Step 2 - Deliverance from bondage

Remember the first infant prayer of the ancient king I mentioned before? I love his prayer and his innate understanding: "and I will give away all my sins to know thee." How incredible is that? "All my sins!!!"

Some sins we cling to so hard because they are comfortable and familiar and the pain they cause is one we are used to dealing with, whereas the pain of everyday life is something we have carefully avoided and so we don't quite know what to do with it, even though, in truth, it may be far less than the pain of our addiction. Eventually though, if the pain of our addiction becomes great enough, we seek recovery.

What we can't see in the beginning is that by giving up our familiar friends that are destroying us, we are actually giving up our chains.

So, what if you were in prison? It could be a prison in the penal system or a political prison. It doesn't really matter. You are in prison because of something you did. It wasn't a mistake, a miscarriage of justice, or anything like that. You screwed up and violated some law of society and now you are stuck in prison. Your cell is fairly small and your privacy non-existent. Your whole world knows everything you do. What would you be willing to do to get out?... to start your life over?... to be freed from bondage?

That is an issue people are dealing with every day, whether it is freedom from an addiction, from unemployment, or from financial bondage. What would you do to get out from under that bondage?

Once the pain is enough, we will finally decide to give up a lot. For the unemployed, it may be pride over taking a job beneath their educational/skill level. For financial bondage it may mean getting rid of a lot of seeming necessities. For the addict, it may mean giving up friends as well as the addiction. What am I willing to give up? And just as important, what am I willing to replace it with in order to be delivered from bondage? Am I willing to give away all my sins?

I'm willing to abandon pornography and self-torture; I'm willing to believe my body is a temple and treat it like one. I'm willing to bring my hidden addiction out of the closet to those who need to know and I'm willing to let it go. I'm willing to have morning devotional and to pray and listen, even when I'm afraid that, like King Claudius in Hamlet, "My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go." Still, I'm willing to keep praying until my thoughts accompany my words. I'm willing to accept consequences for my actions.

I'm willing to admit that I've come farther this time because I've finally realized that I can't do it without the Lord and I've started trusting in Him again.

Most of all, I'm willing to move forward when I'm scared to death. I'm afraid that the farther forward I move, the farther down I can fall. But I'm beginning to believe that, with the Lord's help, I can do it. That sort of trust is new to me. Faith in His great power I've always had. Trust in His willingness to forgive me is what I've doubted. Right now, I'm feeling more trust and peace than I can ever remember feeling.

So I'm packing my bags and moving on, hoping that I'm leaving my bondage behind. I now understand that I'll always have the addiction. But now I know that I can be strong enough that it is not a constant part of my life.

And that is Hope.

Step 2 - Healing

Do you ever feel broken? I do - all the time. I guess that is because I am. But I am beginning to realize that we all are, to some extent. Some of us suffer physical breakage. When I say I am broken, I think I mean my mental health. I am drawn to things that cause me pain and sorrow and loneliness as if they would explain why I already hurt. Those are areas where my soul and my mind need healing, so that I can feel a part of humanity; so that I can feel loved by the Lord.

I need healing to overcome resentment. Sometimes I'm amazed at how much resentment I feel and at how much confusion that resentment causes. As you may have guessed from my previous entries, I'm scared to death of the concept of sex and yet I resent that I can't partake of the "joys" of the flesh because I am single and really do believe that the Lord meant it when He gave the commandment against adultery and fornication. That leaves me on the outside. Of course there is that terror as well. And the guilt for using pain for sexual release to replace them. It is all so confused.

I need healing so that I can feel there is a place for me and a purpose for my existence. I need healing so that I don't feel alone when I am surrounded by people who love me.

You know when you have a cut or a scrape? Your body gets busy and starts healing it. God created a wonderful mechanism for healing. The body stitches away and creates a protective coating we call a scab which covers the area while it heals. Then as the miracle of healing finishes, the scab wears away leaving the healed area exposed.

Not with me. Oh, my body works the way it was intended to work. The fault lays in my impatience or my obsessiveness - one or the other. As soon as the scab starts to form, I start picking at it. I run my fingernail under the edges until it breaks away and eventually the scab gives up and pulls off, leaving my unhealed wound open to the world. My body sighs and tries again. I rip away at the new scab and the battle continues. Eventually my body usually wins, but at a price. I have a much worse scar than I would have had, if only I would have let my body heal at nature's pace. And I never learn. I just can't stand to leave the scab alone.

It's the same way with my mental health. I find it hard to accept healing. I beat myself about the head and shoulders (figuratively at least) and make myself miserable, tearing myself down, minimizing my progress, not allowing myself to feel the happiness that life is offering.

Somehow I need to find joy in my being here on earth. I have joy in my family; but I rail against my circumstances and against whatever it is in me that is so overwhelmed that I seem incapable of doing what others do easily and taking control of those circumstances that seem to take the joy from life - circumstances which I CHOSE, by the way.

I let the trials beat me to a pulp, until I feel incapable of taking any action that would alter the circumstances in a positive way or at least move me forward in the path of those chosen circumstances. Instead of taking control and even enjoying the path I've chosen - a path not many have the opportunity to travel, I feel like I am drowning amidst powerful tides that carry me along.

If I can turn to the Lord, every morning, and make Him my partner in my day, perhaps I can feel the strength of His power enough to heal the wounds that fester because I keep picking at them. Perhaps I can feel his redeeming power enough to resist the moments of temptation and spiritual death that tear me away from my goal.

The last couple of days, I have felt the darkening of depression. I have come to realize that this is one of my major triggers. Knowing that, I realize I need to cling to that healing power right now. As I feel like the waters are starting to rise around me, I must cling with all my faith.

Perhaps I can survive.

Step 1 - Honesty

Last night when I went to bed - pretty close to on time, by the way, my eyes were swollen and red from crying. This morning they had cleared a lot - on the outside.

I guess I need to back up; starting at the ending doesn't explain things very well. If you've read my prior posts, you are aware that I've discovered I'm fighting a new addiction, one that is conveniently sneaking into the hole left by ripping out my old addiction.

Last night, I stuck my hand into my chest and ripped my heart out. At least that is what it felt like. Hopefully I can fill that hole with positive things. Right now it just hurts. I don't even feel like writing but maybe that is when I need to the most. Besides, I am not sure anyone is really reading this, so why worry.

Because my addiction is tied up with emotional injuries, I have seen a therapist on and off for many years.

(Note to world: I recommend you get a therapist who is wise enough and honest enough to tell you what you need to hear and not what you want to hear. It's really easy to palm off the "You're okay, whatever you want to do is okay" pap - no change, no pain. Accept yourself as you are. Love yourself as you are. Well that's just great. And while you are lying in the gutter, drunk out of your mind or strung out on drugs watching the last shreds of your life fade away - keep telling yourself that. Oh, your addiction isn't chemical? Neither is mine. Doesn't make a difference. It's the same thing. An addiction is an addiction - it destroys and don't believe anyone who tells you it's just a choice. The whole point of an addiction is that you have given away the choice. So find someone who cares enough to go through the trauma with you.)

We discussed my recent "replacement-addiction" to IMVU. I was surprised by some of the discussion. Her concern wasn't just how much time I was spending in the virtual reality world. It was much deeper. In Monday's post, I used the onion metaphor to try and get at the problem. I've kept peeling away this week and it has gotten... painful.

If you haven't read Monday's post, you are about to enter the Twilight Zone. I suggest you go back and read it. Really. Of course to understand Monday's post, I suggest you read "In the Beginning" which is... long - five parts. Oh well. Welcome to the Twilight Zone.

There are two vampire rooms I felt comfortable - no make that welcome and loved in. My character would show up and people would cheer. Wow! What an incredible high. I was never popular. Not in grammar school, not in high school, not in college. Yet there, for some bizarre reason, on IMVU I'm popular. Especially my vampire character. And she is gentle. Never bites without it being offered. You know the type.

The one room made me uncomfortable because of an anti-religious feel - two crosses that people could crucify themselves on - that really disturbed me. But I would try to ignore them and I met two people that I really liked. Fun people who, knowing my age, accepted me and liked me. They also liked my alter ego - my boyfriend that allowed me to be flirty without worrying about anyone making crude comments. Too bad he was just another aspect of me - but he worked beautifully. (He was also mortal. Strange that...) Again, I was so into character, that I was no longer myself. And I enjoyed myself - all except those crosses. We danced and chatted and laughed.

The other room was originally a vampire room with a dom/sub aspect. First time there I told them I didn't believe in masters or slaves. That was fine with them. The strange thing is, that for all my screwed up desire for pain, that part of it is irrelevant - even bothersome. I don't even understand it. But again, I met the owners of the room and we became very good friends. She was sweet and full of life (other than being a vampire of course) and he was intelligent and fascinated with learning new things. That one got me, because I am fascinated with everything. I love to learn about science, art, culture, people... the list goes on. So while I danced in the room - with my consort avatar - we chatted about wonderful things.

But still there was the dark side of the room - the side that pulled on my addiction. There were the slaves that would occasionally get into sexual play and I would feel so out of place and guilty and....

We talked, my counselor and I. We talked about the things I didn't want to talk about. Not about my fun dancing and talking and discussing the universe and quantum mechanics and art and nature and people. We talked about S/M rooms and getting lost in role playing.

At the very beginning of my blog - waaaayyy back, I said I was a good actress. I started my two characters on IMVU as characters from a book I've written. For most of my friends - real life ones, ones through my church group, designer friends - it was not a problem. For my friends in my vampire room - I got lost in my character. I wanted to get lost in my character. It is as if I wanted to convince them that she was the real vampire - her story the real truth of vampires - and when the book came out - they would know the real thing. It wasn't a game. I was just lost inside her, inside him.

Last night, I went back to that room, with a very specific purpose in mind. I accompanied myself - in other words, both my characters went together as we usually do. Only the master of the room was there - not the mistress. We danced for awhile. He played slow music just for us so we could slow dance in the spots that I love so much. I cried knowing what I was there to do.

Finally, as it got late and my newly recommitted bedtime got closer, I said I wished the mistress of the room was there was well. (I am purposely avoiding names because I have grown to truly love these two young people.) I told him I had come to say goodbye. He asked me to wait and the mistress came quickly.

It was a very sad and sweet goodbye. I tried to explain but how can you explain insanity and addiction. I explained that I am different - an asexual person (which is true - my addiction is to pain which brings a sexual release of sorts - but not to sex which scares me to death) and that as much as they had made me welcome, as much as I loved coming to the room and dancing, as much as I LOVED their company - the room was not good for me. I tried to explain what I could not explain. And I said goodbye.

I cried for a long time. I was surprised at how bad it hurt. All I could think of was the scripture in Mark 9:43 that says "And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched."

I wish I could have been more honest. I'm afraid when I finally get to Step 9, I will have to face them. Until then, I have to find a more secure footing in reality and realize it has something of value to offer.

In the Beginning: Part 2 - Revelations

(The following is a continuation from "In The Beginning: Part 1")

Although the 12-Step Program was written for alcoholics and drug addicts, my church has adapted it for use with other addictions, for which I am eternally grateful. Alcohol and drugs aren't the only things that can destroy lives.

Honesty is the first step in the 12-step program. But before you can admit you are powerless, you have to recognize you have a problem. Ah - that's where a lot of people have problems. In my case, I knew I had a problem - I just thought it was insanity.

I was away at school when all hell broke loose. I ended up going in for counseling, a little afraid the counselor would have me committed. Luckily she didn't think I was quite a crazy as I did. Foolish woman!

I still don't know the truth of what came out of the counseling, and therapists (good therapists) that I've had since have convinced me that I don't need to know. I just have to deal with the consequences.

Suffice it to say, I display the symptoms of an incest victim. I'm terrified of the concept of sex, even intimacy. The boyfriends I've had in the past have slowly given up even trying to hold my hand. Friendships I could maintain, but trust was another matter all together. But while sex frightens and even repulses me, pornography of a painful nature seduces me. Bondage and torture pull me toward them as long as actual sex is not involved - just pain. And acting on those impulses to cause myself pain became a terrible secret that I hid from the world.

I also have almost no memory of my childhood, with only tiny glimpses - flashes really. It used to be my biggest frustration. People would walk up to me and talk to me like we were good friends - only I had no idea who they were and didn't share the memories they were discussing. I'd jump into my "actor" role, nodding my head, trying to pretend like we were actually in the same universe. We'd part with them thinking we'd relived fun times and me frustrated and perplexed by another trip to the Twilight Zone.

The only actual memories that have come back have to do with a grandfather. One was a strong sense of smell: alcohol and tobacco. He was an alcoholic. I understand now. When he was drunk, he did things - tried to molest my sister, tried to molest my mother, had an affair with his sister-in-law - things he would never try when he was sober. I hate alcohol.

The other memory was so upsetting and visceral that it made me physically sick. I don't want any more memories.

Finally, I've come to understand and believe that my memory problems are a gentle gift from my Heavenly Father. (For those of you in AA - my higher power.) I now believe He has taken those memories that I can't deal with and wrapped them in velvet darkness and hidden them away for my protection. I don't need them anymore. What I need is to get over them and get on with my life.

So my journal began many years ago with the first step of honesty - accepting that something happened, something that irrevocably changed me. But it has taken many years for me to get past that realization - to accept this one truth. It isn't in any handbook but it is become my focus in life.

It happened. Bad things happen all the time. It's done and can't be undone. It no longer matters. What matters now is what I choose to do now. Do I choose to pretend that what I am is all someone else's fault? Or do I accept responsibility for my life and make myself into the person I want to be.

I know, that doesn't sound like I'm listening to the first step: "We admitted we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives had become unmanageable;" or my church's version of the step: "Admit that you, of yourself, are powerless to overcome your addictions and that your life has become unmanageable."

I guess it is my version, which I think is the same thing: I admit that of myself, without the help of God, I am powerless to take responsibility for my life and overcome my addictions. My life has become unmanageable, but with God nothing is impossible.

(Continued in "In the Beginning: Part 3 - Getting Through it")

In the Beginning: Part 1

I'm a very good actress. In ancient Greece, the term for an actor was hypokrites, the root for our word hypocrite. Addicts are good at that. And as I said, I am a very good actress. For years, everyone thought I was very in charge of my life - they even thought I was happy. To be honest: I was such a good actress, I even fooled myself a lot of the time.

The problem was the part of the time I couldn't fool myself. During that time, I lived in a black hole of absolute despair that I kept carefully hidden from the rest of the world - along with my addiction. And the awful part was: I couldn't understand why I was so broken, why I was... well... crazy. All I knew was that during those times, I felt like a razor blade was dissecting my heart from the inside. But when you are an actress, you can't let anyone know. So I didn't.

My addiction and I entered what I called my Spockonian period. If I didn't feel emotion, then I couldn't hurt. In fact, the only time I felt any emotion was when I was deep in my addiction. And then I felt guilt and shame, but at least I felt something, I guess.

Usually, when we self-medicate, we are trying to kill the pain. I guess I was trying to kill an emotional pain I hadn't discovered yet. But with my addiction, I was trying to do just the opposite: I was trying to create pain. My addiction started at a ridiculously young age and as I grew older, I tried more creative ways to hurt myself - not harm myself - there is a difference. But my desire for pain absolutely convinced me that there was something very wrong deep inside. All I knew was that, after I had given in, I hated myself with a passion - the limit of the emotion I would allow myself.

Some people would say this was just a choice, but they would be wrong. There was an agony deep in my soul and something dark that I felt a need to punish. And the guilt I felt caused a continual grief that eventually drove me into depression so deep that I finally had to seek help.

Most frustrating was that I had tried over and over and over to stop the behavior and I had won the victory over and over only to have my monster rear its head a year or two later, leaving me bleeding my soul out from my own betrayal and my weakness.

Still, I had no clue as to why I was so broken, why I was so weak. And I certainly didn't consider myself an addict! Depressed yes, addicted no.

So I began a new part of my life.

I started therapy and, for the first time, gained some insight into my downward spiraling life. It was not something I wanted to face, not something that can ever be proved, nor anything now that has to be proved. But it helped me to understand why my life had become a living hell, even though most people around me still thought I was the happy person they saw.

(Continued in "In the Beginning: Part 2 - Revelations)