sense of guilt or un-wholeness, fucking and “loving” my way through a charmed life. I learned long ago, though, that life is seldom fair. I can indulge in a bit of wishful thinking, now and again, but I need to remember that acceptance of what is is the true key to serenity.