Shoulda known better

I’ve been seeing a guy the last month. Something fairly casual.

I’ve been very balanced and I feel I’m definitely on the right track.

I’m no longer having compulsory behaviours.

But you know how something always happens and ends up destroying your balance?

Well, this guy gave me a fucking STI.

I have fucking gonorrhoea.

Two weeks ago, I fell sick with strep throat after having unprotected oral sex with this guy after he told me he was clean. I was treated for strep throat with antibiotics (gonorrhoea is treated with antibiotics) and it went away. Last night, two days after being with him again – same incubation period as last time – I fell sick again. This time, I told my doctor about the previous infection and after a few tests I had my diagnose a day later.

Everyone sees oral sex as safe sex but it’s actually a lot riskier than most people think. I learned my lesson.

Now I need to have a very awkward conversation with this guy… I have no idea how to do this. Wish me luck.


I’m too much

Back to the routine, Summer’s been and gone.

I needed to come here and bleed.

I lost my best friend. She no longer takes the time to be with me, not even to talk to me. I’d always leaned on her, for years.

I feel like I have a solid group of friends now but know when I can be myself with, not without holding back the mania and repressing my intensity.

Today, I found myself aggressively wanting someone to love.

I closed my eyes and imagined someone lying next to me that took the shape of many of my past lovers, one morphing into the next one, until it didn’t have a face at all.

Men I thought I could have loved but who decided they couldn’t love me.

I think this is where I stand today: I’m hurting, I’m unlovable. Too fat, too loud, too intense, too enthusiastic, too outgoing, too feminist, too sensitive.

Probably if I looked like all the pretty girls, someone would be able to take me as I am.

But I am too much of things in a way no one will ever accept them. Probably not even me.

Downward spiral

I’ve been very abstract on here so far but on today’s post I feel the need to talk about some specific events in my life.

As I said before, my path towards recovery consists on building a healthier, more fulfilling sex life, that isn’t based on compulsion, while not completely eradicating sex from my life.

More than stopping the compulsion, I need to let go of the feelings of guilt, I need to learn what is a balanced sex life.

I recently went on vacation and I have to admit I completely let go of these premises and went back to my old behaviour. Some of it was really bad – sex in public, having sex super drunk, etc – and had me feeling like shit for weeks.

I had to lay low for a while. I’m aware that most of my wrong sexual behaviour comes from my problem with binge drinking – which is also something I’m trying to correct.

I stopped the alcohol, stayed home but then, still in the comedown from the vacation, I felt very bored and felt too tired to go outside, I didn’t sleep much on vacation, so I turned to cybersex which is something that I don’t do a lot but when I do, I become obsessed with it.

I was masturbating with strangers on the internet multiple times a day and feeling horrible about myself after each time.

It was definitely a downward spiral that started with my vacation and gave me back the thrill I feel when I engage in sex, it does make me feel very alive. I can’t help but comparing what I feel to what people describe it’s like being on drugs. I was high on all the hormones and psychological rewards that come with deviant sexual behaviour.

I’ve come down from it. I feel relaxed, I don’t feel anxious and, most importantly, I’m not feeling lonely. I’m trying to come up with a plan of action to keep myself from losing myself in these situations.

A big challenge is coming up as I’ll be spending August in Prague, one of the biggest party cities in Europe, with cheap beer and foreign boys. It’s the ultimate situation to regain control of myself, find a balance between being a homebody and total euphoria. In the end, I want to have fun as the 21 year old girl I should be, without having major regrets later on.


Writing really helps

It’s been good writing about my struggles with addiction.

I don’t feel I’m any less addicted, for now, but at least I feel like I’m being successful at addressing my problem and its roots.

It’s been very cathartic, way more than I expected.

Last night, writing yesterday’s post was incredibly difficult and I cried so much but today I woke up feeling refreshed and happy.

I’m grateful for this platform and for the people who’ve reached out and showed their support so far.

Have a good weekend y’all!


The blurred line between raising a girl in a conservative household and abusing her

What people find the most shocking about me being a sex addict is that I’m only 21 years old.

I had a good life growing up but, looking back, I can see how my mother fucked me up regarding sex.

I was an early bloomer. I got my period very early, I started masturbating at a very young age and lost my virginity shortly after turning 15 years old to my boyfriend at the time. We were together for 2 and a half years and, like every teenager experiencing love for the first time, I thought we were going to get married. It made all the sense in the world that my body belonged to him and sex felt natural. But even then – of course my hormones were all over the place – I don’t think my behaviour was very normal. At 16 years old I was experimenting with bondage, role playing and rape fantasies. He was older than me, but very respectful, caring and just as inexperienced, as we were each other’s first sexual partner, but things escalated very quickly.

Only a couple of months into the relationship, and shortly after we’d had sex for the first time – we waited 8 months until we did it -, my mother found out I was dating a boy 3 years older than me; she went crazy. I already knew how conservative they were regarding sex but I could never expect what was to come. My dad and her put me in the car and drove into the woods. All the way there they were screaming at me, I can’t remember what they were saying, but they were shaming me. It was winter time, the temperature was below 0º C and I just sat in the back with my cheek against the freezing window, my throat knotted, tears running down my face and an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness.

I was in love; it seemed so natural to me, how couldn’t they see it?

They told me to get out of the car and continued to scream at me, there, where no one could hear us. My mother then straight up asked: “Have you had intercourse with him? HAVE YOU?”, I said no, she screamed “LIAR!”. She asked me – continuing to yell – the same question repeatedly and I continued to deny it and she carried on calling me a liar. I never cried so much in my life. I felt my dad was hurting seeing this happen but didn’t dare to stop her. After some time, she gave up, we drove home and never talked about the incident.

Through events like this one, underlying messages when talking about sex and a constant pressure not to date this boy I was taught three things I would never unlearn – extreme shame, guilt and the necessity to hide everything I did.

I believe I was deeply wounded by this incident, became angry and acted out on it by engaging in increasingly exhilarating sexual acts.

I carried on living like this and I still do, because it’s what I was taught and it’s extremely difficult to unlearn these habits that derive from trauma.

My relationship with my mother is good now, getting better with each year, but when I’m hurting and think back to all the times she wounded me, to how she fucked me up, I get angry at her and blame her for how I turned out.

I need to work through this. I haven’t had the courage to bring it up with my therapist because it makes me feel so ashamed but I’ll have to do it in the near future.

I never want to be a parent because of this, of how much suffer my mother put me through and went through herself. People don’t understand it when I say this but I can’t explain them, either.

I continue to feel like you have to go through everything alone.


Dissecting loneliness

I don’t remember feeling as lonely as I’m feeling right now. Even though I probably have.

And even if you want to reach out to someone, you’ll just be making people feel powerless, they get tired of not being able to do anything for you.

And, for me, that’s where it all starts. It starts with being being lonely, being so sad that you cannot bear it and see through it or do things even if I really have to.

Because the feeling of loneliness is something that crushes you, especially when it’s been hanging over you for a long time and you feel like you can’t reach out to people anymore.

That’s when a sexual encounter becomes your last resort. It is a way to get attention from someone and to connect even though in a very shallow way. Probably the worst way out, but still a way out, and still a connection.

It’s moments like this that trigger it for me.

It’s a silence so deafening that you’ll do anything to break that silence. To have a voice that’s not your own, cutting through the thick silence.

I haven’t found anything that lifts off this loneliness.

When I’m around friends I don’t have the necessity to go have sex with a random man, I feel a

But you can’t be always surrounded by friends. And during tough times – really dark times, strikes of depression and anxiety – friends aren’t really what you want them to be, they’re never enough. It’s not their fault. It’s just how the human being is wired. They’re not obligated to entertain you all the time, they have to go about their own lives.

And that’s when you see only one way out. The easy way out.


When will I forgive myself

I’m to blame.

It’s my fault that I lost the relationship that meant everything to me and I cried over that for almost two years. Sometimes I still do.

I was obsessed with him but his attention was never enough. We did everything together. Same classes in uni, studying, nights out, we were the couple all of our friends envied.

Then I started getting worse – mentally – and it was too much for him to handle, he hadn’t signed up for that. I started to go behind his back, talking to other guys, going out with them in secret then leading to steamy make out sessions in the back of cars.

He was pulling away more with each day. I felt so lonely.

One very drunken night, I kissed L. I decided I should tell my ex about it and somehow blackmail him into loving me again.

How fucked up is that? It obviously didn’t work. It was an ugly breakup and very “public”, since everyone knew us in our circle, a big one, we’re talking hundreds of people. I think that made it even worse.

Will I ever forgive myself?

The downward spiral began.


How I became a sex addict

Addiction doesn’t happen out of nowhere.

Usually, it starts as a way to escape an unpleasant reality and then it becomes your only way out and you simply can’t stop it.

Addiction isn’t linear. It’s messy. It derives from various, very complex factors. Past trauma, traumatic events, triggers, mental illness, distress, living an unfulfilling life.

For me it was anxiety. When I was 18 I developed a very serious anxiety disorder and my behaviours changed. From that year on, my decisions became increasingly risky, odd, random. No one would understand it, so I developed a new persona.

I was fun and crazy, but normal. My phone would blow up with invitations to go out, to party, to have dinner. I was in a great relationship and I thought I’d marry that person. But at a certain point, I lost my balance.

Secretly, I started seeing other guys. Nothing serious. Go out, get drunk, make out at the club and then go home, I was cheating but convinced myself it wasn’t that bad.

I started to depend on drugs to sleep and also taking anti depressives. This left me in a state of floating through life, not really taking responsibility  for my reckless acts and not caring about anything.

Eventually, my relationship blew up.

There was nothing holding me back. At 19 years old, I was single, high on prescription drugs, alcohol and horny as fuck.

In the course a year, I went from having had 3 sexual partners to around 15. I would actively seek them, most were brief relationships of only a couple of weeks. I was empty and I had nothing to offer to another person. Having always been a highly sexual individual, I was still convinced that was the way to find the comfort and soothe I needed and, momentarily (like every drug), I did.

That’s what I did. The following year, I went to study abroad and with my new found freedom and emancipation, things got even worse.

Until now.

I found a way to manage my addiction without completely giving up my social life; but I still relapse, a lot.

It wasn’t all bad. Along my way, I met some amazing people, had priceless experiences and always had a couple of friends who still cared for me. I think I learned a lot about people, too.

That’s what I mean to share on here. Maybe that will be the bright side to my downward spiral into sex addiction and my come back up, to write about my stories: whether sad, happy, amusing, crazy, ridiculous, dangerous; there was always something I took from them that I now carry with me. Little pieces I collected. Experiences I can’t forget, good or bad.

Until next time.