11/01/2015 | Share this article: View CommentsBy Cecelia ~
Six months after dedicating my life to God, I felt so unhappy within myself that I leapt, head first, into a sex addiction. I got into the regular habit of taking myself off to nightclubs,
pubs and other likely venues in order to hook up with men for sex. I wasn't interested in pursuing any sort of normal relationship. It was the danger, anonymity and
excitement I wanted.
At the time, my mind was in such a state of turmoil that I couldn't have explained to anyone, myself included, exactly, why I felt the need to do this.
I was lonely. I knew that. I felt unloved. I knew that, too. I was looking for an emotional connection that I sought to satisfy with a physical connection. That was obvious.
The cold, stark reality of my days was depressing. I dragged myself around like a zombie, feeling dead inside, rejected and unwanted. I felt invisible.
Once, when walking along the street, I saw an acquaintance approaching me from the opposite direction. In my depressed state, I asked myself the illogical--and soul destroying--question,
"If I don't acknowledge this person, will she even notice I'm here?"
In contrast, the danger of the night and having sex with strangers made me feel alive, wanted, important --visible. It was irresistible.
This self-destructive behaviour limped on for nearly twenty years. It wouldn't die. The core reason for the addiction eluded me.
Then something happened. I discovered that Christianity was a lie. The jail door was open. I raced out. Suddenly, my need to seek anonymous sex decreased sharply. Now, anyone who has ever
been an addict knows just how significant and meaningful such a development is. Once an addiction is in full swing, it is very hard to control. Addicts, typically, pursue the drug of their choice
way beyond its effectiveness. Even when it gets to the point of causing them tremendous harm and heartache, they can't stop.
But, while my addiction lessened, it didn't go away for many months. Of course, this is natural. Addicts rarely stop overnight. Be that as it may, when it did finally stop, there was a reason.
The very last man I went home with was different from the rest. He wasn't in a hurry to move things along. Instead, he was reluctant.
Finally, he admitted to me that he had changed his mind. He didn't want to have sex with me because he was dreading telling his counsellor.
"Just don't tell him," I suggested in a cheeky attempt to be helpful.
He laughed awkwardly and then said, "No I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't do that to myself."
"He continued on, "You seem like a really nice girl to me. You're so sweet. Why are you doing this to yourself. You're worth more than this."
Whack! The words hit me over the head like a sledge hammer! I had been "doing this" because I had felt unworthy. My core belief about myself was that I was worthless.
I've always had low self-esteem but Christianity made it worse. I had gone from feeling inadequate, awkward and unwanted to feeling unworthy.
The bible told me I was unworthy. Christians told me I was unworthy. In the end, I told myself I was unworthy.
I had left Christianity but the weight of unworthiness had not left me. I had been having sex with strangers to confirm my belief that I was unworthy.
It had worked. After almost twenty years of trying to be an unworthy Christian by day and an unworthy sex addict by night, I felt worse about myself than ever.
Once I ripped off the chains of unworthiness, my need to have anonymous sex disappeared.
So did my guilt. I no longer felt the need to be understood, comforted or forgiven. I totally got it.
It's ironic that a Christian once told me that my feelings of constant condemnation came from the devil. They didn't. They came from Christianity.
At the moment, I'm doing extensive research on the roots of Judaism and Christianity--how they are derived from the worship of the sun. While browsing in a second-hand bookstore, I saw a bible. I was tempted to buy it, to use as a reference for my study but I don't want it in my home! It's an evil book that nearly destroyed me.