Tag Archives: Higher Power

Thirty-Five


I’ve thought for years that 2013 would be my year – the year when everything finally worked out, and I’d be “successful” (whatever that means). I thought this because I was convinced that I would come into my own when I finally turned thirty-five. I’m not sure why I thought this, but I just did.

After the weekend I’ve just had, I would have to be fucking Pollyanna to continue to believe that this is going to be the case. For the last forty-eight hours, I’ve basically lain in bed the whole time, staring at the ceiling, and crying.  I was supposed to go to work yesterday, and today, but I called in sick. I don’t think I’m going to go tomorrow either.

I have done no housework for days, and there is barely a clean dish to make myself any food, so I don’t eat anything or, if I do, it’s cereal. Much to my eternal shame and guilt, I also didn’t feed any of the pets until long after the usual time because I couldn’t rouse myself to get out of bed to do so.

I have no clean clothes, and, in fact, I’ve slept in the ones I’m currently wearing two nights in a row. It goes without saying that I haven’t brushed my teeth or washed my face, and my hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electric socket.

I also haven’t cleaned the litter boxes in days, which is a big, big problem when you have so many cats. What with the terrible stench in the house and my dishevelled, dirty appearance, I am a classic crazy cat lady.

I feel very hopeless, isolated and lonely. I know that I need to get back to meditating, and start working the SLAA steps, but both of these tasks seem so daunting, and time-consuming. I want a quick fix! I know that’s lazy, but I do. Or I want a guarantee that meditating and doing the steps will revolutionize my life. I want the promise of results, goddammit!

I think that part of the reason I’ve stopped meditating and haven’t started working the steps yet is because I am scared to death that they won’t help me. This makes no logical sense whatsoever, but, in some way, it’s comforting not to do anything, as that way I can hold on to the hope that there is something out there that could help me. If I start meditating/working the steps, and they don’t help, then I’ll have nothing. All hope will be gone.

It’s the same way with writing. How much easier it is to sit on the sidelines, bitching about other people I consider less talented than myself who are successful writers than actually getting around to doing any writing myself. It’s comforting to think of myself as a talented writer who “just cannot get started” rather than a “writer manqué” who just doesn’t have it in her to be successful.

I don’t have faith in anything at the moment – not myself and certainly not a Higher Power.

 

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Married Sociopath


I’m feeling a little shell-shocked right now – by my own stupidity and naïveté, and by the sheer mind-blowing badness of other human beings. I’m thousands of miles away from home, visiting a friend, and I’m trying not to let what happened ruin the trip.

I told my friend about the client, and she was not terribly happy given that she knows I met him through sex work. She’s right of course: hardly the best way to meet a decent man. I showed her a YouTube video of the dude I had managed to unearth during one of my googling frenzies, and she pointed out that he was wearing a wedding ring. I looked a little closer, and she was right!

The YouTube video had been posted a few years ago, so she said “Well, maybe he was married back then, but isn’t now.” Well, true, but this guy had never mentioned being married as recently as 2008. He said he was married once before, but got divorced in his early thirties – a long time ago given that he’s now forty-seven. No other wife was ever mentioned.

A few more quick google searches unearthed the Facebook profile of somebody who is very probably his wife. Also, some things he said just didn’t add up at all. Yup, the dude is married. No doubt about it.

I almost feel like he was fucking “grooming” me for an affair. For example, he made a point of talking about the long, long hours he works. Of course he did! That way when we finally ended up shagging, he would have the perfect excuse for not being available all the time. I made myself vulnerable by telling him a lot of stuff about my personal life, and I think he pegged me as an easy victim. His strategy was to pretend that he, too, had had a crappy childhood and felt lonely, and disconnected from people. He seemed so kind, understanding and empathic. That stuff I wrote about us having a “trauma bond“….man, there wasn’t any fucking trauma bond between us. But he sussed that I wanted there to be, so he sucked me in by creating one. I’ve got to hand it to him, the dude is good.

I’m flabbergasted. I just don’t understand some people. Why would you deliberately lie to your wife, and then lie to some obviously very vulnerable other woman to get into her knickers?  It’s fucking sick. I can’t imagine ever being such a manipulative liar. People like this scare me. They’re sociopaths.

Worse than that, though, I scare myself. My terrible loneliness and desperate need for love and affection are making me very vulnerable and putting me in lots of potentially dangerous situations. It’s happening all the fucking time now.  I can’t trust myself anymore. If I’m not romantically interested in a person, I usually have very good instincts, but as soon as I get interested in somebody emotionally and sexually my instincts go completely out of the window. I only see and hear what I want to hear; if I don’t like what I see or hear, I manage to rationalize my doubt away, and if I don’t hear or see anything I want, I just make up some little romantic fantasy to fill in the blanks.

In the shower this morning, I asked my Higher Power to not let me obsess over this guy. Well, I guess my Higher Power answered my prayers – just not quite in the way I had expected.

Oh well. Back to the SLAA drawing board for me. It’s pretty clear that I cannot be trusted to be within a hundred-mile radius of any man.

I am grateful, though. Grateful for the fucking internet which allowed me to get the better of this dude before he got the better of me.

I’m also grateful for my observant friend here who saved me a whole lot of grief – and for my friend back home who pointed out sardonically how much erotic massage money I lost by developing a romantic interest in this guy. They have both helped stopped me from going to a really dark place.

Handing It Over


letgoThe good thing about getting older is that I’ve learned what my bad patterns and habits are. Unfortunately, there is a huge difference between knowing what they are, and knowing how to stay the fuck away from people/situations that trigger my patterns and habits.

This is just a fancier way of saying that I will still be going on a date with the Arab (which is not good) but I’ve more or less stopped obsessing about him constantly (which is good). When I start to obsess about him, I know I’m doing it, and I’m able to get outside my head a little and observe the obsession, and ask myself what it means.

The only downside to this is that I then start to obsess about the fact that I’m obsessing, if that makes sense. I’ll catch myself obsessing, and then I’ll try to think and analyze my way out of it. For most situations in life, I would say that intelligence and intellect come in handy, but I’ve learned the hard way that both these attributes are utterly fucking useless when it comes to addiction and obsession. You absolutely cannot think yourself better.

A few days ago I found myself on my meditation cushion obsessing about the Arab; and then I found myself obsessing about the obsession, beating myself up for not being able to control my thoughts better. I was disconsolate, but then I decided to ask God/My Higher Power/the Universe – whatever the hell you want to call it – to take this obsession away. I actually spoke the words out loud. There wasn’t a huge flash of lightening, and the obsessive thoughts in my head didn’t – poof! – disappear to be replaced for evermore by serene, happy ones. But my thoughts did quieten down considerably.

This is what people mean by “letting go”, I guess, and by “handing it over to your Higher Power”. Before I truly understood what “handing it over” meant, I always thought it was a bit of a cop-out really. It seemed to me to be just an excuse for bad behaviour, a way not to take responsibility for yourself. I still think that sometimes but, honestly, I’ve reached a point where I don’t really fucking care about the million and one intellectual arguments I could come up with against the concept of “handing it over”. I’ve reached rock bottom, and I have no option but to try it.

The interesting thing about the situation with the Arab is that I’ve spiralled in and out of obsession with him for about three months now. There was a time when I’d come into work, and I’d be literally holding my breath as I logged into my computer to see whether he’d chatted me yet. If I did receive a chat message from him, I would then spend ages agonizing over what would be an appropriate amount of time to wait before chatting back. At a certain point, however, I lost interest in him, and the obsession disappeared. The fact that it has ebbed and waned has taught me that it is not fucking real. I am not genuinely interested in him as a person.

What is it then that I get out of these obsessions? It’s hard to say exactly but I guess I use certain men the way alcoholics use booze – to forget about the present moment. Most of the strongest obsessions I’ve had have been with men who have something about them that hints at adventure and excitement  – something that allows me to escape from the humdrum drudgery of my daily life.  I wasn’t obsessed with MM because, well, it’s hard to get lost in a fantasy about somebody where you are whisked off to the…..Midwest. But, well, the Arab….I see myself flying myself flying across the Sahara with him on horseback, his dark eyes flashing in the sunlight.

Keep in mind that the dude, like me, works in a fucking cubicle, but that little inconvenient fact doesn’t get in the way of my obsessive thoughts. Poor guy. When I think about how much I’ve built him up and how much he’s going to disappoint me when we finally meet, I actually feel sorry for him.

It makes me sad that I am not able to connect with men (or at least those men who are potential love interests) as real human beings. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to have a committed, honest, open relationship?

I don’t know the answer to that question. All I know is that right now I am going to meditate for thirty minutes and put all such thoughts out of my head.

Powerless


Well, hello, little blog. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I didn’t mean to stay away for so long, but it’s so hard for me to untangle the twisted knots of perfectionism and procrastination in my life to get anything done. And when I don’t do what I set out to do, I beat myself up, which, naturally, just makes my perfectionism and procrastination worse…and this leads to more self-hatred and self-judgement. It’s a vicious cycle I can’t seem to break.

The only reason I’m here this morning is sheer guilt. Yesterday I complained again to my therapist about how I desperately want to write and be more creative, but that I’m paralyzed with fear. She made me agree to go home and write, and then text her that I’d done so. I had every intention of doing so, but, instead, I went home, lay down for a “few moments” and fell asleep for hours. The writing never got done. I felt so guilty that I sent my therapist a text in which I lied that I’d written for an hour. This morning she sent me a text which asked perkily, “Yay! How did it go?”.  Blogging this morning makes me feel less guilty for lying.

Part of the reason I blog so infrequently is because I feel that so very little ever changes in my life, and writing makes that painfully clear. All I’ve ever done is write and complain about being depressed, anxious and paralyzed by perfectionism and procrastination. I’ve started to bore myself. This time, however, you might be pleased to learn that I have made some changes to my life. First of all, I’ve started to attend a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous meeting every Saturday morning. In fact, I will have to log off here in the next fifteen minutes to get ready. I haven’t started to work the steps yet, but I do have a sponsor, and it is helpful to be able to reach out to somebody who has very similar issues to my own.

I’ve also started to attend beginner Zen meditation classes because I know that I need to meditate to silence all the negative, anxious, obsessive thoughts that run through my head 24/7. Sadly, it’s been hard for me to actually sit down and meditate because my perfectionism comes into play. If I can’t meditate for at least thirty minutes, I say “Ach, fuck it!” and I don’t do anything at all. Story of my life right there. Let me make myself accountable to you all right now, then. When I get home from the meeting, I will mediate immediately for as long or as short a period as I want to.

The above steps I’ve taken to get better aren’t really anything new for me really. Hell, I’ve been trying to heal myself since my late teens,  but I’ve never gotten anywhere. I always fall back into the same old patterns. But this time, I feel something is different. I feel like I’ve reached my rock bottom. I am so incredibly fucking miserable that I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t continue to live a life which has had every last ounce of joy sucked out of it because I am constantly trying to attain perfection and hating myself when I naturally fail. I can’t continue to feel so desperately lonely and to crave connection and yet to attach myself to unavailable men because I am terrified of intimacy.

I am so fucking tired of it all.

I have realized that I cannot fix myself. I can’t believe how fucking “twelve-steppy” I am about to sound, but I have finally realized that I am completely powerless to change on my own. I have been praying to a Higher Power* to help me and, hell, sometimes I actually feel hopeful. In the past, the fact that I only “sometimes” felt connected to a Higher Power was my excuse to just give up. I think I expected the hand of God to come down and touch me on the shoulder or something and to hear a loud, booming voice say “Child, you are healed. Go forth!” Of course, that never happened, so I would just tell myself “See, this doesn’t work!”. It never occurred to me that if you want to be on a spiritual path, you, um, have to work at it. You can’t just sit back on your laurels and expect faith to come to you.

Like my sponsor said yesterday, your relationship with your Higher Power is just like any other relationship. You need to work at it!

* I’m not sure how I define my Higher Power. I certainly don’t believe in an old dude with a long, white beard sitting up on a cloud somewhere. I suppose I think of being in touch with a Higher Power as being “at one” with the universe and everything and everybody in it.