Anthony Weiner

I've been reading Rae's Confessions and I've been able to garner a little more understanding about sex addiction. She says she had such a great feeling of need, and she didn't want to overwhelm her husband with that need, so she had real and internet affairs in order to meet her feeling of need and, in a weird way, to preserve her relationship with her husband.

I know what it's like to be on the other end -- to have someone try to fill their emptiness with you. It's exhausting. I know now that I had my own issues to work on (that I am still working on) that would draw me to such a person and not even see red flags waving all over the place. I know my ex was afraid that his libido was too much, and that would drive me away. I broke up with him a few times, the reason being that I found him exhausting. Why does one stay? Because if one is so broken down oneself that when faced with someone that seems to need you that much and they are so sweet and good to you on a day-to-day level (love-bombing, seduction-bombing, become Mr. or Mrs. Wonderful to distract you and dispel doubt) that you think, "This one really loves me. This one will never leave me." You're tired, but you can't even imagine someone else being that good to you.

So then love is a game of playing not to lose, instead of to win.

And it was so wonderful on a day to day level, or it felt wonderful, even if it was eating me alive. I remember telling someone, "You know how some ants keep aphids like cattle? They drug them and then feed on them? That's what it felt like. I was inside of some cozy narcotic fog, slowly being drained, and I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't wake up out of my fog to see it." Every time I woke up with a weird dream, or had some sudden instant knowing I'd come home and there'd be a bath drawn for me with lavender in it and lit candles, or fresh rose petals in between the sheets to surprise me when I got into bed. Love letters. Something. And I'd feel like a cold, mistrusting idiot for having doubted him. I guess maybe I have some sort of love addiction issues if I can describe a past relationship as a cozy narcotic fog. It was like being on codeine, only I wasn't on any drugs.

It's not real, the love- and seduction-bombing. It's not real. None of it.

Having grown up in a dysfunctional family, I don't often know what normal is. Having had no experience with it, I have to make up a healthy normal exist on my own. Or, better, learn how to be sane in COSA and Al-Anon.

I have a new friend who thinks that she might be a sex and love addict. I told her about my ex, and she identified with all the things he used to say and do. She kept saying, "But I had to do that! I had to!" And I said, "Did you really? What about x, y, and z? What about other options?" And she quited and said, "It felt like I had to all the time. I thought nobody would get hurt."

I don't quite know what to do with this new friend. If she thinks she's a sex addict, and she's not in recovery...she might not be the best person for me to be around. And I'd NEVER feel comfortable bringing a boyfriend around her. I don't judge her at all, its strange. She'd say, "Every time I'd say this or that to a guy, I really meant it! I really meant it at the time!" And I'd say of course you meant it. That's why you people are such good liars. Because you fully believe in what you are saying at any given moment.

How is this all related to the Anthony Weiner scandal, you ask. Well, now that I've had some insight into the weird logic of a sex and love addict (thank you, recovery bloggers), I'm a lot less judgmental. And Anthony Weiner was/is an awesome and awesomely outspoken Congressman. And now he has just hobbled himself and his mayoral prospects with his actions, and it's so sad. He was the front-runner to be the next Mayor of NYC, and now he's not even got a chance, and so WE'VE lost out, we, the citizens of New York, are all affected by his behavior. It's enough to want to say, oh, overlook these peccadilloes, just give me the mayor I want. But if it progressed. If it progresses. And addictions always progress. How effective would he be, more on the make than he is now.

I don't know. I don't know. Clinton stayed in office. But that was a wake-up call. I don't know.

Poltergeist

This essay in the Huffington Post is fascinating. The same thing happened to me when I was with The Ex, but on a smaller scale:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-wallen/my-poltergeist_b_872863.html

Triggers

A young woman in a non-COSA program asked me to be her sponsor. I haven't finished all 12 steps, so I had to decline, but she does call me a lot. I was on the phone with her for a bit yesterday. She was freaked out something her ex-boyfriend did or didn't do...and what she came to realize is...that she's probably a sex addict. She's been keeping this guy on the backburner in case relationship with numero uno guy doesn't work out. I'd shared a bit about my ex, and she said, "I identify with everything he said and did." When she talks about her behavior, that embarrasses her and shames her, she keeps saying, "But I had to! I had to."

I've felt very serene and non-judgmental about all this -- and then there's a part of me that says run as fast as you can, an unrecovered SA, even a female one that looks like a friend, is very dangerous.

Why do I think that? She could never socialize with me outside of program. I could never introduce her to a boyfriend. Then there's another part of me that's like of course my new friend is an SA! They're so exciting and fun, that's why I'm drawn to them!

I don't know why I just thought of this, but Alexander McQueen's armadillo shoes just popped into my head. They are very bizarre and have 14" heels. FOURTEEN INCH HEELS. Models refused to wear them. Okay, you think most heels are painful? It is impossible to walk in the armadillos. They're insane. I don't even know why they're called shoes. They're weird foot-covering things. Better, they're foot-hobbling devices. Women went NUTS over these shoes. They totally harassed MCQ hq for them. Can you walk in them? No. Are they totally exciting and one-of-a-kind? Shoe addicts say yes.

My codie is saying that addicts are like these shoes. Unique, fun, flashy. Completely unworkable. (Addict in active addiction.)

So anyway, new friend thinks she's an addict, and I shared some SA/COSA blogs with her...and spent ALL OF LAST NIGHT catching up on new blog posts. I honestly hadn't thought about SA in a while. I've dated some boys of varying morality, but for the most part, they keep getting more and more honest. (I'm hoping that's a sign of the work I'm doing in program, I can only tolerate less and less of what I used to, and what used to be hidden is now openly talked about...and I say no to it. So. There we are.)

Don't know where I stand with this person. I hope she finds SA and gets wrapped up in it.

ALSO. {The Ex} rejoined Facebook and like 5000 of our old friends in [Old City] friended him, which kept (goddammit) showing up on my feed.

The evil enmeshed part of me keeps hoping that he'll ruin it all again, and find old ladyfriends to hook up with, and maybe some dude friends too, and that his girlfriend will kick him out. Bitter much? Sure. He's had a girlfriend (that he dated for the last five months of our relationship) for the past two and a half years (that he's cheated on), while I have been single and doing LOTS of soul searching. Ladies who stay with your men, I have no idea how you do it.

Grow...grow...

New York is like a magical candy land for singles...IF you're not trying to get married. There is a whole book genre and a popular tv series based on this. When I got here I went on lots of dates with GORGEOUS guys, and I thanked my lucky stars for the opportunity. I gave myself a year of non-monogamy. I don't know what that means exactly, for me I think it means that I will not commit to anyone but myself. I find that in my interactions with men, I am always having to choose myself over the men. Which is fine. A few months ago I decided to up the caliber of men, and suddenly old friends were asking me out. I went out with one, and realized that I was not ready. Something is happening inside me which is not apparent to the outside observer. Something is humming and drumming away. I pray to my Higher Power to please remove all my defects of character and I am getting exactly what I need in terms of experience. And they are going away slowly.

I have some Al-Anon podcasts, and there's a woman on one who talks about her addiction to mood-altering men. I hear ya, sister.

I met a man a few months ago at work. He looked up, I looked up, flash of lightening, a release of doves, an angelic choir. I asked him if he was single, and if he was, if he'd like to go to dinner. He was married, but he still wanted to go to dinner.

Strap me to the mast and block my ears, a mood-altering man if I ever saw one. I'm learning to play piano simply because he said, "You look like you could play piano. (If that's not the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me...) I declined dinner, deferring to the missus.

He's not for me, I kept telling myself that. He's not for me. God will bring me someone for me. He is a choice, and he is a choice between pain and serenity, and I choose serenity.

I had a long hiatus, and then I went out with a boy from work (who has half-jokingly asked me to marry him several times). Then he mentioned getting blackout drunk, and oh, how quickly that gate went down in my heart. Over and out. Pain and serenity. W has started peeping up here and there. He's been in what-counts-as-a-relationship-for-him for about a year now. She's met his daughter. She's pretty. I think I'd hate her on sight. It's odd though. W has been silent mostly. Maybe all W and I have in common is our fucked up childhoods. Codependent, meet addict. Fall immediately into enmeshment, live awfully ever after, until someone leaves. Best to stay friends, and from afar.

There is a lot of talk of love for the addicts on my Al-Anon podcasts. I love my family members who are recovering addicts. I can't say that I feel love for my addict father who passed away last year. I feel numb. I even feel a curious surprise when I hear other people speak of love for their fathers. It's like, "Oh. Right. People can and do love their fathers." I even love {The Ex}. But I feel that that is dangerous to admit, even now, perhaps because my recovery is not particularly strong at the moment. Strap me to the mast and block my ears. Low individuation, even now, two years later. Get over it already, lady, I tell myself. But it's just another wave of grief that must be endured, ridden out.

They also say on the podcasts that you can love an addict, but don't go into business with them. Marriage is a business agreement. Papers drawn up, financial and legal lives intermingled. Don't get married to them.

I don't even need to worry about this now.

I am the blade of grass, over which there are angels whispering, "Grow...grow..."

Dream

I'm now living in NYC -- where I always wanted to live when I was with {The Ex}. And it is WONDERFUL. Looking up to see the Chrysler Building, the Empire State building. Central Park. The NY Public Library. The giant Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. I can now give detailed subway directions to almost anywhere in Manhattan. I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with this city.

And yet something is missing, there is a void, that "God-shaped hole" as it were. I've slacked in my recovery. Everytime I go back something magical happens. Right now I have been glutting myself on movies, books, and Facebook. I've been dipping into my saving to pay for things like Amazon downloads that can wait until my next payday. For real. Compound interest, my friends.

I work too much and I'm burnt out. I've been sick for the past two weeks, and I finally took a sick day. I feel so disconnected from my Self. I need to go climbing, I need a massage, I need to be able to buy and prepare groceries for myself so I'm not ordering Chinese food in the middle of the night. Here I am, living the dream, and I'm tired. God, give me a sign. Give me a sign, give me a sign.

I watched 127 HOURS today, and it brought me to tears, the first time he cries for help and there is actually someone there, and they help him, these strangers, and he asks for precisely what he needs -- water, someone to run ahead to where they have cell service and can call for emergency services -- he asks for what he needs, he asks for help, and he has it. And there's this vision he has of a child, his future child, that keeps him alive, that keeps him going through starvation, thirst, and unimaginable pain. Every decision of his life led him to that boulder. He had chosen all of it, he said. Now that's radical acceptance.

I guess I chose {The Ex}. I chose him. It's true, actually. I made a list, and I ordered him up. I just forgot to put "faithful" on my list. And God gave me exactly what I needed to find a spiritual life.

I had a dream the other day, in the morning hours right before waking. In it all I was doing was weeping and weeping out of loneliness. I was dressed simply and casually, cords, hoodie, sneakers (not that I wear anything like that anymore) and I was curled into a little ball just hysterically crying out loneliness. And when I woke up, I knew that my dream was true, that I really was that lonely. And I don't know what to do about it except for go to meetings and find a sponsor. I have friends. I have a social life. I've been spending time with work friends, but I think they mostly lead me away from my true self, so I have been putting in some distance.

I saw in an earlier post that I had put a picture of my old apartment up. I had put a sign up that said, "I believe in you." Perhaps I ought to do that in my current apartment. I have very little faith in myself right now. I'm mostly just treading water and gasping for air.

Missing {The Ex}

I just watched FRIDA last night, the Julie Taymor film about Frida Kahlo. It stars Salma Hayek as Frida and Alfred Molina as her husband, Diego Rivera. Rivera tells her, when he asks her to marry him, that he will be loyal if not faithful. She accepts. Their relationship is tumultuous, and she finally kicks him out when she discovers that he has initiated an affair with her sister. She goes to Paris for a solo show of her work, and writes him letters, telling him that she misses and adores him.

I miss {The Ex}. I hate that I do. The Dr. Jekyll version of {The Ex} was wonderful. I never knew the Mr. Hyde version, but I heard tell of him. Wrathful, abusive, scary.

I saw {The Ex} a few weeks ago. I was down in [City] for work, and I was late, and as I pulled up in a cab I saw him. I was on the phone, and I said to my friend, "Well, it can't get any worse now, so it may as well get better!" And it did, get better. I learned that I can work with {The Ex}, and actually have a pretty great time. We pretended we didn't know each other, I saw a bunch of friends I hadn't seen in a while, and it was fun!

I have to remember that {The Ex} is not the person he was around me. It's hard to accept that he is everything that he was and is. {The Ex} lied, cheated, and stole. I miss the fantasy. I miss the fairytale.

Weird Memory

I just had a weird memory of my stepfather. I was writing out his Christmas card today, saying how I was glad to have him around, and I remembered being a kid in high school, and he showed me this card my mom gave him. He said, "Isn't this neat?" I opened it up, and there was a handwritten message about handjobs in it -- between two married adults, fine, in private. But don't share it with your wife's teenage daughter.

Inappropriate. And creepy. I had forgotten all about that.