I never imagined that I would become addicted to anything. When you hear the word "addiction," you always think of it in context of something like alcohol or drugs--things you can go to rehab for.
Nobody ever told me you could be addicted to sex. At least, not in the context that I was. See, when I picture a sex addict, it's someone to sleeps with hundreds of people (or a rich, male celebrity who got caught cheating). A nymphomaniac. Someone who really, really, REALLY loves sex.
But I was very much addicted to sex and I hated every minute of it.
One of the lasting impacts of sexual child abuse is that you brain learns from that situation and your reality becomes how you begin to cope with the world around you. Because I would feel trapped at home, I would go to my father's house, and because I went there, I was abused. My very first lesson in sex was that you use it to escape from your other problems and I carried those lessons into my adulthood.
Boyfriend broke up with you?
Go have sex.
Lost your job?
Go have sex.
Going through a depressive episode?
Go have sex.
My go-to response for every problem was to fuck it away. I felt great. And then I felt like shit. I despised the person next to me. I despised myself for doing it. I swore not to do it again but I didn't know how to cope. I never learned how to and I was never able to find anything that gave me that quick and intense sense of satisfaction that came with having sex.
Now imagine having this problem and trying to be in a monogamous relationship with someone you seriously care about.
This was actually the time when I realized I had a problem. I was sitting buried under my anxiety. I was worried about money. I was worried about school. I was worried about getting a job. I was worried about being a good girlfriend. I was falling into my usual cycle of depression and self-sabotage but I knew it was absolutely unacceptable to cope in my usual way. Thus I began experiencing what I now can only properly refer to as "withdrawal". I thought about every single person I had ever had sex with I thought about how great it would be if I could hook up with this person or that person. Then I immediately felt guilty because I absolutely loved my boyfriend and the the embarrassment and shame of those fleeting thoughts pushed me further into the darkness of depression. I felt like I needed something, anything to replace that feeling. My other vice was shopping which I couldn't do because I had no money. I couldn't go out and do anything because I had no money. I drank what alcohol we had in our house.
Nothing helped.
I needed a vice. I kept repeating this to myself. I needed to pay for my inequities. I needed to pay for uselessness. I needed pay for being terrible. I needed to be punished because in my mind I was a worthless individual. An unhelpful girlfriend and a pathetic excuse for a mother.
And finally I gave in to my vice and I got caught.
And seeing the pain that I had wrought, the damage I caused with trying to be self-destructive, I felt like I run myself through with a knife. I was fine as long as was the one being hurt. Now I was hurting other people.
That was the moment I realized, I had a problem.
And a serious one.
And I needed help.
Because even though I had come to terms with what had happened to me and held no hatred towards my father, I was a wreck and I didn't want to be one anymore. I wanted to be a woman who could stand as an example of courage to my kid and a woman who could accept that she deserved to be treated with love and respect. I didn't have that yet and I decided that finally, after so many years, I wanted it.
And I regret nothing.
https://www.rainn.org/
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