Noun: A difficult or laborious walk: “the long trudge back”.
Verb: Walk slowly and with heavy steps, typically because of exhaustion or harsh conditions
So yeah. I’m trudging the road of happy destiny, not skipping the happy road of happy destiny but trudging the crappy road of happy destiny. Clearly, I’m not there yet.
Through out my loss of sobriety I’ve tried to continue to be helpful to other suffering addicts. This is hypocritical, to say the least. I feel like I ought to be including a disclaimer: “Everything I’m telling you is true, I’m just not doing any of it myself.”
I had a talk with my husband last night, a super short one. I told him I’d masturbated. He was like, “When? Today?” I was like, “Yeah.” He said that he really didn’t care if I masturbated, but that he worried about things “getting crazy” again.
So today’s debate is, things don’t get crazy unless I’m in an abusive situation. Things were crazy when I was young and lived at home. Things were crazy for a while after I left home. But then I found my husband and things were good until work separated us and I got a much older boss that I started sleeping with. That didn’t end well. We both lost our jobs and I nearly lost my life in what was the worst summer of my life until I met Fr. M. the therapist. Things were crazy when I was seeing him too. And like the boss, they were crazy way before things got sexual. But the 20 years between those two times, things were not crazy. Sometimes they were bad, but my life was never unmanageable. I did things I wasn’t proud of, but nothing illegal. No sex outside my marriage. Nothing dangerous. Compulsive, yes. Unmanageable, no.
But that was then. Am I rationalizing? Saying I’m not really a heroin addict because I only use when a pusher offers me drugs? On my own I just drink lite beer and never drive drunk?
I’m reminding myself of a drug and alcohol counselor who goes to the bar on Friday nights and then pontificates to the patients during the week. I’ve seen a few of those bozos at AA meetings and I have absolutely no respect for them. So I’m understandably having trouble finding a bit of respect for myself when I’m acting the same damn way.
But I don’t want to quit masturbating! It’s fun, it feels good, and there’s no calories; except for those times when it’s shameful, painful, or . . . whatever. It also seriously interferes in my ability to ring the bell when I’m having sex with my husband, which sucks for both of us (a revelation – he does care but feels powerless to make a difference.)
I don’t like having to depend on him for orgasm. It’s scary.
There. I said it.
I think that might be something a sex addict would say. I think this is an inordinate amount of thinking and worrying about sex for someone my age, regardless of what my hormone levels are.