Day 433
When sex (and not getting caught) was the only goal of significance, everything else I did was to that end. For many years prior to acting out, sex for me was a reward, not a goal. I could have all the sex I wanted in my head, thinking I was handling my urges in the best way available. Having real sex was generally a more difficult proposition. Then I went off the rails and learned a whole new game of seduction and being seduced. The end game became all about sex. Then it almost instantly became about finding the next sex, something fulfilling that would satisfy the urges and panics and darkness that was eating me alive.
Since I've been in recovery, I've been trying to learn a whole new language. I want sex to reflect so many other parts of life, instead of the other parts being manipulators for sex. I'm not doing a good job, or at least I'm not getting satisfactory results for either my wife or myself. Much of the problem is still from all the baggage I bring to the table, but it seems most of it is still trying to figure out an honest and healthy means of arousal without the fantasies that fire the addiction.
I find evidence in the fellowship that I can achieve this, but it still feels far away.
–JR
And sometimes the other shore is so far away
And that darker river's edge is too far away
And across the waterline is far away
On a new tomorrow cooling breeze shows a star
There can be so much sorrow when you've traveled from afar
–Steve Winwood, ”Other Shore"
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