I relapsed. 9 freakin’ days in and I’ve already relapsed. Dammit. DAMMIT!!!
I met with a trainer at my neighborhood gym yesterday, and I woke up this morning feeling like someone had shattered every bone in my arms. I can’t bend my elbows more than 45 degrees, and because of that, I just wanted to stay home today. I was laying in my bed, reading a book, and I got an urge. I ignored it. It didn’t go away. I put the book down and went out to play piano. My arms couldn’t do it, and I still had the urge. It was like a constant, incessant buzzing in my head. I went back into my room and opened my web browser to log onto Tumblr (like I’ve said, I try to log on and type something whenever I’m getting an urge), but the other voice won.
It wasn’t a hardcore porn video. There was no intercourse, no genitalia, no sex of any kind. It was just a girl showing off her lingerie and then, eventually, her chest. Still, that counts. It’s softcore, but that counts.
As you can probably guess, I felt absolutely terrible afterward. I still feel terrible. Plus, my arms hurt even worse now. The urge went away though. I’ve never had one that strong before. Ever. Was that withdrawal?
Maybe I really am an addict.
For some reason, I feel like I should apologize to someone. Heck, I almost ended this post with, “Dancer, I’m sorry,” but that would’ve been stupid. She doesn’t know about my problem, and she doesn’t know about this blog. Besides, the only person I’ve really let down is me, but I don’t want to apologize to myself. I don’t want to feel sorry for myself. I don’t want self-pity. I just want to put this behind me and prepare myself for the next urge. I think they’re going to be worse now.
But I am going to make it. I might be a weak, spineless son of a bitch, but I’m going to end this.
The story of the first time I bought a box of condoms
Because a lot of stuff on this blog has to do with sex and this is a funny story anyway :)
Dancer and I went to different High Schools, which means we wound up going to two proms (both of which were fantasticly awesome!). However, I’d heard a lot of stories about what happens after prom, so even though both of us had asserted that we are not interested in sex (I’ll discuss this later), I thought it might be a good idea to grab some protection. So, I walked into a Walgreens determined to buy a box of condoms, dental floss, and a packet of those little listerine paper-like things you dissolve on your tongue. I have a thing against bad breath.
It took me nearly 10 minutes to find the condom section because they were kept in the BABY CARE isle (ha), and once I finally got to them, I realized how many different kinds of condoms there are. I mean, seriously, there are a ton. Ribbed, layered, shaped, XL, larger reservoir, no reservoir, your pleasure, her pleasure, Trojan, Magnum, Landex,and literally dozens of other kinds! My great condom debate lasted all of 30 seconds though. I wasn’t going to flatter myself with an XL, I wanted to stick with Trojan, and I was probably going to enjoy it either way, so I wound up going with a box of Trojan - For Her Pleasure.
How noble, right? :P
Anyway, I walked up to the register with my box of condoms in hand and got my first look at who was going to be the opposing, judgemental partner in the coming transaction. It was a middle-aged woman with short hair, trimmed nails, little makeup, and a proud, dangling wooden crucifix necklace.
Now let me tell you something. I live in Arizona, where most of the population is made up of old, retired, Christian Republicans. What’s more, I’m only 18, and I look like I’m only 18. So, basically, when I put the box of condoms on the counter and dug out my wallet, her face went from:
- “My, who is this strapping, young gentleman walking toward me with such determination and meaning?”
- Christ in Heaven, who is this sinner before me? So young, and already on the path to infidelity! His soul will surely burn in depths of Hell for such an endeavor!”
Trust me, you don’t want to get that look. Ever.
Despite, the transaction itself was mostly painless. Mostly. It was made easier by the fact that she never said a word the entire flipping time. I gave her my money, she put the condoms in a bag, gave it back to me with a dirty look, I said a rushed, “Thank you,” and then I left. I was pretty proud of myself.
But not proud enough to go back in when I realized I forget to get all of my breath care stuff. I wound up driving to a different Walgreens 10 minutes away.
I never got to use those condoms. I still have that box of them lying around in my room somewhere though. Plus, the box is one short now. I got curious and took one out to see what they look like. They’re purple. Awesome :P
Porn has made me a shallow douche bag.
If you were a shallow douche bag, you wouldn’t be calling yourself a shallow douche bag. You still have your head, you’re fine.
Dancer and Objectification
Be warned: The faint of heart will most definitely be offended by this post. Also, watch out for TMI.
Before I touch on that particular subject, I think you should first understand how a typical male mind works during masturbation (assuming you don’t already know). It’s common knowledge that men are more aroused by sight (visual), and women are more aroused by touch (tactile). I’ve already mentioned how, during a typical porn session, the mind goes blank. With masturbation, it’s essentially the same thing, but on a less extreme scale. Because guys are visual, our sexual fantasies focus primarily on woman’s bodies. In the throe of the moment, we’ll picture a large pair of boobs, or a bubble butt, or a tongue, or a vagina, or feet, or whatever. The when, where, and who usually don’t matter.
Sometimes, though, the mental images are subconsciously linked to a particular person. A married guy, for example, might be masturbating to an image of a woman fondling her huge breasts, and while the woman may not look like his wife (for point’s sake we’ll assume her boobs aren’t that big), he still associates the image with his wife because he’s attracted to her.
So, now that we’re on the same page, let’s get back to Dancer.
When I’m… pleasing myself, I’ll close my eyes and mental images start coming unbidden. Boobs, hips, butts, legs, bodies. Sometimes I’ll see a face, sometimes I won’t. But whatever happens, Dancer never enters the equation.
It’s not because I don’t find her attractive (believe me, I do), or that I find her lacking in some way (believe me, she’s not), or that I’d rather be with someone else (believe me, I don’t), I just don’t want to associate her face solely with her body. I want to associate her face with her laugh, her habits, her singing voice, her nervous tics, her sense of humor, and her as a person.
To put it simply, I don’t want Dancer to have any contact with this side of me. She deserves better, and as shallow and disgusting as it may sound, I’m proud of myself for keeping her out of this whole process.
… She does have a cute butt though :)
According to my clock, I have officially been clean for a full week as of two minutes ago. I know 7 days is a pretty small span of time in the whole scheme of things, but I’m proud of it. I’ve been tempted countless times, but I’ve managed to beat them away (poor choice of words :P). It was more difficult than I thought it’d be though, and to be honest, I’m worried about the coming weeks. I’m still…relieving tension fairly often, and I’m not sure the alternatives I’ve found are any better (old Victoria’s Secret magazines). I wanted to quit watching porn because I didn’t want to be brainwashed into objectifying women, but it seems like that instinct is still there. I’m still trying not to think about Dancer like that, and I’ve been keeping that up pretty well.
I think I might have to expand my vow.
For “The Struggle Makes Youu Stronger”
I seriously hate this so much..
I remember you put up a post a couple days ago that said something like, “Why don’t you guys reblog my originals? I spend a lot of time on those.” I can’t speak for everyone else, but personally, I never reblogged your originals because they weren’t mine to reblog. I only log on to Tumblr when I’m having urges to do something I’ll regret, and your originals were always like little pieces of gold on my dashboard. They told me things I didn’t quite believe, like:
“YOU ARE BRIGHTER THAN THE REST.”
“PLEASE STAY PERFECT”
“YOU’RE BETTER THAN THIS”
I won’t say that seeing those immediately made me feel better, but they made me glad that I didn’t give in to temptation.
I know I’ve never had an eating disorder, and that I’ve never done self-injury, but still, to me, you’re a beacon. You’re a lighthouse of empathy for people like me, and I felt like if I reblogged your beautiful, awesome originals, I would be stealing credit for some of that light. I can’t do that. I’m not as strong as you. I can’t take the role of the constant light-bringer and hope-giver because I don’t share your optimism. I’m just a piece of warped, rotted flotsam floundering around, finding someone like you every now and then to provide relief.
I’ve been reading a lot of your pages today, and I remember reading something under your preventcutting posts that said something like, “People may say or do the wrong thing to try and get you to stop because they’re scared.” Well, you’re right about people making things worse by getting involved, so I’m not writing all of this to stop you from doing whatever it is you think will make you feel better.
I’m sorry you didn’t get into your college.
I’m sorry your plans fell through.
I’m sorry your in turmoil right now.
I know my words can’t change anything, and I know you may not want to hear them, but they’re all I got. I respect your choice to do whatever you decide to do, or whatever you may have already done, but I wanted you to know what you, a total stranger, mean to someone like me.
Whatever you do, don’t ever lose your light. Please.
To recap, Dancer is my girlfriend, and one of the major reasons I’m trying to quit watching porn. It’s not her real name, I’ll keep that information private. She does dance a lot though, so it’s not that far off :)
Dancer and I started dating on November 12th, 2011. Our first date was an outdoor hike that ended with us getting lost. I’ll tell you what, you really get to know someone if you’re hacking through desert brush with them in 100+ degree weather for about two hours. Plus, surprisingly, we kissed on our first date, which was nice.
I can make an entire blog describing everything I know and love about Dancer. She’s caring, she’s silly, she’s pretty, she gives great hugs, she usually knows just what to say, she’s level-headed, she’s smart, she’s a whole freakin’ slew of adjectives that I can’t even fathom. She has big, beautiful cat eyes that change from blue to green depending on her mood. She’s obsessed with music and has a playlist for every possible occasion. She’s an avid runner and can jog 10 miles with no problem. She has a silly, almost little girl-like sense of humor. She’s an absolute angel, and I can’t even begin to imagine how I got so lucky, or what I could’ve possibly done to deserve her.
So now I’ll bet you’re all wondering the same thing; “Does she know about my issue?”
The answer is no, she doesn’t. I don’t want her to find out forhersake as well as mine. I’ve found out that part of being a boyfriend is you feel the need to protect your girlfriend from everything,including yourself if need be. It’s not a lack of faith in their backbone or anything, it’s just guy instinct. We’re boneheads like that :P
You know, maybe closure on the whole protectiveness thing might provide a bit more perspective concerning the video incident on July 18. I’d crawl through a river of shit for this girl, so the flash of her panting and glass-eyed while covered in semen (see previous July 18 post) was… frankly, fucking terrifying.
I know love is an easy word to abuse, especially for someone my age, but I love Dancer. It was a scary, hesitant road, but I’ve embraced it. I love her. I love her so much it physically hurts.
I need to stop watching porn.