More than just counting the notches on the bed post . . .

Yes. I'm talking about sex inventory. I've been procrastinating on that final part of my 4th step and I am sure the reason is something more than that I am lazy. God gives us what we need when we need it, right? So it must be time. When I went to bed a couple of nights ago the parade of men that have waltzed, raced, smashed their way through my life suddenly took and held my thoughts for hours. I've been having trouble remembering things recently, things like what time I have to go to work, but that night I remembered the name of the man I lost my virginity to. "Lost" is really the wrong word. Killed and buried in the night without remorse is more accurate.

Then came the one I loved and, I believe, the only one who loved me; the one year summit of my success at relationships. That bitter-sweet memory was quickly followed with my 21 year history of mistakes of varying magnitude; the one who liked to beat me up, the one I used for his money, the woman I married, and the years and years spent one month here, two months there; wrestling with men who never quite fit. Finally, perhaps most importantly, the IFX. I never knew that I could hurt that bad. I never knew that, to me, love feels like loneliness, loss, abuse and a warm body. His disappearance on my birthday was the turning point for me. That pain and that prayer delivered me to the place where God gave me my first step.

I've found my pen. I've got out my Big Book and notebook. And now I'm going to balk over the whole thing for another few hours while I go see a movie. Because I'm a spiritual giant. Not. I haven't picked it up because I'm afraid and ashamed and I lack faith that God will lead me to better things. There. I said it. But I believe with my whole heart that God has a plan, a purpose and a destiny for me to grow, however haltingly, in His own likeness and image and that means doing the work. So I'll do the work. I'll let you know how it turns out.

MPJ's Introduction

Ej actually added me as an author quite some time ago. I've been reading all of your posts, but I just haven't had a chance to post here myself yet. Some of you know me quite well already, but some of you may not know me at all. So, I figured that before I dove right in with a real post, I'd introduce myself.

Hi, I'm pseudonymously known MPJ (Mary P Jones). My real life name is just about as boring my pseudonym, so it fits. My husband (pseudonymously known as "Mark") and I are both adult children of alcoholics, and Mark is a sex addict. He came clean to me about his addiction a little over four years ago and started in therapy the next day and 12 step that week. Amazingly (Ok, ok, predictably! I'll save my smart-assedness for another time), after four years, neither of us is fixed yet. Mark goes to four meetings a week and therapy as much as our insurance and finances allow (which right now is none).

I'm a stay-at-home mom to two children: a boy (6 years old) and a girl (almost 4 years old). My son is autistic. I'm a 12 step drop out and a therapy failure. I got a lot out of 12 step initially, but never found a group that was a great fit for me, and never have in my life found a therapist that can handle me (or whom I can handle). Now I find that the limited time I have available is better spent in yoga, meditation and writing. I drop by 12 step meetings occasionally to check in, but I've found blogging is turning out to be like one big online meeting anyway.

Go figure. I'm out of time, and off to yoga. Hope to post more now that I've actually gotten around to introducing myself!

Staying Or Going.

All this talk about staying and going and choosing has made me go back to the time when I had my first big breakthrough with Nar-Anon. I came home one night from a meeting, and I was in the tub, which is the site of many if my best realizations...it came to me that no matter which path I took with my husband, what I needed to do was focus on me.

The work that I was doing in Nar-Anon...the things that I was learning...these were the things that I needed to stick it out with my husband or to be able to leave. To learn to accept that his addiction is not my problem was critical. Never since that night have I thought, "But if I leave him, what will he do?" I stayed with my first husband for far too long because of thinking these kinds of thoughts...wondering what would happen to him if I left and thinking of how sad he'd be.

He was sad. It was hard. But he's FINE.

And if I leave this man, he'll be fine, too.

And learning that his mess is not my problem was important for me to be able to stay. I'm still working on it, but I'm getting better. A few nights ago, he was making a list of goals for himself. When he is doing something like that, he usually wants me to sit next to him an feed goals to him. Generally, I'm all too eager to comply, to give him my insight and wisdom and answers (hah), and then, he wakes up the next day, and he doesn't want to do any of the stuff on the list, and I get my heart broken. So most recently, I said, "I don't think it's a good idea for me to help you. Why don't you just come up with a few small goals that you know you can accomplish and that you know will make you feel good?"

And of course, he's only done a few of the things on the list...and that's ok, because it's not my list.

It took me a while to remember that not everyone has that urge to get an A+ on every assignment. If I make a list of goals, I'll do them, all, and do them to perfection. I'm a nerd like that...but that's another post.

So I'm rambling...but I guess what I'm trying to say is that I found it really empowering when I recognized that no matter which path I choose with my husband, what I needed was to focus on myself, making myself strong and happy.

Why I stay/ my struggle with my own addiction/ confusing mess

The questions and the answers of the last week have really stirred me. I want to own the positives of why I stay- the love, the committment. I have to own the rest of it too, here more than anywhere, and that is MY addiction, my addiction to my addict. Somehow, it's the addiction piece that keeps bubbling up first, and that's what's troubling to me.

I started my recovery in Codependents Anonymous, about a decade before I even met my addict. Each week, I heard the characteristics of a codependent. One is that we are extremely loyal, remaining in situations that are harmful for far too long. I heard Mantra share that for a moment, the pain of staying was greater than the pain of leaving. I was in that place, in a moment that startled even me, back in March. My addict was making choices about our family that I couldn't live with. She saw how it was affecting me. She back-pedalled. But the damage was done. At the time, I felt so stuck, that I had no decent options. The pain of staying was overwhelming, but so was the pain of going.

Damn, it's 6 months later, and we're in such a good place right now, but just writing about this brings me right back there. It's not healed. It's buried. And this is NOT where I was going with this post. But I guess it is. I am addicted to my addict. Like any addiction, it starts as a great ride. But what used to bring pleasure begins to bring pain. And it's my addiction that kept me here in the midst of the worst of the pain. When I'm honest with myself, it wasn't the love, it wasn't the commitment, it was the addiction that kept me here through the worst of it. I couldn't stop, even when it hurt.

You know, this stuff is so messy. Sometimes I wish I were addicted to a specific substance, and one that is not necessary for life. I am a codependent. My addiction is to relationships. And even if I chose to leave this particular relationship, even if I chose to be single forever, I can't choose NOT to be in relationship, period. I'm also a compulsive overeater. And I can't choose NOT to eat at all. So I muddle through with the tools I have found in my programs of recovery- detachment, a plan of eating, working the steps.

But here's what else I find confusing. I'm grateful for my addiction. I'm glad that I was stubborn enough, or loving enough, or commited enough or even most likely sick-addicted enough to make it through the worst part and be in this good place that we're building right now.

I don't know. I'm all over the place. I think I'm just gonna stop this post here and put it out there. Thanks for letting me ramble.

For Mantra

So I have been thinking after reading your post this morning and feeling how much you are hurting...I can feel it at just the exact pitch and with the precise ache in the gut and the juxtaposition of rage and terror and disappointment all wrapped up...

One thing I've realized lately, though, is that no matter what I decide to do, I've got to take care of me. And I have to make the right decisions for me, regardless of what is right or wrong or what I think I deserve or whatever...I'm mostly thinking of all those posts that are about how we deserve better.

We do deserve better. We do. But if you want to be with your husband, and if you choose him, I don't think you should be sorry. If you love him, and he is a father to your children, and you want to be with him even though he is very sick, that is a choice that you can make without feeling shame. It took me a while to be able to accept that for myself...that I'm constructing the narrative for my life, and nobody can intervene in my story. If I choose my husband, even in active addiction, that's my choice, and I'll do it if it's right for me.

That said, I'm also absolutely committed to making sure that my needs are met and that I am safe. My money, my things, my sanity--it's important to me to protect those things. If I want some goddamned hardwood floors and my husband isn't able to help me buy them, then, I'll buy them for my goddamned self. That will mean that I can't loan him money, and that's not my problem. If he sulks about it, that's his bucket. Whatever I want or need, I can provide for myself...emotionally or physically or spiritually. As long as I look at my time with my husband as a gift and enjoy the best of it and look within to find everything else I need, we can be married and succeed.

I don't know. I'm doing the codie thing where I imagine that I'm wise and that I have a solution because I just know all too well how much you're hurting, and I hope you aren't beating yourself up for staying. If you don't want to leave, that's your life and your decision, and you're not stupid for it.

Please take care of yourself, and let me know if there's anything I can do for you.You can always come over!

My Magical Pussy.

Before I knew the word "codependent" meant "bitches who act like me," I had this theory explaining why I consistently got into relationships with fuck-ups. I pick out very sexy addicts, the best kind of fixer-upper men, because I believe firmly in the power of my magical pussy.

For many years, I have believed that there is some wondrous agent or elixer buried in walls of my hoohah that could make the worst of men act right. Show me the world's biggest fuck-up, and I will be certain that if I just put my magical fuck-down on him, he'd wake up from his madness and be the wonderful man that I know is inside of him. So what if he cheated on his girlfriend a thousand times? She didn't have the magical pussy! So what if he was robbing pharmacies with his fucking mom? All he needed was a dose of my magic vag, and he'd be FIXED! FIXED, I say!

They talk about addicts and their terminal uniqueness (Scout! I'm looking at you!)..."meetings don't work for me" and "I'm not like those people" and "but my life was harder." It's not just the addicts who think they are absolutely, uniquely, completely different...it's their spouses as well. Those of us who are sure that we are endowed of some kind of unique and transformative powers are making ourselves sick with working to fix, fix, fix. My husband is different. I am different from his last girlfriend. Yes, he's an addict, BUT. Yes, but...we're different. I'm magic, and he's handsome, and he's so smart, and I'm so smart, and look at this drawing, and wow! I can write.

God, I hate myself sometimes. Fuck me, and fuck him, and fuck my stupid puss and its ridiculous lies!

Bwah!