Creating something beautiful out of the ugliness of my life - MA's story

MA very kindly explains his struggle with pornography. His articulate account of the events that led to porn addiction, and his sources of empowerment in the face of this challenge, makes for a fascinating and inspirational read:

By way of providing a little background before speaking to my sexual addiction, my biological father left my Mom and I before I was born. I don’t know the reasons for it other than to say that he was immature and unprepared tobe a father. I had the opportunity to meet him for the first time at 21 only to discover that nothing much had changed – I never heard from him after that despite my attempts to contact him. Dad number 2 was an alcoholic who fancied slapping my Mom around in front of us kids. Dad number 3 had kids of his own and always made me feel less than adequate and had the ability to inflict a lot of damage with words. Dad number 4 was drunk the first night we met and I made it my mission to make his life miserable so he’d leave. He and my Mom have been married over 20 years now and I still struggle to feel the level of love and acceptance from him that I desire. I know he loves me but he has difficulty expressing it and so we’ve always had this somewhat guarded relationship with one another.

My journey down the path of porn addiction began at a very early age. I recall being about 7 years of age when I saw my first Playboy. The neighbor boy across the street had smuggled the magazine from his father’s stash and we would frequently hide out in his backyard to peruse its pages. Gazing at those images was both confusing and wonderful. I was amazed to think that these beautiful women would willingly take off all of their clothes and display their bodies for the entire world to see. I burned those images into every corner of my memory so that I could easily access them anytime I wanted.

The more time I spent with these images, the more I began to act out in sexual ways. I was…..here comes the ‘M’ word…….masturbating daily…..often to the point of injury. Childhood exploration went beyond the bounds of normal. I was a child attempting to deal with very grown-up feelings and it frequently manifested itself in inappropriate ways.

As I reached my teenage years,  it became more difficult to control my urges and impulses thanks to the addition of hormones to the mix. Voyeurism became part of my repertoire as I began spying on my sister, sometimes taking enormous risks to do so. It was during these formative years that I began to feel the first pangs of guilt over my activities. Addiction was not part of my vocabulary back then – all I knew was that it just felt too good to stop. I was active in the Mormon Church and made many attempts to stop sinning sexually. I would squirm in my chair as the bishop admonished the youth to keep themselves pure or risk eternal damnation. Feelings of guilt overwhelmed me and, with each failure to overcome the desires of the flesh, I felt more and more hopeless.

My addiction escalated during my high school years  after I discovered a small stash of porn magazines under my parent’s mattress. I also happened upon a couple of videos tucked inside a dresser drawer and a whole new world was opened up to my discovery. These were actual moving images and I found that sensations were heightened as never before. I was soon renting “soft-core” videos of my own and secretly watching them when no one was home. I found these activities to be a therapeutic release of the frustration and rejection I felt over being every girl’s friend when I was really longing to be their boyfriend. The women in the magazines and videos never said no, were always ready, willing, and able to fulfill my needs, and were always available. I think it was during this time that I began using pornography as a means of escaping from all the negative emotions bottled up inside of me. For that few minutes, I could forget about the hurt and the guilt and the shame as euphoric chemicals saturated my brain and I became addicted to that feeling much more than the images themselves. The magazines and videos simply became a means to an end.

When I finally did begin dating, my developing perception that every girl was ready and willing to service my sexual needs clashed with reality but I couldn’t see it. I had trouble maintaining relationships because I was eager to practice the things I had seen in the videos and magazines and I put a tremendous amount of pressure on girlfriends to have sex.  This pressure escalated to the point that it would eventally break us up and the rejection drove me deeper into my addiction.

Shortly after graduation, I moved into my own apartment near my parent’s home and began a life of partying. Up to this point, God had been an active prescence in my life. I had remained a devoted member of the Mormon church during my high school years.  I was wracked with guilt over the things I had done and promised God (and myself) over and over that I would stop. When I began to feel pressure to go on a mission, I left the church and began searching for something – anything – to fill the void. My apartment was frequently filled with beer, drugs, and half-naked girls and I began turning to alcohol to drown out the voices in my head. On the surface, I seemed to have it all together. I had a full-time job, a car, an apartment, and was enrolled in college full-time. Underneath it all, I was scared, lost, and riddled with emotional pain. Alcohol provided quick relief and I was drunk much of the time. I was able to stay straight-laced on the job but couldn’t wait to come home and get hammered with my ‘friends’ (I learned how to shotgun beer so I could get drunk very quickly). I experimented with pot but never understood the appeal and stuck with alcohol as my drug of choice. My place was party central for all types of females who were also drunk and therefore easy targets of my inappropriate behavior. God, church, & religion became the furthest things from my mind.

Around this time I also discovered strip clubs, wonderful places where I could see and touch the objects of my desire up close and personal – without the pesky problem of emotional attachment. They became my personal utopia and further served to warp my sense of relationship with women. They became a commodity, “intimacy” a business transaction. I was young and had a wallet full of disposable income – that is, if you consider the monthly rent money to be disposable income.

I continued on this path for more than a year before one night shook me back to reality and brought my party life to a screeching halt.

My roommate and I decided to have a New Year’s Eve party. As usual, I was smashingly drunk early in the evening. I continued to drink wine coolers and peach Schnaap’s until I passed out. I woke up the next morning curled up in my bedroom closet, facedown in a puddle of my own vomit. When I staggered into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror,  eyes bloodshot, skin pale, my hair caked with dried puke, I knew something had to change.

I was forced to sober up and take a good look at my life and where it was heading. Due to poor choices in roomates and bad money management, I was hundreds of dollars in debt to my landlord for back rent and damages to the apartment. I had racked up several hundred dollars more in telephone charges to 976 sex line numbers. My parents graciously agreed to let me move back in with them until I could get my crap together and start acting like a man. Although this period of boozing lasted less than two years, I went after the party life full-throttle in an attempt to mask the pain I was feeling inside – a pain I couldn’t even put my finger on. As I think back on all of the stupid decisions I made while drunk and/or stoned I know it was purely God’s grace and protection that kept me out of jail, the hospital, or the morgue.

I enrolled in broadcasting school, graduated, and landed my first radio job in a tiny timber town 100 miles from everything I knew. When I moved away, I was sent off with a handful of Dad’s porn magazines for company. They became my nightly companions as I tried desperately to ward off overwhelming loneliness, boredom, and fear. One weekend a former high school classmate came to visit me. I took her to the local country bar where we hung out with a couple of fellow DJ’s, linedanced, and drank pitchers of beer. I ended up falling off the wagon and getting pretty drunk. We made it back to my cabin where one thing led to another and we ended up in bed together. I mention this because I had no romantic feelings for this girl but I was still a virgin and the enemy actually convinced me that I could get a handle on my addiction if I were to just have sex. As if getting it out of my system would somehow lessen my desire for it. Needless to say, it didn’t work.  Not long after that I entered into a whirlwind sexual relationship with my boss’ daughter. This relationship was where my co-dependency issues first came out to play. Deep down, I knew the situation was not healthy. Her father warned me repeatedly to stay away from her  and, a few months into our relationship, I learned she was also sleeping with her ex-boyfriend. But, I couldn’t let go. I was desperate to fill the loneliness. I had begun experiencing crippling anxiety attacks shortly after moving away from home and I clung to the relationship to escape the fear that enveloped me. One night her father confronted me with a baseball bat and I threw whatever belongings I could fit into my car and I returned home -  broken, defeated, riddled with anxiety, and determined to straighten up.

A few months later, I met the woman who would become my wife. It was love at first sight for me and I was instantly attracted to her physically. She was a blond-haired, blue-eyed, tan & trim goddess in a Payless smock and I was smitten! As I walked away from our initial introduction, I turned to my buddy and stated confidently  “I’ve just met the woman I’m going to marry”. We began dating and I knew immediately that this was the woman God intended me to spend my life with. I proposed shortly thereafter, and we were married 4 months after our first date. That was 17  ½ years ago!

I honestly believed being married would change me and, for a time, it did. We were newlyweds – it was all good! My wife was pretty open-minded and was down for just about anything I suggested. It was not long before I introduced porn into our marriage bed under the lie that it would make our marital relationship even better. It did nothing of the sort. Bringing porn into the marital relationship only created a false intimacy that would eventually drive a wedge between us.

In year two of our marriage, Crystal became pregnant with our first child. Although I was overjoyed by the idea of becoming a father, pregnancy put a damper on the sex life I was accustomed to and I soon found myself sneaking off to the local Plaid Pantry for the latest issue of my favorite porn magazine. I also began purchasing porn videos and watching them whenever I was alone. I hid my purchases in an old locking briefcase that I kept on the shelf of our bedroom closet. One day, my conscience could no longer bear the weight of my secrets and I tearfully confessed to my wife about those magazines and videos. To my surprise, she said “I know. I was just waiting for you to tell me.” Her response was loving and reassuring and I knew then that I could be honest with her about my struggles and receive her support. However, I also heard her giving me permission to continue. My viewing of pornography did not seem like a big deal to her and I continued to skirt around the fringes of addiction even after promising to stop.

By the time I graduated to Internet pornography, our lives had been turned upside down by the loss of our first baby, the birth of our second, and a third difficult pregnancy that resulted in the loss of one twin and the birth of another. The deaths of our children and the pressures of parenthood had exacted a toll on my psyche and I began to free-fall into severe addiction. I was unbelievably angry at God and completely turned my back on Him. The panic and anxiety attacks I had suffered from a few years earlier returned with a vengeance. I was also suffering from a deep depression and surfing porn on the Internet became a means of escaping the pain. Interestingly, I entered into psychotherapy but never once mentioned my addiction to pornography. I simply did not recognize the connection between the porn and my mental/emotional state. Porn was the CURE for what ailed me, not a CONTRIBUTOR. At one point, I checked myself into the psyche ward at St. Vincent Hospital only to check myself out a few hours later because everyone else in there was crazy! My addiction took on a life of its own morphing into something I lost any control over. I no longer had to slink around convenience or adult video stores. The porn came to me – right there in the comfort of my own home! At this point, I was primarily a stay at home Dad (primarily because I found it difficult to give up my porn surfing time for the productivity of employment) and I literally spent hours surfing endless streams of pleasure. Rather than spend time nurturing and enjoying my children, I detached myself from them in favor of the next mouse click. I would often become angry and yell at them if they distracted me from my fantasy world with such mundane needs as eating or diaper changes. It was not uncommon to find me scrambling around the house at the last moment, rounding up kids and cleaning them up before my wife’s expected arrival so as to give the impression that I had actually cared for them while she was away.  I was becoming a hollow shell of my former self, concerned with nothing more than feeding my lust, checked out of reality in favor of ‘shooting up’ the next fantasy. I became suicidal and often found myself locked in the bathroom with a handful of pills trying to work up the courage to swallow them. God met me in one of those moments. I was sitting there with a handful of Xanax & Luvox. Just as I was about to swallow them down, my daughter Savannah, who was 2 at the time, knocked lightly on the bathroom door and said, “I wuv you Daddy”. It shattered me and I vowed at that moment that I would do my best to never leave them fatherless.

But the battle with my addiction continued to rage inside me and I found that my viewing tastes were becoming increasingly hardcore. I would frequently seek out sites specializing in areas of sexuality I never imagined and then become physically ill afterwards at the thought of finding such things a turn-on.  I began to frequent internet chat rooms and would frequently engage in cyber-sex with strangers online. Lord only knows who was actually on the other end of those conversations and, frankly, I didn’t care. It was through one of these sessions that I “met” a woman in California. Apparently, I impressed her with my ability to talk dirty and we exchanged phone numbers. I began calling her nearly every day for phone sex. Sometimes I would engage in these conversations while my wife sat alone in another room. I began to think that I was in love with this woman and I often told her so. We were discussing the possibility of meeting in person when my wife delivered a shocking wake-up call.

I thought I had been hiding my activities pretty well. Turns out she took note when I would quickly turn off the computer when she walked into the room. She noticed the long distance calls to an unfamiliar number on the phone bill. She had plenty of time to ponder what was happening as she lay in bed all alone late at night while her husband surfed the Internet. She confronted me with the fact that my actions were far more damaging and far less innocent than I imagined them to be. As strange as it may seem, our marriage was saved that day because I understood for the first time the depth of hurt I was causing her. I know my wife and I know that hurt and feeling of betrayal had to run very, very deep for her to risk sharing how it made her feel. It was a catalyst for change in my behavior because I never again wanted to be the source of that kind of pain in her life.

That episode was followed by a long period of sobriety. I installed filters on our computers, cancelled our cable television, and will-powered my way through temptation. I tried extremely hard to be on the up and up with my wife and earn back her trust. Several months into my sobriety we were devastated by the loss of a baby girl 6 months into the pregnancy. A year later, our youngest son, Joey, was born with the same infection that took the life of our first child and spent several days in the NICU clinging to life. He survived but within weeks of that event I found myself once again sliding back into old habits. I would scratch and claw my way back out of the pit only to fall right back in. Guilt and shame once again overtook me. By this time, we were actively involved in the Mormon Church again, after years of inactivity.  I realized I did not have the power to stop this runaway train and I turned to my bishop for help. A tearful, heartfelt confession resulted in a few words of reprimand, an admonition to stop what I was doing, and a period of probation during which I was stripped of any privilages I had as a member. There were no words of hope, no words of encouragment, no explanations on where I stood with God. Only words of condemnation. Because a Mormon bishop is understood to be a representative of Christ, I felt like I had just been rejected by the Lord Himself. Worse yet, as I began to speak with close friends about my struggles I found myself becoming a social outcast in a church that prides itself on its sense of family. In a time I most needed the love and support of my fellow church members, I was shunned and left alone. I believed the message was loud and clear: You are no longer good enough for us. Therefore, you are not good enough for God.

I rapidly slipped into a cycle of depression, which led to acting out, which led to guilt, which led to deeper depression. Perhaps some of you can identify with this pattern. I tried crying out to my Father but my desperate prayers seemed to go no farther than the ceiling. Bitterness set in and I felt completely isolated from God. I despaired over my hopeless state and thoughts of ending my life once again crept into my consciousness. Many times I would watch stories on Christian TV about addicts who were immediately delivered from their addictions and I would hit my knees and plead with God to let me be one of those people. But, I understand now that, while God does sometimes work in immediate ways, more often than not He wants us to go through trials to build our faith, character, and dependency on Him.

It was not until I left the Mormon Church and found a new church that I realized my Heavenly Father loved me, unconditionally,  for who I was – warts and all. No matter how many beers I drank or joints I smoked or porn sites I clicked on or dirty thoughts I had, NOTHING was going to change the fact that God loved me. I did not have to knock myself out trying to achieve unattainable standards of perfection. And, when I got tired of rolling around in the mud with the swine and sheepishly returned home with my tail tucked between my legs He rushed out to embrace me and He hasn’t let go. Over the last several months, as my relationship with Him develops, I have come to see God not as an impossible to please disciplinarian but as a doting Daddy who wants the best for His children.

A few months into attending my church, I went to a Men’s retreat. The topic was male sexuality and I listened in disbelief as guys opened up about their struggles with pornography. That weekend opened up my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in my addiction and it inspired me to reach out for help. A previous attempt at a faith-based 12 step program was a failure, largely because I was looking for a quick fix. When I realized how much work recovery is, I bailed.

I continued to struggle mightily with my addiction never achieving more than a few days of sobriety. I returned to the program 10 months ago, broken and desperate. This time, I entered determined to do the work and allow God to be in control of my recovery. As I work the steps, I realize that I have spent my whole life using porn to cover up the father-hurts I mentioned ealier. I am also just beginning to understand that much of my past and some of my present has roots in co-dependency: being driven by my compulsions, being tormented by dysfunction in the family I grew up in, low self esteem and the struggle to see my value, the constant worry over things I couldn’t change, my perfectionism, my desire to be in control of my circumstances, and the relentless pursuit to fill the emotional vacuum within myself and find meaning in my life. I have a lot of reprogramming to do as I attempt to clean the hard-drive of my mind and overcome years of negative thoughts and perceptions about myself as a man, son, husband, and father. It is a daily battle to manage my thoughts living in a society that sexualizes nearly every aspect of everyday life. However, I know that God will complete this good work He has begun in me and my past will be used to glorify Him. There is a “Genesis week” taking place in me. Just as God created something beautiful out of nothingness, just as He replaced the darkness with light, He is creating something beautiful out of the ugliness of my life, replacing the darkness inside me with His light. I trust in His plan for my life and have peace in the knowledge that His love for me is unconditional. I praise Him for what He has done, and will yet do, with my life.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to my wife. I call her my Beauty because she brings so much of it into my world. Other wives with struggling husbands ask her why she stuck it out, why she isn’t angrier with me. I wondered this myself until recently. God helped me to see that it was Crystal’s faith that sustained her through my darkest days. She understood that she could not fix me, no matter how desperately she might want to. As painful as it might have been for her to do, she was willing to place me at the foot of the Father’s throne, get out of His way, and trust Him to change my heart in His own way and in His own time.

There really is little I need to add here.

Some readers may be suprised to read such strong advocation of a faith-based recovery approach on my site. It's true that my work does not focus on faith-based or 12-step plans, but my approach certainly doesn't exclude either. I will always advocate building self-insight, and pulling together the principles and resources that we have available to us.

The essential key is learning, and fitting together a recovery plan that works for us in the long-term. I am indebted to MA for highlighting this, and much more. Thank you.