My case manager has been trying to convince me that I need to sign back up to see a counselor/therapist, but I hate seeing them. After awhile, I get fake, because I feel like we\’ve put all this effort into things so hey–I must be better now! So eventually I just keep my mouth shut in therapy, because I don\’t want to let my therapist down…which I know I know I know, completely defeats the entire purpose, but I don\’t think therapy has ever really helped me very much, anyway. What\’s helped me has been advice and guidance, and damn — therapists and social workers just don\’t give that, at least mine never have. They\’ve always just been about getting me to analyze myself and rarely ever telling me their take on the situation. I need fresh perspective, and I need ass-kicking sometimes. I need someone I\’m not embarrassed to make that call to at 3am when I\’ve got a bottle of pills in one hand…I should be making that call instead of taking those pills, but with history as an indicator, I\’ve taken the pills instead of calling my doctors. I don\’t like doctors.
Then there\’s the other issue of never seeming to be able to find a doctor/counselor/therapist who understands half of what I\’m talking about. I had to explain social internet activities, online networking, website management, e-mail, and a vast amount of other technobabble to my last therapist. I also had to map out for him exactly how the internet is changing sex and making it more available. And I had to detail a number of fetishes he had never heard of. It was frustrating. I don\’t want to go back to that.
But christ, I really recognize that I could really use some help right now. To be perfectly honest, most of it doesn\’t even have to do with navigating the break-up and the move and all that jazz, but just in maintaining my composure. I\’m completely losing it. I\’d had serious issues with sexual compulsivity before Dr Maude and I got together, and they continued for the first few months of our relationship. Eventually, the impulse focused solely on him. Our sex life petered out toward the end, then once I had my cervix frozen we had to stop for a month, anyway, and during that time, we broke up.
Since breaking up, I\’ve been masturbating like a maniac. I can hardly seem to get anything accomplished during the day because I have a hard time dragging myself away from porn, virtu-sex, and the like. I\’ve been arranging pay and non-pay real-life encounters via several internet forums. I\’ve been preying on friends of friends\’ even though I have been asked not to. I\’ve been picking up strangers at bars. I\’ve already literally got myself another boyfriend — albeit in Denver, and he knows I\’m still fuckin\’ around but he doesn\’t like it at all — whom I\’ve been out to visit once and who is paying to have me come out there again in two weeks. I can\’t seem to stop pinching my clit. I find myself sitting at the doctor\’s office or in the car or whatever and masturbating by the old muscle-squeeze-and-release technique. All I can think about is fucking, and once I get fucked, all I can think about is fucking again. I had a seizure Monday night at a photoshoot, and the prevailing thought was \”I hope I can still get fucked tonight.\”
Hi, I\’ve returned to my pre-relationship with Dr Maude self, as documented in This is Not a Love Song: The Over-Sexualization of a Future Sex Academic. And, well, it\’s not a good thing. I mean, some people are trying to tell me that it\’s normal to want to run out and fuck after a longterm relationship falls apart, but I know that it\’s not normal nor healthy to be this completely obsessed by it.
I feel like such a dick. I know I have a problem but I don\’t really want to get help for it. I mean, I kind of do, but I also kind of don\’t. I mean… goddammit. DAMMIT. I don\’t know how to stop this without jumping headlong into another relationship, and I don\’t want to do that. I know that\’s not the answer. I KNOW IT. And I\’ve always known it. And I hate that, and I hate that I\’ve always known it, and that I\’m choosing now, of all times, to act on it. FUCK.
I\’m going to start going to 12 steps for the local SCA (Sexual compulsives anonymous). I\’m fucking terrified. One, I haven\’t been to a 12 step program since my ex the heroin addict was in residential rehab. I didn\’t like them then, and I don\’t think now is going to be much better because I\’m not any good at the joiner thing, the group thing, the faith thing, or the believing in anything let alone a higher power thing. I\’m particularly not any good at admitting that I don\’t have any control. Two, I have a friend of a friend who was in an SCA group here in DC; he doesn\’t live here anymore but he\’s going to be back in town for the holidays, during which time he\’ll be attending group. He knows about my problem, I know about his problem, mutual friend knows about his problem but not my problem. We all agreed that SCA boy and I would not have anything more to do with each other because once he and I met, SCA boy started relapsing. But the no-contact rule was negotiated by the mutual friend, and not by the boy and I. I only know he\’s going to be back in town in passing, and I\’m not sure which group he\’ll be attending when he gets here so I\’m not sure how to go about avoiding him, but I do know that trouble WILL OCCUR if our paths cross because we\’re very similar in our problems and kinks and even our STDs and I just have no faith in myself right now, goddammit. And I know how hard it is to get a sponsor in a group, and I know it\’s even harder when you\’re female (damn near impossible), and it\’s an added hardship during the holidays, so I don\’t expect to find major group support between now and then. But goddammit. I gotta do something.
Right. So that\’s me tonight. How\’s everybody else?
