~Don't knock masturbation - it's sex with someone I love~ Woody Allen
Exercising at the gym is like foreplay, but without the happy ending; heart racing, blood pumping, sweaty, endorphins, sexy guys with hot bodies. Everyone is clothed, so it's kind of like healthy porn. It's the ultimate safe "sex." The gym has always been an aphrodisiac for me. If any gym can convince people that working out is as good or better than sex, drugs and alcohol, they'll make a billion dollars as obviously, those are all multi-billion dollar industries. Sobriety hasn't removed my sexual desire. If anything, the feelings have intensified as my brain continues to regulate itself from years of abuse, so it seeks comfort and highs. It's normal after alcohol that the next addiction is sex. It used to sound funny to me, but now it makes perfect sense. I wasn't a full blown sex addict when I was using drugs and alcohol, but I did get highs from men. Addiction is a progressive disease, so I want to be conscious about sex addiction because I know my behavior with men can ruin my life just as much as alcohol and drugs. I'm not blaming guys as I have the power to ruin or improve my life; no one else.
In addition to men, sports is a huge trigger for me especially watching events like the Super Bowl. For the first time in a while, I had no plans to go anywhere to watch it as I knew it would be a struggle. I did, however, go to the gym for my first official "date" with my trainer for a series of fitness tests involving endurance, flexibility and strength. After the nausea subsided, I experienced terrible insomnia, so I actually missed our original "date" the previous morning because I had gone to bed at 7 am and didn't hear my alarm. I was so bummed, but he was still nice to me and we kind of joked about it. I learned that he also strength trains for the University of Minnesota Gophers Football Team. I told him that I've never been to a game, so he said that he could get me tickets next season. I'm sure he says that to all the girls. They have a beautiful new stadium that I've wanted to check out and I refrained from asking to sit next to him or on him.
He's the training manager and handles all the sales, so he had to go and had someone else do my measurements. A cute guy came over who was conversational with a good sense of humor. I've regained and embraced my shyness and modesty now that I'm sober, so I appreciated that he was a good talker and joked around with me as he was tape measuring my body. Since he was so calm, cool and professional, it was a pretty enjoyable experience. Actually, in retrospect, it was probably the most erotic experience that I've ever had sober. He was inches from me measuring my neck, chest, waist, hips and then he had me face him to measure my thighs and calves. While his head was near my crotch, all I could think about was that I hope it didn't smell as I hadn't showered in a couple days. I'm really self-conscious about anything on my body smelling around other people; scalp, hair, armpits, crotch and feet rank at the top of the list.
I call him my trainer and he does the initial assessments, but I'll actually be working with someone from his staff whom I'll get to select. However, I was happy to hear that he'd be doing all my measurements each month in the future. I know it's to monitor the progress of his staff and me, but yay, I'll get to have clothed "sex" once a month. I know it's not really sex that I want, but the emotional connection. I never had nurturing from my birth parents or healthy nurturing from my adoptive parents growing up. A friend of mine once commented that she always thought I had "daddy issues." I hated the phrase as I thought it was gross to think of other men that way, but she was totally right. Children need nurturing and if they don't get it from their parents, they'll seek it elsewhere. For me, it's been a lifelong search for someone to fill that intense void and of course, it's an unrealistic expectation and impossible for anyone here to do that for me.
For the last few months, I've been sheltered and protected from alcohol, drugs and men. In rehab, I had no contact with alcohol or drugs and little contact with men. Since being out of rehab, I've spent time with guy friends who are like my brothers. They've been nurturing and protective, but I crave that emotional bond with someone like a significant other. Since I don't frequent bars anymore, the gym is kind of like my reintroduction to the world of men. I left the gym feeling frickin horny and very lonely. To decompress, I showered myself in freezing winter weather, drove my car and cried. I'm not comfortable crying in front of people. I stopped trying to seek comfort from my parents when I was young because they were the cause of a lot of my pain. I always felt comfortable crying alone in my room or the bathroom because those were safe places for my emotions. My favorite place to cry is my car. I have a hard time sitting still, so in my car, it's comforting to sit still with my thoughts and feelings and still be moving. I blast the music and feel safe crying and yelling sometimes.
I thought it was so stupid of me to feel sad about losing my car in my accident last fall, but now I understand why I had such a hard time. I had a relationship and bonded with my car for eight years. I had wanted her since I saw her in a movie when I was 11 years old and after a series of junkers, she was my first brand new car after college. I paid for her all by myself and named her Gabi. She was a silver 2002 Volkswagen Cabrio with black leather interior. The salesman said that it was the last year VW was making Cabrio's, so it was destiny. She knew me better than anyone else and we traveled on many journeys together through positive and negative life events with boyfriends, family, friends, work, sports, etc. She knew my thoughts and feelings better than anyone else and I felt safe because she couldn't hurt me. Plus, she made me feel cute, cool, sexy, smart and sassy. I realized the other day why God allowed her to be taken away from me. In addition to stopping alcohol and drugs, He also wanted me to start having intimate relationships and seeking help and support from people rather than from things. He wanted me to learn for myself that I could never find true happiness and love from things.
In treatment, I've learned to express my feelings and cry in front of other women who share similar experiences. I always look down while I'm crying. It's still a process outside of treatment to feel vulnerable and share those feeling with my friends. It's no one's fault because they're all so kind, thoughtful and loving. It's just me having to take baby steps of rewiring my brain to feel safe and secure expressing emotions in front of people. My best friend since high school has been in tears a couple times because she didn't know how much pain I was in over the years. I told her that it wasn't her fault at all and that I didn't blame her for anything because I didn't know how to identify and express my emotions, so how could she know. I hid from everyone and put on a facade for years even with my best friend. She's so sweet and I thanked her again for all the times she's been there for me and for helping me through the worst times of my life by just being present. I was so fearful to lose all of my friends especially my best friend if I told them all the painful and horrible things I've experienced and did to others and myself. Those fears almost prevented me from seeking help and ultimately, resulted in physical, spiritual and emotional pain which almost killed me.
I was starting to isolate a bit last week and God sent a lot of people my way this weekend to comfort me. A friend randomly asked me to go to dinner on Friday night and later that night, I saw another friend unexpectedly at AA and we went to see The King's Speech. On Saturday, my best friend called and said she was in town. I was in a deep depression the last time she was here and was stuck in bed, so it was great to see her and catch up. I also spent time with my roomies at a birthday party for a friend. Super Bowl Sunday, I worked out and spent time alone to reflect, so it was a good and balanced weekend. God was very good to me because he didn't allow me to isolate for too long and got me through my intense cravings and loneliness.
I was almost to Wisconsin and decided that it probably wasn't the best place since they serve on Sundays, so I turned around and drove some more westward. When I finally returned home from driving, I could only watch a couple minutes of the game not only because it's a trigger, but because I hate the Packers as much as I hate the Yankees if not slightly more. I think all the players are hot, sexy and talented, but I still hate them. The Pack has made it to the Super Bowl four times in my lifetime and it annoys me so much to the point that I couldn't even watch it this year even for the commercials. I want to see the Vikings in the Super Bowl at least once before I die. If not, when I'm in Heaven, I'll bug God for a miracle and watch the Super Bowl from there at my Grandma's mansion with a purple door. She had a red house on Earth and painted her door purple because she loved all things purple including the Vikes because of their uniforms. I miss my Grandma because she was the most nurturing to me when I was growing up and she has always been the woman who I most admire and aspire to be like someday.
Exercising at the gym is like foreplay, but without the happy ending; heart racing, blood pumping, sweaty, endorphins, sexy guys with hot bodies. Everyone is clothed, so it's kind of like healthy porn. It's the ultimate safe "sex." The gym has always been an aphrodisiac for me. If any gym can convince people that working out is as good or better than sex, drugs and alcohol, they'll make a billion dollars as obviously, those are all multi-billion dollar industries. Sobriety hasn't removed my sexual desire. If anything, the feelings have intensified as my brain continues to regulate itself from years of abuse, so it seeks comfort and highs. It's normal after alcohol that the next addiction is sex. It used to sound funny to me, but now it makes perfect sense. I wasn't a full blown sex addict when I was using drugs and alcohol, but I did get highs from men. Addiction is a progressive disease, so I want to be conscious about sex addiction because I know my behavior with men can ruin my life just as much as alcohol and drugs. I'm not blaming guys as I have the power to ruin or improve my life; no one else.
In addition to men, sports is a huge trigger for me especially watching events like the Super Bowl. For the first time in a while, I had no plans to go anywhere to watch it as I knew it would be a struggle. I did, however, go to the gym for my first official "date" with my trainer for a series of fitness tests involving endurance, flexibility and strength. After the nausea subsided, I experienced terrible insomnia, so I actually missed our original "date" the previous morning because I had gone to bed at 7 am and didn't hear my alarm. I was so bummed, but he was still nice to me and we kind of joked about it. I learned that he also strength trains for the University of Minnesota Gophers Football Team. I told him that I've never been to a game, so he said that he could get me tickets next season. I'm sure he says that to all the girls. They have a beautiful new stadium that I've wanted to check out and I refrained from asking to sit next to him or on him.
He's the training manager and handles all the sales, so he had to go and had someone else do my measurements. A cute guy came over who was conversational with a good sense of humor. I've regained and embraced my shyness and modesty now that I'm sober, so I appreciated that he was a good talker and joked around with me as he was tape measuring my body. Since he was so calm, cool and professional, it was a pretty enjoyable experience. Actually, in retrospect, it was probably the most erotic experience that I've ever had sober. He was inches from me measuring my neck, chest, waist, hips and then he had me face him to measure my thighs and calves. While his head was near my crotch, all I could think about was that I hope it didn't smell as I hadn't showered in a couple days. I'm really self-conscious about anything on my body smelling around other people; scalp, hair, armpits, crotch and feet rank at the top of the list.
I call him my trainer and he does the initial assessments, but I'll actually be working with someone from his staff whom I'll get to select. However, I was happy to hear that he'd be doing all my measurements each month in the future. I know it's to monitor the progress of his staff and me, but yay, I'll get to have clothed "sex" once a month. I know it's not really sex that I want, but the emotional connection. I never had nurturing from my birth parents or healthy nurturing from my adoptive parents growing up. A friend of mine once commented that she always thought I had "daddy issues." I hated the phrase as I thought it was gross to think of other men that way, but she was totally right. Children need nurturing and if they don't get it from their parents, they'll seek it elsewhere. For me, it's been a lifelong search for someone to fill that intense void and of course, it's an unrealistic expectation and impossible for anyone here to do that for me.
For the last few months, I've been sheltered and protected from alcohol, drugs and men. In rehab, I had no contact with alcohol or drugs and little contact with men. Since being out of rehab, I've spent time with guy friends who are like my brothers. They've been nurturing and protective, but I crave that emotional bond with someone like a significant other. Since I don't frequent bars anymore, the gym is kind of like my reintroduction to the world of men. I left the gym feeling frickin horny and very lonely. To decompress, I showered myself in freezing winter weather, drove my car and cried. I'm not comfortable crying in front of people. I stopped trying to seek comfort from my parents when I was young because they were the cause of a lot of my pain. I always felt comfortable crying alone in my room or the bathroom because those were safe places for my emotions. My favorite place to cry is my car. I have a hard time sitting still, so in my car, it's comforting to sit still with my thoughts and feelings and still be moving. I blast the music and feel safe crying and yelling sometimes.
I thought it was so stupid of me to feel sad about losing my car in my accident last fall, but now I understand why I had such a hard time. I had a relationship and bonded with my car for eight years. I had wanted her since I saw her in a movie when I was 11 years old and after a series of junkers, she was my first brand new car after college. I paid for her all by myself and named her Gabi. She was a silver 2002 Volkswagen Cabrio with black leather interior. The salesman said that it was the last year VW was making Cabrio's, so it was destiny. She knew me better than anyone else and we traveled on many journeys together through positive and negative life events with boyfriends, family, friends, work, sports, etc. She knew my thoughts and feelings better than anyone else and I felt safe because she couldn't hurt me. Plus, she made me feel cute, cool, sexy, smart and sassy. I realized the other day why God allowed her to be taken away from me. In addition to stopping alcohol and drugs, He also wanted me to start having intimate relationships and seeking help and support from people rather than from things. He wanted me to learn for myself that I could never find true happiness and love from things.
In treatment, I've learned to express my feelings and cry in front of other women who share similar experiences. I always look down while I'm crying. It's still a process outside of treatment to feel vulnerable and share those feeling with my friends. It's no one's fault because they're all so kind, thoughtful and loving. It's just me having to take baby steps of rewiring my brain to feel safe and secure expressing emotions in front of people. My best friend since high school has been in tears a couple times because she didn't know how much pain I was in over the years. I told her that it wasn't her fault at all and that I didn't blame her for anything because I didn't know how to identify and express my emotions, so how could she know. I hid from everyone and put on a facade for years even with my best friend. She's so sweet and I thanked her again for all the times she's been there for me and for helping me through the worst times of my life by just being present. I was so fearful to lose all of my friends especially my best friend if I told them all the painful and horrible things I've experienced and did to others and myself. Those fears almost prevented me from seeking help and ultimately, resulted in physical, spiritual and emotional pain which almost killed me.
I was starting to isolate a bit last week and God sent a lot of people my way this weekend to comfort me. A friend randomly asked me to go to dinner on Friday night and later that night, I saw another friend unexpectedly at AA and we went to see The King's Speech. On Saturday, my best friend called and said she was in town. I was in a deep depression the last time she was here and was stuck in bed, so it was great to see her and catch up. I also spent time with my roomies at a birthday party for a friend. Super Bowl Sunday, I worked out and spent time alone to reflect, so it was a good and balanced weekend. God was very good to me because he didn't allow me to isolate for too long and got me through my intense cravings and loneliness.
I was almost to Wisconsin and decided that it probably wasn't the best place since they serve on Sundays, so I turned around and drove some more westward. When I finally returned home from driving, I could only watch a couple minutes of the game not only because it's a trigger, but because I hate the Packers as much as I hate the Yankees if not slightly more. I think all the players are hot, sexy and talented, but I still hate them. The Pack has made it to the Super Bowl four times in my lifetime and it annoys me so much to the point that I couldn't even watch it this year even for the commercials. I want to see the Vikings in the Super Bowl at least once before I die. If not, when I'm in Heaven, I'll bug God for a miracle and watch the Super Bowl from there at my Grandma's mansion with a purple door. She had a red house on Earth and painted her door purple because she loved all things purple including the Vikes because of their uniforms. I miss my Grandma because she was the most nurturing to me when I was growing up and she has always been the woman who I most admire and aspire to be like someday.
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