Day 799
People who don't know what they're talking about but won't stop talking about it make me crazy. Whether it's the drunk in the bar, the politician that's going to fix everything, or the preacher that knows when Jesus is coming back, the arrogance and or deceit that it takes to carry on like that leaves me speechless. Except, of course, when I'm the one talking about that of which I know nothing.
I grew up learning and knowing how to hit a baseball; then, I faced a pitcher with a curveball. I spent years expressing my ideas on how to help alcoholics; then I ran a homeless shelter. Night and day, I knew I knew how to woo a woman, then I got married. I counseled victims of sex addicts and protected my family and church against their presence, and now I are one.
The writing I'm doing every day is not to create a 'how-to' compilation of overcoming sexual addiction. It's not to plant truths that will sprout and feed a starving populace. I do not write as an example to others to climb out of the addiction hole. No, I write because my brain responds to the process of thinking and typing and re-reading what I put down, and my addict doesn't like it.
As a sex addict, I am prone to believe that anything I do, especially creatively, is destined for the trash heap. Even if it's good, I do not deserve success, much less on the strength of my weaknesses, so it's still trash heap bound. But it helps me remember my story, consider my options, remind myself to stay in community with other addicts, and to realize every day that I am fortunate to be alive, much less to be as blessed as I am.
–JR
Life's got me on trial
I confess I've been messed up in denial
This is what it means to be human
I don't know much, but I know this much is true (hey)
This is what it means to be human
I don't know much, but I know that I hurt as much as you
–Kimbra, “Human"
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