Sex Addict

I am a sex addict and codependent. I have low self esteem, an obsessive need to please, fear of abandonment and a compulsive craving for sex and relationship. 

Just as a recovering alcoholic must avoid alcohol, I, as a recovering sex addict, must avoid erotica that is not based in a healthy relationship. For too many years of my life I have tolerated the intolerable in order to remain in a sexual relationship. That is no longer the case with me.

My Weaknesses

Reply to “Coffee Talk” by Needlesedge:

1. I have a tendency to overreact when my husband reveals annoyance in his voice. He could be dealing with something unrelated to me. But I take it personally and get severely agitated. Maybe I get transported back to childhood when, if my father was speaking to me with annoyance in his voice, the blows were about to start falling. That never happens with my husband of the past eleven years. So I become a screaming idiot for nothing.
2. My complexion is terrible.
3. I’m not very good at blogging, but will see if I can get this on your comments page.

Veggie Date No. 4

His name was Gene. He lived in Tamarac, Florida. His ethnicity was Jewish and he was following an Indian guru, Maharaji. 

He was short, just a few inches taller than me. He was five years older than me. He worked for the post office and owned his own apartment. He liked to stay active and fit. Wow. I thought I had found everything on my shopping list. He paid for my trip out to Florida for a few days to meet him. The meeting went well and we decided to engage in a semi permanent trial. 

I still had two children at home, the youngest was 17. They were both working, and my son (the youngest) was ready to take the CHSPE (California High School Proficiency Exam). He passed! 

Feeling liberated from my parenting duties, I closed my apartment and moved to Florida, while my children found other places to live, one with roommates from Craigslist and the other with my first offspring.

Nine months later I left one of the best jobs of my career to return when it didn’t work out with Gene. He was a good person, but I was unhappy being so far from my kids. That wasn’t it, I’m still far from them and I’m happy now. I liked his guru. I enjoyed his talks. Gene was taking antidepressants and we tried to get him off, but we couldn’t. He was really hooked. 

The main problem was sex. He didn’t like for me to come. I don’t come very often anyway, just once every couple weeks or so, so it took me awhile to realize it was happening.

Then one morning, I was sitting on my meditation mat feeling sad, asking myself, “What just happened?” And I realized it wasn’t the first time, it had happened several times before, and that it had been a really long time since I had had an orgasm. 

“Why,” I asked him, “Whenever I am about to have an orgasm, do you get uncomfortable and want to stop?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “Maybe we should see a counselor.”

The counselor, a woman, seemed angry at him when I told her what was going on. “What is the point of sex if not coming?” She demanded of Him. “You like to come! So does she!”

Later he told me he didn’t know what “orgasm” meant. He didn’t know women had them. When I got excited he thought I was acting like a man. At 62, he claimed to have been a virgin when we met.

I gave it another couple of months to see if things would improve. Finally, the last straw was being scolded, again, for not lathering up with soap when I showered, a conversation we had had over and over, with me explaining that overuse of soap was against the principles of natural hygiene, a science I thought we were both into.

I realize that some think exploring sexual compatibility issues prior to finalizing a marital contract is being unchaste. I am thankful that no one was judgmental toward me during my explorations, which culminated in my marrying a man with whom I am compatible in a multitude of areas. I was discreet. I didn’t tell anyone the sexual details until now, and I’m not using my real name on this blog. 

25 Years

Getting up before dawn, eating some fruit, seeds and grain that I put to soak the night before, brushing my teeth and getting back in bed with nutrition in my tummy. This is year 25. I have been doing that for 19 days every March since becoming a devotee of Baha’u’llah.

25 Years, I have belonged to Him for 25 years almost. My inner being overflows with love when I consider 25 years of Baha’i fellowship, 25 years of insight and revelation from the Baha’i Writings, and especially, 25 years of personal love and guidance from Baha’u’llah Himself.

On April 21, 1992, I had a mystical experience while reading an introductory pamphlet on the Baha’i Faith which I had picked up 2 days earlier from the Baha’i booth at a street fair. April 21 is one of the Baha’i Holy days, as I would learn later. 129 years prior to my vision of Baha’u’llah, in 1863, He had begun to declare His ministry to His followers in a garden across the Tigris River from Baghdad. Banished the second time for His radical views, He and His family were preparing for a journey to Constantinople (Edirne). 

In my first vision of Baha’u’llah, nearly 25 years ago, I saw Him in the Siyah-Chal. It was as if the pamphlet I was reading came equipped with a hologram that opened when you read of how Bahaullah, barefooted and bare headed in the heat of August of 1852 Tehran, being conducted to the dungeon, had paused and offered His face to an elderly woman who believed she was serving a meritorious cause by pelting Him with a stone. Then He was led down a long, dark flight of stairs to the dungeon, seated on a bench with robbers and murderers, tied up in chains, an exceedingly heavy chain around His neck, His feet, wounded from the long barefoot trek, soaking in garbage and excrement, and yet He had a mystical experience during the four months He was there.

He experienced the call of God. He saw the Maid of Heaven and heard Her voice. She comforted Him with Her nurturing presence. She praised Him, imparting to Him the knowledge of His exalted Station, Manifestation of God for the current age.

I saw His Face, the Light around Him, in a dark, somber place, nothing like the photos of Him you find on the internet, posted by non-Baha’is. I saw Beauty, I saw Love, I saw Majesty. And in that moment I knew that I belonged to Him forever.

Truth vs. Superstition

As I approached the Sacred Garden this morning, thinking to offer my usual mantra, my Lord appeared with a look that said, “Please don’t offer a meaningless repetition.” My spirit drank in the Holy Presence in a wordless meditation. The mind eventually began composing a summary of the experience.

You must root out superstition from your belief system. It is easy to see it in others and difficult to see in yourself. Prayers and mantras prescribed by spiritual leaders are one thing. Sometimes they seem to connect you to pure Spirit and produce a big blessing. But not always. They can be over-relied on. The truly spiritual don’t need them.

Behavioral dogma is another thing. Sometimes there is a time to do the forbidden. It took years for my husband to obtain his divorce, and yet I knew he and I were married. After 5 years we finally had our public wedding. I don’t drink alcoholic beverages but I do eat kimchee, sour kraut, miso and drink rejuvelac, knowing anything fermented has a trace of alcohol.

Prayers and exhortations of my Faith are in Its Holy Texts. I have a phone app called, “Baha’i Daily Quotes,” which I enjoy. Reading the words penned by the Lord of your Faith is a kind of food. Still sometimes I don’t read them. Sometimes when I meet Baha’u’llah in the Sacred Garden, He asks me why I haven’t been reading His Words, then the next Passage I read is particularly meaningful.

My Nightly Routine

My Nightly Routine

Hips are still sore. I use a small round rock in a sock to lie on, moving on it from time to time throughout the night, one sore muscle at a time.

I also like the back knobber:

Then I use a zapper when one of the chronic sores I have starts itching. The zapper does not seem to get rid of them completely, but it helps with the itching.

Both of the copper electrodes have to be touching skin at the same time. I think it works faster to control the itch if the itch is touching one of the electrodes. It’s a little awkward when the sore on my nose stats itching, but my nose bends a little to accommodate it, and relief comes fast.

I enjoy reading Facebook and WordPress until I get sleepy, and then again when I wake up early. My husband and I are both lying here with our phones, charging them both on a 20000 mAh  battery charger which I had charged on the  solar system yesterday, even though it was cloudy and rainy. 

It is still dark prior to dawn this morning, so I used my flashlight to illuminate the photo subjects. 

It’s morning now, I can show you some more of my things:

 Squat Toilet

 Two-burner stove,

I just added the second burner (the rock one) yesterday.

View of the dome from the trail to the driveway (where our largest solar array–the one that works even when it’s cloudy–is). It’s a ways, you can’t get to our dome home except by walking.

The Him

Life would be wonderful if I just had Mama. She is nice to me and doesn’t yell and hit all the time. But the Daddy thing is only good for yelling and hitting. What an awful thing he is. Why can’t he just go away and leave us alone? You think I like being hit and yelled at all the time? Well I don’t! I don’t like it at all! My throat gets sore from sobbing and crying. My throat turns to a rock. All I can do is shake with sobs. The awful thing hits me and hits me, and yells and hits.