Wherever I go, there I am. I’ve slowed down and caught up with myself. I have been running my entire life and now there is no place to hide. I have been struggling the past couple of months. I’ve stopped doing the things I enjoy for myself, writing, walking, going to movies, watching tv, swimming, cooking and reading. Instead, I’ve put more value in doing those things that make me look perfect. I’ve put my energy and effort into others, making sure by all appearances, I am doing great. That’s easy for me. Say the right things, show up when I need to, accomplish just enough that I won’t be questioned, go to meetings, meet with my therapists, meet with my sponsors and hang out with friends. Compartmentalize my life and feelings, painting only a partial picture of what is going on with me. Let me find a guy with a broken wing and I will sacrifice everything to fix him, because maybe in the process I can fix myself. I live with 8 other people and feel alone most of the time. Build the walls and keep people out. It’s lonely and that is where I feel most comfortable. I cling to the old belief that I will be alone the rest of my life. Life feels unmanageable, again. Black or white; all or nothing. I’m on a diet or eat what I want; I exercise or sit on the couch; I drink alcohol, or I am sober; I take elaborate trips around the world monthly or stay home for 15 years; I socialize with friends or isolate for months; I have sex daily or remain celibate for 11 years. There is no gray zone. I do nothing in moderation. I live in extremes. I’ve lived this way my entire life. It makes sense to me. I’m all in on whatever I’m doing and when I run into a roadblock or deviate from the path, I stop and it might take me days, months or sometimes years to get back on track. Several months ago, I began walking again with a goal of getting to 3 miles a day. I was progressing and the moment I hit 2 miles a day, I hated walking. I dreaded getting out there and having to walk, so instead of going back to 1.5 miles, which I enjoyed, I stopped. It never crossed my mind that I could change my goal and find progress and happiness incrementally. I love secrets, especially my own and I’ve kept the way I’ve been feeling all to myself. The therapist in my head does not give me good advice. He “shoulds” me to death. I should walk today, I should eat healthy, I should tell someone what is going on, I should, I should, I should. His advice is all behavior based and is not able to look at the underlying reasons that drive me. This is the way of living and thinking that led to my relapse in March of 2022. I decided to try something different three weeks ago, something I learned over the past 8 months. I got honest.
September 2021
I felt something inside that I had not felt most of my life, comfortable in my own skin. That was 18 months ago when I arrived back from Spain. It was fleeting and by the end of September of 2021 it was gone. I continued to wear the bracelet as a reminder of how I felt during the trip, and I began looking for ways to feel whole again. I was still settling into my apartment that I had moved into the previous month and since I had sold most of my belongings before moving to Brazil 5 months earlier, I began buying things. A beautiful leather sectional, rugs, a giant ottoman, kitchen gadgets, small appliances and a bunch of impulse items that I didn’t need. I only bought the best. The more expensive the better. I still had some cash left from the sale of my house, no credit card debt and I was determined to blow through the money I had. I never lived in the present. I didn’t worry about the consequences of my actions. I am an optimist and find that life tends to work out for me. The future is where I would find peace was the fantasy, I told myself. I lived with the feeling that my life had not yet started, and I could do what I want now and one day I would grow up and be responsible.
I didn’t want to go back to work in a traditional job. I enjoyed the freedom that gig work had provided me the past couple of years, the little I did, and I decided to start driving for Lyft. I worked the first couple of weeks of November 2021, and I had planned on continuing to do it up until I left for Colorado in December. I was aware that I was blowing through my cash and was beginning to charge on my credit cards. I rationalized that I would only use one of the 7 cards and after the holidays I would look for a “real” job and get back on track. Of course, the card I picked to use had a $24,000 limit and gave me flight miles. I was feeling completely hollow inside and disconnected from everyone. Familiar territory. I was turning 50 in February and decided that I needed to celebrate. I booked a trip, my second, to Puerto Vallarta. It also happened to be Beef Dip that week. Their version of bear week I had experienced in Spain and when I had felt whole inside. February is high season in PV and finding a room was difficult, but I found one at a ridiculous price. It didn’t matter, it was my birthday, and I was positive that I would feel better once I got there. I would find relief from the internal battle that raged on inside me. I had to wait two months.
At this point, while I had come out 3 years prior, it had only been to family and a few close friends. Not living an authentic life was really taking a toll on me. I sought any distraction I could to keep me from feeling my feelings. Using drugs or alcohol to change the way I was feeling didn’t cross my mind. I did not realize that the unmanageability of life and the feeling of disconnectedness I was experiencing was due to untreated alcoholism. My addiction was working overtime in my brain, I didn’t know it, and I had no defense against it. I hadn’t been in any sort of recovery for at least 12 years and question now if I ever had been. I had sex. Lots of sex with different men. Some I knew their names, most I didn’t. I ate what I wanted, binge watched tv and isolated myself. It was during this time I met the Neighbor and his partner. The Neighbor was in an open relationship, and I had begun chatting with his partner on a hook up app one night. I went over to their place to have a three way. The partner opened the door, and I was immediately disappointed. His pictures were about 20 years outdated from who he was now, but I was there and decided to see his other half, the Neighbor. I had disregarded one of my hook-up rules, which is always ask when the pictures were taken. The Neighbor came out of out of the bathroom, and I was not disappointed. He was younger than me, good looking, muscly, sexy and kind. It felt like the heavens had parted and it was on. I ignored his partner the rest of the time I was there and had a great time. Over the next 5 months the Neighbor would periodically come to my house, and we would have sex while his partner was at work. What I didn’t know, but suspected was he used drugs. He never did it around me, nor did I see it. It was just a feeling. A correct one it turns out. I want to believe that he is still that kind, sexy guy I first met not the evil twisted individual I had sex and did drugs with at the end. Now there was also another Neighbor who I called Neighbor 2 and it was an altogether different experience. I pursued him for months on the apps. Using my rules and strategy to get the guy. Playing the game that I love so much. He was 32, good looking, in great shape and kind. We finally hooked up one evening and I experienced a first, role play. I’ve been called daddy by men younger and older than me, but never played daddy during sex. It was strange, uncomfortable, awkward and at the same time hot, enjoyable and mentally exhausting. It didn’t feel natural to me. He loved it. I was molested by an older cousin when I was a child. I have been conflicted by this my entire life, because I enjoyed it. It happened only once. Rationally I know he was wrong. I was a child. While seemingly a small, isolated event to myself, the therapist in my head assured me, it had lasting consequences. I felt shame for enjoying it, shame for not telling my parents, shame for be attracted to men and shame for being gay. My experience is not uncommon in the gay world. I’ve met many men who have had similar or worse experiences. Most have conflicted feelings over it, and most have not sought professional help. They carry a lot of shame, like I did. Sex can become an outlet to relive the moment further traumatizing themselves. A vicious cycle. I later came to realize that sex with Neighbor 2 was more fantasy than reality. I continued to have sex with him over the next 10 months off and on and only role playing half the time. He never did drugs.
December 2021
I decided to go visit a good friend in Texas. I hadn’t been to see him since he moved there, and I needed a getaway while waiting to go to Puerto Vallarta in a couple months. My intent was to spend time with him. His mother had died of covid the year before and I wanted to be a good friend. Of course, this is the lie I told myself. I was on the hunt for a new man. Phoenix didn’t have what I wanted so why not troll through the men of El Paso and Juarez. I got on the apps two weeks before my trip, changed my location to El Paso and went to work. In short order I had two men lined up. Both lived in Juarez, both had documents to cross the border. I arrived on a Friday afternoon, spent the evening with my friend, booked a hotel for Saturday night. The first guy arrived at 1pm at the hotel. We spent a few hours together in my room and he left. I enjoyed my time with him, and chatted a few times after, but I was on to the next one. I showered quickly and drove to one of the border crossings and picked up the second guy after he crossed the border. We went to dinner and walked around downtown El Paso enjoying the Christmas lights. I asked him if he wanted to come back to my room and he agreed. He stayed the night. We had a great time, went to breakfast in the morning and I dropped him back off at the border. I felt connected to him, however, here I am looking for a man, exerting time and resources pursing a fantasy that there is no reasonable expectation of getting into a relationship. We continue to chat to this day. He is the same age as me. Over the past year he would comment to me that I needed to grow up. Stop chasing the future and be responsible. I ended up staying one more night with my friend and left for Phoenix on Monday. This is who I was and what I did. The insatiable need to find connection with others overrode any thoughts or behaviors of being present where I was. Bigger, better, more. I never found contentment where I was. I lived in the future that the next great conquest or experience was around the corner. I left El Paso feeling hollow. I was spinning out of control. I knew it, but I didn’t know what to do or how to tell someone. How to ask for help. I continued to consult the therapist in my head. His advice was always the same. Tomorrow will be different. Start tomorrow. Start Monday. Make the change next week. Those are my two favorite days. Tomorrow and next Monday. Those days never come, and I don’t change. The cycle continues.
A week after getting back from El Paso, I left for three weeks for Colorado to go skiing over Christmas. A friend joined me for a couple of days before my family arrived. I skied, ate out, snowmobiled, worked on puzzles, and enjoyed the scenery. I felt disconnected and alone even though I was with my family. My insides were in shambles, and I didn’t know why. To be honest, I write all of this with a new perspective. I had lived my entire life feeling this way, so to me it was normal. What was different was that I had felt better while in Spain, so the contrast between then and now in Colorado was distinct. There was a contrast, and I was searching for relief. I didn’t have sex while I was there. I was on the apps and found some relief in playing the game. Setting up hook ups, but not following through. The hunt can be just as satisfying to me as the act of sex. A false sense of connection. It builds my self-esteem. I don’t feel so worthless when a guy agrees to meet. I have never been a big porn guy. I have watched it over the years, but it really isn’t my jam. I began watching porn at night and discovered Only Fans. I dove into the fantasy that porn provides and again felt some relief. Not living an authentic life continued to drive me and twist me up. I had planned on coming out as Facebook gay on January 1st, 2022, but decided against it. Fear of judgement by people I didn’t know, kept me from posting something. The thoughts of letting the world know I was gay was swirling in my head, I just didn’t know when it was going to happen. The fantasy of letting out the big secret would somehow change me. Fix me is the belief I held on to.
I returned to Phoenix after the first of the year. I was leaving for Puerto Vallarta in three weeks and was planning on returning to Colorado in the middle of February to ski again, so I decided to postpone working. I was beginning to live on my credit cards. I had $85,000 in available credit, most available for cash advance, so I thought I’ll begin working in March. The therapist in my head confirmed my decisions. He never gave me bad advice and validated my decisions. My sex life picked back up, the binge watching, eating and isolation continued through January. I packed my bag and left for Puerto Vallarta on February 1st, 2022. Little did I know how that trip would change my life and it was the beginning of the end.
June 2023
“You are a perfectionist” my trauma therapist told me, and my world was rocked. I had just gotten honest about what was going on with me. The black or white, all or nothing thinking is a form of perfectionism she explained. She asked why I wasn’t writing. “It’s hard in the sober living house I am in. People are always around, I don’t have a desk, I can’t find space. The coffee shop is distracting.” “So, you don’t have the perfect place to write? Instead of finding a few moments to write a little each day, you stop completely” she said. I laughed. She continued to hammer into my head how I am a perfectionist and how in all areas of my life my black or white thinking has affected me. I have attached goals and outcomes to everything I have done my entire life. Unrealistic goals in most cases and in doing so, I have attached my happiness to achieving the goals that I rarely reach. Never content with who I am. Bigger, better, more. If only I had this or that, I would be happy. The pieces of my life began clicking into place. My negative behaviors and negative thought patterns and how detrimental they have been to me my entire life shook me and brought me relief. I understand now. However, just because I understand, it does not mean I am fixed. I am making changes. I have walked a few times over the past couple weeks, began writing again and the biggest change I have begun to honest with people around me in how I am feeling. I struggle with friends telling me they love me, and they are proud of me. How strong I am and what I have accomplished and overcome. I feel like a fraud most of the time. I have not been a good friend to them. I go through the motions. I feel disconnected still, however, I guess not quite as alone as I was in the past. I have deleted all the hook up apps I have been on. The first time in four and half years. Usually, I just log out. I recognize the escape they provide and how they change the way I feel when I don’t want to feel what I am feeling. I am working on living in the gray zone, the place between the extremes. The unrealistic belief that I will be alone the rest of my life, still rattles around my head and makes me do questionable things. My primary therapist once said to me that he is most worried about how that belief is going to be the most dangerous thing for me and my sobriety. That it will put me in danger. He is not wrong, I now understand. However, instead of holding on to the secrets, I talk about it with both of my therapists and sponsor. They don’t judge me; they offer a different perspective. I am still free to make my own decisions. I have begun writing this post many times over the past couple of months. I know the story; I have lived it. The past is the past, but I don’t know my future. I’ve shared glimpses of my past and what I experienced during my 7-month relapse. It is painful and traumatic. Insanity at its finest. The full story is coming. I’ve committed to writing it, for myself. I have hung up the shingle of the therapist in my head, most days. This process has reinforced to me that the key to me getting well and happy is to be authentic, vulnerable and honest. I am working on being kind to myself. Not so judgmental. Showing compassion to myself and where I am in life. I don’t have to have it all figured out. I will be okay.