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The NIU thread reminded me of a zinger moment last Spring. I'd been living in my car for almost a year. Another car person I was friends with would go for a tattoo every time he got a bit of money together.

Well, this one afternoon he pulled his car along mine (evenyday stuff) and we were talking. He got that gleam in his eye telling me about the overtime money he had - and was going for a large tattoo. Did I want to come along?

And damned if I didn't find that I really, really wanted to go, too. We kicked around pics and possible body places. And how big. And I could feel the rush.

But I could also feel subtle warning bells. Never in my life had I considered such a thing. I liked looking at tattoos on others, but it wasn't for me. Never really thought about why. It was just unthinkable - until that moment.

Told him this notion was so out of character for me that I had to pass until I thought it through. We were both in addiction recovery over five years, so he understood.

It wasn't until the next day that the answer came. I'd been floundering in my lack of progress in finding clues to work on the next thing needing fixed in me. Feeling spiritually bereft and exhausted from a winter of day to day living like I was.

And it hit me. For ME, wanting that tattoo had everything to do with cutting. The exquisite pain, the trickling of blood that I would see coming from those punctures. And I sense that, once begun, I would never stop.

It was a helluva wake-up call to get out of auto pilot and get to work on recovery. I hadn't cut since I was a child of eight or so. It knocked my socks off that that tendency was not gone, just dormant. In my heart of hearts, I realized that it wasn't the thought of a pretty picture that had me salivating.

I can't look at tattoos anymore the same way I used to. Just as I can't see a booze commercial the way I used to. I don't say anything - it's just one of the many things my ego has in its bag of tricks for *me*.

I am finding BPDR so incredibly rich with 'hits' for me that I don't know where to start. Some are huge, and I thank everyone who has shared their insides so that I can find words for mine. I randomly go back to older posts and hope it won't be a problem when they come back to the surface.

Feed Hope,

"Don't give up five minutes before the miracle happens."

It is great that you were able to spot the warning signs and act upon them!!




Did you manage to find any kind of solution to this?

Dag, Pamela - you are quite an excellent writer... (did you know that? )

Your insightfulness of last spring, and of the connection made more recently is also inspiring.

~ jr

Did you manage to find any kind of solution to this?[/quote]

hi guidedbyvoices....yes, changes did come but not before I made another amazing discovery that I had no idea how to work with. I decided on a geographical. They had Labor Ready everywhere (temp day work places for those not familiar with them). I wanted to see the Grand Canyon. It had been in my mind for a couple of years since going homeless that I'd just like to see it.

Trouble was, I didn't know if I would simply experience something outside myself that matched the abyss within me. Or if I might connect so closely to it that I would just choose to topple in. Figured I'd find out one way or the other, neither, or both. Didn't really matter.

Had become acquaintances with a guy at Labor Ready and mentioned I might be pulling out soon. Decided to go together. The car is old and he'd been there before and knew some ropes. Money being tight, he suggested camping along the way while we worked our way to the GC. Said he'd teach me. Cool beans!

Very high on a mountain in this state park, it wasn't spring yet. Things got testy. I was up front about my being asexual for the past ten years and why. (I'd made up my mind after getting sober that I was done with dysfunctional relationships until I was fixed. A couple of years before getting sober, I was just too selfish to share the booze and drank alone.)

The third night on the mountain I assessed the situation. If I maintained my stance, I could be looking at another forced situation. No, thanks. Decided to compromise and only do oral sex on him and him not touch me. He was agreeable. I'd always 'gone somewhere' - was 'someone else' in the past - and that happened almost immediately. It's kinda like I flip a switch. And when I switch it off, I don't recall it until the next time. No guilt, no second-guessing, once I'd made the decision.

The snow came - lots of it and we left in the middle of the night to get down the cliff roads. Got a hotel and things went fine for a week. We both got jobs. His first pay check, he got drunk. I'd never seen him drink or drug and he knew I was in recovery.

I was the one with the car and he depended on me to take him to work. Alarms were going off in all directions but I just couldn't leave him stranded. Another week and he had a company vehicle the next day. He got very drunk that evening - to the point of peeing his pants in Target and not realizing it. I have to admit that watching him flirt with the cashier soaked down his front was a sight to behold. It was so funny but I didn't laugh. Still makes me smile; it was such a contradiction. But I smile at the insanity of the disease, not him. I waited for him to realize his predicament, but he didn't. He even insisted in going to another store before going 'home'. Who am I to argue with a drunk?

But on the way home, I made the mistake of asking him how he had gotten so drunk on half a can of beer before leaving the room. And the rage he had was incredible. How DARE I question him! He ended up telling me to leave that night. So I did and came back to where I started from in New Mexico.

But I came back with the most outrageous problem. All my body could think about was sex - and it had been that way for two days before that. Indulging in self-pleasure didn't fix it for more than a couple of hours. So gave up. It was making me insane. I had no desire to have regular sex in my head, but my body could have taken on every man in Rhode Island - and maybe Texas. There was something seriously wrong with me, and I was clueless.

Got back to NM and decided I'd better hit an AA meeting. I don't go to face-to-face (f2f) meetings because of my problems with groups (and afraid someone will touch me/hug me/ask something personal like "What's your name?"). But I became willing to do whatever it took to get sober - and stay that way, so bit the bullet. I didn't think I'd drink over it but heading off to find strangers to cure me was a possiblity that seemed the same as jumping off a cliff.

I stopped to look at the bulletin board when I walked in just to get my bearings. And on a bright pink piece of paper was, "Sex Addicts Annonymous." There was a loud thud in my being. Couldn't be. No way. Nothing in my past would make that possible. But there was no denying that I'd been 'yanked'. I memorized the meeting time and went.

The first thing someone shared was that being abstinent did not cure the problem. As they continued to share, I realized that while I spent my life being 'choosy', rational, deliberate in all but a couple of drunken times - I was only fooling myself. But for rigid rules I put in place in my late teens, I'dda been a happy prostitute. Nah, just a sexually liberal woman. <bg>

And then I remembered a time in my late 20s when I was stationed at an air force base back east. It was Halloween. Don't know how the plan got hatched, but this tall black guy who lived in the dorm upstairs and another chick down the hall and I went as pimp and prostitues. Except that when I got to the party, I wasn't playing. It was like someone else took the reins.

I hooked up with a guy and we went back to his room. Only oral for him, but he had a good time. Because I never actually understood sex, I aimed to be a perfectionist about it and learned a great deal from book and experimentation. Anyway, when I was leaving, he told me that the money was on the dresser. I laughed warmly. Said, no, it was all just a game. A one time good deal.

And didn't he find out who I was and go and call me the next day. Wanted to see me again. I was soooooo livid. And writing this, I finally see why. He brought that girl into the other life. They were nothing like each other. At the time, I just said NO. It was a party, an act. Get over it! He came into the medical clinic where I worked one day. Spoke like he knew me. I asked him where he knew me from - Halloween? Oh, hi. There was no connection. I knew what he was talking about, but I didn't recognize him.

And, damn, if this isn't ringing a bell or two - could it be that I dissociate so easily that that is why I can't remember people who remember me? I have my going to the doctor mode, my going to the market mode - and I don't recognize people that I work with unless I'm 'brought back' and can make a connection. My life is compartmentalized. This is new info for me and I'm amazed at what is coming out of my fingertips.

And this ties in with something I've been thinking about off and on for a couple of months in my current job (which was taken from 8 to 4 hrs/day, starting today). I can't remember the names of people that I see every day. Been told a couple of times. But if it's a week or so before I run into the drivers or loaders again, it's a mystery. They don't even look familiar until I connect them in some way - a certain truck or something.

And I think it's because I don't 'feel'. That to remember, one has to feel. Then again, maybe each encounter is 'new' - a new mode I put on. I dunno. It just doesn't seem possible that one could put so many people in a 'compartment' and when the transaction is done, the memory slate of them is clean. Gonna have to think about this - or better yet, watch at work for a couple of days.

Geez, talk about a long way to answer a question....if you're still with me or have dropped down here, guidedbyvoices, things did change. Accepting that I was a non-practicing sex-addict happened. Only went to a couple of meetings and then got books. I found me and my 'yets'. Then took the plunge to get a regular job through a temp service and have been here eight months. Had to have internet and a place to work on me. Live in a little trailor off the beaten path. Took about a month to get used to. If a house wasn't so close by, I'd have slept in my car more than once in the beginning.

Something about going homeless for the first time in my life at 50 (I'm 53 now) - after the initial fear and getting on the bus, I felt that my outsides finally matched my insides. I had more in common with street folks than I ever did in the career that hid me from me. It was okay to be a little eccentric (or a lot) in shelters or on the street. People understood - and respected - that I didn't want to be touched. I could relax in a way I'd never known. And I understood those with more outward problems than me - more than I'd ever understood a 'normal' person.

I have a helluva time in this job with rage issues. I walk away when my voice hits a certain octave, but I can tell in their eyes they think I'm scary. But I do good work. Perfectionists are like that. Part of me says my hours were cut because of that, but the other part says - "Great timing!" Cuz this board - or, more exact, the honesty on this board is triggering me no end and I really, really want to do the work. I've been out of my car for six months and this is the first safe classroom I've found to peel those dang onions.

I know this is a bit much to read but I'll get more focused, I'm sure, when the hits slow down. As always, take what you need, if anything, and leave the rest.

Two sayings that I found to be Truths, through my experience, and that pointed to the way out for me:

"Whenever I'm disturbed, the problem is within me. Always."

"I'm *never* angry about what I think I'm angry about. Because when I Truly know what I'm angry about - I'm not angry anymore."

"just hop on the bus, Gus"
"make a new plan, Stan"
"no need to be coy, Roy"
"just set yourself free."

P.S. Feel free to move, remove, cut etc if this is out of bounds for this forum or in the wrong place. Thanks.

Hi jr ~

Thanks for the writing compliment on the tome before the recent one. I'm not good with compliments - something I'll find the key to eventually, eh? But...thank you. Glad my mental outpourings are more of a playground than the torture chamber they arise from. <bg>