Rough night and more pain

‘Twas a rough end to the night. It had been a tough day for both of us. I had spent the previous night acting out for quite some time, leading to about 2 hours of sleep. She had a really hard day as well.

One thing that messed her up was her hair. She doesn’t get a cut and color very often. We don’t have a lot of money, we just filed bankruptcy, and she has a hard time justifying the expense. When she finally breaks down and gets her hair done, it’s a big deal.

She was disappointed.

:::ENTERING TRUTH/BITCHING ZONE:::
When I finally saw her hair I was disappointed. I think I concealed it well (good thing I’m writing about it). Her hair doesn’t look any different. It looks exactly the same as before. I know that she is disappointed with it.

The thing, I think, that really stung was from the college she attends. She is finishing up her masters degree with a 4.0 GPA. As a glutton for punishment she is getting a second masters degree. She applied for a tuition waiver. She put A LOT of effort into her application. She never heard from them so she called about it at the end of last week. Yesterday she gets a letter that said:

The graduate program in psychology would like to congratulate you on your tuition waiver of $154.50. You are responsible for any tuition or fees that your award does not cover…

What. The. Hell.
$154.50 doesn’t cover 1 credit hour. There simply must be a typo. That “Tuition Waiver” is an insult. She put more than $154.50 into the EFFORT of the application. We think they screwed up the process and gave her whatever they had left…I guess.

There will be a phone call on Monday.
If it were me, I’d refuse it in protest.

I really think she has a right to be upset.

I was just upset because I had compulsively masturbated.
:::NOW LEAVING TRUTH/BITCH ZONE:::

She reads my blog and I’m happy that she does. I am unable to say a lot of these things to her. I write them, she reads it and we discuss. That’s pretty weak, but that’s the way it is for me right now. It led to a shitty conversation.
“You’re still acting out?”
Yes
*At this point she became very quiet. There was no more interaction. She just listened. She rolled over (we had been embracing each other).
“I just came to the realization that I can’t control this. Being nice to you won’t stop you from jacking-off. And I wasn’t being nice to control you, I was doing it because I wanted to. I just realized that there’s nothing that I can do to stop you from doing it. It’s your thing. Therapist said it and everything I read said it. I just learned it.”
::::Arrows To The Heart::::

I was devastated.
When I was talking about acting out, I knew I was hurting her. I’m not so dense that I can’t read that much in her.

I had hurt her again. I crushed her and there’s nothing I can do. I apologized- that’s a worthless thing right now. “Stop apologizing. You can’t help it. It’s just that I JUST realized that you’re sick.”
:::more arrows:::

She’s right though. I couldn’t control myself. I had awakened over night. That’s when it always happens at home. When I woke up, I knew what was coming. I COULDN’T STOP MYSELF!

See, I hate it.
I get no pleasure from it.
Yeah, I enjoy the orgasm, there is that.
But this isn’t about pleasure. I don’t WANT to do it. I’m not horny. I’m not really interested in sex right now. Yeah, if she initiates, I’m there. Happy as a clam. But I’m not in a place where my mind says, “Hey, you haven’t been laid in awhile. You need to go jerkoff or I’ll make you cum in your sleep.”
I don’t have thoughts of need in my noggin.

Why am I masturbating!?
I had to do it. I couldn’t keep from it.

What a shitty place to be in.

I cried. A lot.
“You’re sick, you can’t help it.”
::more tears::

Cognitively I know I am an addict. I know that I’m sick.

Being aware and hearing your spouse say it are 2 vastly different things.

I don’t know why.
Is it pride? Probably.
Am I embarrassed? Oh yeah.
Am I ashamed? Very much so.

I can’t keep my hands off of my dong. How do you think that makes me feel?
I feel like a shit-head. I feel like I’m a shitty person because of this. I feel like I’m not human. I’m less than human. I’m a sex addict.

You know, I would much rather be a drug or alcohol addict. I’d be able to tell people. I’d be embarrassed but not ashamed. There’s nothing more shameful than compulsive masturbation. “Dude, just keep your hands off your pecker” would be what people would say. That or when they were done making fun if me and/or mocking me they’d cap it off with belittling me.

No, I can’t tell people. It’s too personal. Hell, I mock me. I make fun of me. I belittle me. Why would anyone else treat me any differently? They wouldn’t and they shouldn’t.

I’ve hurt her again.
I’m ashamed. Again.

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About MyJourney

I'm a 41 year old married father of 3. I am a sex addict. This blog is to document my progress, recovery and marital growth. Pornography is an evil creation. Let my experiences serve as a warning to all.
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9 Responses to Rough night and more pain

  1. sarecover says:

    I felt your arrows, man. They flew through you and lodged in my own heart. I know the evisceration of having someone you love confirm that they can’t relate to your condition. The desperation to find another mortal that will look you in the eye with actual empathy is like looking for water in the desert.

    Not that we deserve empathy, but it is nice to find.

    I know your pain. Tell her that you want to heal. That you want to be a whole man. I hope she can see through the illness to who you will be someday.

    Mine couldn’t… I didn’t give her the hope to see past my disease.

    I am on your side. I want to see become a whole man… a real man who is free… Though, I am just black font on a screen.

    Kick ass and take names today.

  2. chipgruver says:

    I frequently hear that “Specificity is the Soul of Narrative.” A good writer is specific. It was not the tree, it was the old gnarly oak tree in my front yard with the swing hanging from the branches.

    I think specificity is also the soul of confession as well. It is easier to use language like, “blew it” or “screwed up” or in your case, “acting out.” That is not to minimize the courage it took to sit and type that this morning. But you will serve yourself better to be specific: precise.

    For example, I really suspect porn was involved, maybe even chatting or video messaging. It feels like carving your heart out with a spoon, but specifically telling someone what you did will help you to do a few things.

    1. You will see more clearly why it happened.
    2. You will, in a constructive way, be exposing your sin to the light.
    3. You will have someone prompting you, asking you for questions and clarifications.
    4. The Bible says to “Confess your faults one to another.”
    5. You will be serving your listener. There is real grace for the person being confessed to.

    Make sure to confess you sin specifically to God. Confession is not, “I looked at porn and jacked off.” It is, “I stuck my hand to the sky, extended my middle finger, and told you where to stick your rules. I told you that you don’t know what is best for me. That you don’t love me.” Again, specificity is the soul of confession.

    Then find a person to confess to. That person should NOT be your wife. She decides how much she wants to know and you need to respect that. Tell he all she wants to know, but not more than she wants to know. Admittedly, this is more art than science. But to the man you confess, tell him everything. Get it all out.

    The art of pulling this off in the long haul is making sin hurt more than its worth and showing the joy of obedience to be worth fighting for.

    What everyone tells you about confession is that it is gut-wrenching. What no one tells you about confession is the surprising joy there is on the other side. God has surprised me many, many times with peace and joy after I confessed. The lie I believed is that He didn’t want me any more. It turns out that even though I wanted Dad to hold me close and forgive me, He wanted me to come to him even more. Somehow, he loves me.

    God is the Father in the Prodigal Son. He does not walk, He RUNS to his disobedient and stupid son. He wraps his robe around his son and kisses him. He immediately plans a huge feast because his son was a great kid. No! He loves His son because he is such a great Dad.

    And He’s your dad.

    -Chip

  3. I just came across your blog, and I’m thankful that you’ve got the balls to put yourself out there like this. I’m a recovering sex addict, too, and most days I feel like shit right long with ya. My wife can’t have sex with me without crying anymore, and that hurts.

    Thank you, friend. Thanks for sharing your story with the world.

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