Shackled: My Addiction to Pornography

       I struggle with porn...

       So much so I practically live on XXX Church's website, in constant prayer that God might alleviate the pain of my addiction. My toxic relationship with pornography began in 2010 when I was a bright eyed, twenty year old virgin. I offer my testimony and my confession up...to you. For where there is confession there is oxygen and (I hope) some encouragement.
       At 20 years old I transitioned my life from Oklahoma to Nashville for a fresh start. Prior to the move I was not a believer and the "conversion experience" in the minds of my closest agnostic and atheist friends came as more than a shock. Jesus was a shock to me too. But I could no longer ignore the prophetic dreams overwhelming my sleep and beckoning me to more. So, I did what any new believer hungry for theology and like-minded people would do...I enrolled in a bible college. This offered quite a shock to my prior life that was immersed in the arts, DD'ing and the occasional part-taking of weed. Enter pencil skirts, stockings, and the occasional room-check for messy drawers, alcohol and your presence at 11:30 curfew. Enter "a ring before spring," the mantra of a culture where females generally marry by or shortly after graduation, Naturally it did not take long before I began seeking a "strong man of God" who I could share my life and ministry with. Those who have attended conservative bible colleges will understand the distinct paradigm that encourages committing to a mate prior to beginning a career (especially in ministerial fields). I am not stating my opinion on said paradigm. No person can accurately say this mindset is good or bad. Every person walks through life with a unique perspective. I am simply saying the mindset exists and the amount I have paid in therapy to undo it probably exceeds my college loans.
      New to the religious strongholds of the traditional deep south I tried to dive in quickly and with as little skepticism as possible. After-all, I wanted Jesus...didn't I?
      So, I fell in love with a missions major who was the perfect cocktail of rebel meets scholar. He had holy hands. I swear to you, even now. He was my first love and there is not enough Vodka in the world to undo what we had.
     Christ Jesus, Come. 
     My fascination with pornography began on an inky spring evening outside a local Mexican dive. The sky was heavy and full of static-the Tennessee hangs before a major storm. Little did I know my first true love was composed of storms and static too.
     Enter--a holy confession.
 

    "But only monsters look at porn! That's not normal. You're a pervert!"

    Have you ever dismantled a man?
    Tore away at his flesh as he wept while apologizing for his flesh?
    I have.

    It took fifteen minutes...one conversation...one loud silence to cause a lifetime of pain. Heart pounding, innocence shattering, I listened as he described the thick of the stronghold in which he was walking. From choke-holds to fleshy breasts to chat-rooms full of strangers, I knew I could never measure up. My spirit absorbed it all.
    "Jesus, where are you?" I said aloud.
     The church had failed me.
     I sat there...in silence, hollow and un-equipped.

     It was that fragile compilation of 900 something seconds that tipped the scales of our relationship so drastically marriage suddenly became no longer an option. By autumn, we were separated. And the will manicured facade I had put my faith in liquefied by my twenty-first birthday. As I blew the candles out that September I had never felt so old and so young.

     Enter: Pornography. 

     I wept myself to sleep last night after a conversation about my commitment issues with a dear friend who loves me beyond his capacity. 

   

   They say the addiction turns you into a corpse. I can attest to this. You die slowly. It first injects its poison into your brain. It forces pathways and opens doors and windows. It builds overpasses where little cars with absurd destinations go to collide, collapse and combust. It leaves you pining for something superhuman, something impossible...something "else".

   120 pounds was my first "something else".

   According to popular websites, the common thought among women is "Why am I not good enough?" I get annoyed when bloggers leave it at that because I am a poet, and I am much more expressive. That question is far too basic and doesn't get the point across. 

    Maybe this journal entry from May 14, 2011 will:

   "WHY AM I NOT F_____KING GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU? Was it because my thighs are too fleshy. Or is it the birthmark on my lower back? Or is it the fact that I break out sometimes and that I have crooked teeth? Or maybe it is the fact that I'm short and I never wear clothes that fit. And God...let's face it! I will never be plastic or have big boobs or be six feet tall. 

   Maybe it's the fact that I feel too much, and care too much...and men like you don't want to have sex with women who care. They want to have sex with women that make noises like dog toys right before they are chewed up and spit out and tossed aside and buried in the back yard. 
   Meanwhile, you have buried me too.

   Me, who wanted to be your wife, and make your coffee and have your children and read you Whitman...ME who is flesh and bones and blood and blinking. I was your quick release. I was your trash bag. I was your hole in the wall. I was your instant gratification. I'm sorry I have a pulse. And even more than that, I hate that you do too."

   * I must now note: To this day, I have never visited a porn website. I have never submitted money to get "pleasure" from a live-cams. I have never opened a magazine and ogled another's personal goods. I have never watched a movie with pornographic content. I have only imagined what these things entail, cringed when they are nonchalantly brought up by my brothers in Christ and in-turn allowed them to dictate every date I have turned down for the past three years. Something snapped in my head when the monster entered my life and it has never snapped back.
     Sin is very simple. Like a drop of blood in a basin of water it taints the entire body red. I never chose pornography, pornography chose me through the "logging on" of another.

                                                                                I have been red ever since. 

   


      Researching plastic surgery has become my second "something else". 

      

      When pornography introduced itself to me it readjusted my face. I have since not been able to make amends with my physical appearance. My self confidence is-at best-enough to get me out of bed in the morning. I do not look at myself naked because I do not want to know if it has taken over the rest of my body too. I used to think the rosiness of my cheeks was beautiful. Now I would pay thousands of dollars for a new face if I had the opportunity.

       I like to pretend the hypothetical guy I won't date (who I project onto every man that actually gets up the courage to ask me out) spends less on his pornography addiction each year than I spend on beauty products. Sometimes, I rehearse telling him off about this because it feels liberating to ward him off before he actually arrives.  

     The first conversation I have had with every guy friend/potential date in the past three years is the porn talk. My goal? To run them off before their sins can ever course into me. 

     The opposite sex has become my enemy.

     Let me note, in my right mind...in my right head, I know that good God-fearing men do not want to have these temptations. All they want is the heart of Jesus. And we should show them mercy. But mercy is not always that easy. And pornography never had mercy for me.

     What I am saying is: Due to my OBSESSION, when even those men are interested in me...they are not good enough, not pure enough, not honest enough to tear down the walls, and outsmart all the traps I've set to stop pornography in its tracks. I stay up all night, gun loaded...waiting for it to walk up to my doorstep. I cock it every time my guy friends make a pass at a cute waitress. 

     Meanwhile, most of the time I still feel completely destroyed. Every time I put on my makeup it takes an inconceivable amount of time because on one hand:

      I want men to notice me...

      Tell me I'm good enough...

      Tell me I'm pretty enough...

     And on the other hand I want to crucify them when they try. 

   

      I have written about it before...but the root of my commitment issues rest in a vision I go to when considering accepting a date:

       I am sitting at a table in a restaurant, or coffee shop and I am with my husband who is sitting across from me. I have just had our first baby...and my body is...all over the place. Her bottle falls under the table, and I reach down to collect it. Unbeknownst to me, a gorgeous nineteen year old walks in with a short skirt on, 

       And I catch my husband--

       Right I as I lose my husband 

       [In her] 

       For 

      One.

      Quick.

      Second. 

     And that one quick second is so symbolic. 

     As you know: Seconds turn to moments, moments turn to hours, hours turn to days.

    

     I wonder how many years of my marriage I will lose to my husband looking at other women?

     My immediate inner dialogue after this image plays out in my head is always:

    "I won't marry! I won't fall in love! I will be alone, and have a small loft with funky colored rugs, peculiar book shelves and gorgeous paintings. I will be a great artist; I will write...I will travel the world! I will live a big, romantic life. And I will be whole!

     I will lose no years to a man that cannot always see me. 

     I will be my own number one instead of one in a man's thousands!"

     And I will admit...this thought process has worked beautifully over the past three years. I have successfully driven off every man who could ever possibly love me. I have been on 0 dates. And the neon "F__K OFF!" sign on my head burns bright a successful 24 hours a day 365 days a year. 

     Though I wear my addiction a little differently than others that struggle with porn it is safe to say the obsession has devoured my entire life. 

     I am in need of recovery.

     Abba Father, 

           Unshackle me.