My problematic sexual behavior

I went to work early and just finished a one mile swim because I didn’t get my morning run in. I hadn’t been in the pool since May because I swim in the ocean in the summer. One mile is a big deal for me but part of me felt like swimming forever. As I counted laps, I thought of the days that I have counted as I try to get to the 90 day mark. I have done the 90 day gig before and although I don’t want to jinx things, I’ve got some strategy under my belt that I had used before. I could fuck this up tomorrow so I am still taking this day by day.

I went to see a counselor after I did my first 90 day hard mode. I had some shit I had never acknowledged and the insight I gained with meeting with him was huge. I plan on heading back again after I hit the 90 day mode again.

I was raped by some crazy guy, my father’s age, when I was not 15. Like every victim, I blamed myself for not figuring out what was up with this guy’s attention towards me. I was getting a weird vibe but had never had any experience and was kind of clueless. Door gets locked, I still hadn’t figured out what was up until it was too late. I was raped, he leaves, I get dressed and never mentioned it to anyone. Who the fuck was I supposed to tell anyway?

Life goes on, I try and pretend that this never happened but I carry this lifelong shame. And I had gotten an erection during this event. This was the time of life that I had an erection every moment of the day. I used to worry about having to hide it when I was in school and just getting up in class to go sharpen a pencil. But getting an erection while this guy starts jerking me off?
What the fuck did that mean?

Afterwards, I just went back to school and tried to pretend nothing happened. But I was filled with shame and isolated myself from everyone. I thought that it was obvious that I had been raped or would become obvious if anyone got to know me.

This was when I began to masturbate compulsively to numb myself but to also prove to myself that I got off on women, not men. I was shamed by this question and then shamed by the amount of time I jerked off to pornography.

I dated women, then had sex with women and the experience was usually always great. But I carried this shameful secret and the more I compulsively jerked off, I would start to think about maybe I was gay. I ended up having sex with men anonymously to somehow prove to myself that’s not what I wanted. Things went up and down I was all over the place...fucked up time of my life but I endured. It wasn’t all bad. I dated a lot of women and began to get things in perspective.

I got married and have been pretty happy with a bunch of kids almost all grown. For years I was good but then I began to have anonymous sexual encounters with men. Sometimes years would go by and nothing happened. Then somehow something would happen. PMO was always part of it but I couldn’t separate jerking off from heading the road to acting out. I was just a fucked up loser.

PMO just escalated everything. I still had this compulsion to somehow test myself and weirdly recreate this rape event to prove to myself that I wasn’t gay.

PMO was this incredible fuel that would head me out to have sexual encounters with men. PMO led me to dark places that added to shame upon shame upon shame. Suicidal thoughts...

Three years ago, I discovered this site, did a 90 day reset, had the ability to step back and look at my life, went to a counselor and it was like my life became my own again. It was a long process but I started to let go of the shame. I stopped the PMO and for three years, I hadn’t hooked up with a guy. Didn’t even battle it...it wasn’t there.

But shit happens. I started a little PMO action this summer...a billion bad life events occurred but so it goes. I wasn’t compulsive but I started to edge. I thought I got this, life is a bitch right now and jerking off is no big deal.

A month or so later, I’m getting a blow job by some guy in an adult bookstore. Out of the blue, there I am doing the same shit that sent me to feeling shamefully suicidal...again. The thing is, I never really ever enjoyed these hookups. It’s like some kid cutting themselves...I had this need to start hurting myself again.

I hadn’t acted out in three years. Recently, right after this sad encounter, I pulled myself out of this quickly, installed new porn blockers (mine were outdated but I hadn’t needed to use them for awhile but they work well for me particularly in the rebegin phase I’m in) and started a new counter.

I’ve got some days under my belt now but I have to be patient.

The big re-learn lesson is I can’t PMO. This past months fuck-up is a perfect illustration of cause and effect.

Changing behavior is part insight but part just putting the work in. I will never not be a rape victim...that’s part of me until I die. PMO will never change that event. PMO is a a drug that numbed me but also led me to some very fucked up places internally and externally.

I am not going back there. Get some work under my belt then go talk. That’s my plan.