SLAA (Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous) has been vital in my recovery. To describe how it has helped me and transformed much of my life would take too long for just one post, but it is one of my aims for this blog to cover to the topic bit by bit.
The first person to mention SLAA to me was a therapist in hospital. He was leading a group therapy session in the rehab unit, which my own therapist had encouraged me to join temporarily, mainly because I was displaying addictive or compulsive behaviour around a man. My therapist also thought I had a possible alcohol problem. I had abused alcohol in the past, in my 20s, and he wanted me to get more education on alcoholism and be exposed to alcoholics. I am glad I did: it not only taught me a lot about the nature of addiction and addicts, but I saw how easily my drinking to cope with stress or difficult feelings could tip into alcoholism. However, although I tend to give up alcohol when the going gets tough, I do drink now, just very little as I am on a lot of medication anyway. Doing that stint in the rehab section was good. It is in my nature to overdo stuff, whether good or bad for me, so I get addicted to substances or exercise or food. Learning about addiction, how it begins and progresses, and how to get out of one, was very useful.
Anyway, in this group session I was describing what had been happening to me. At that point, I simply could not control the impulse to write to a former lover of mine. This man had had an incredibly destructive impact on me and I felt haunted by him. He had humiliated and used me, and my psychiatrist urged me to sever contact. A big part of me agreed: I didn't want him in my life at all. And yet I couldn't stop messaging him. Often he ignored me but sometimes he would answer. In some instances, he lavished me with attention, was affectionate and helpful. When he was responsive, I was happy but felt deeply conflicted. When he ignored me I was miserable, frightened by my behaviour, desperate to stop. I was obsessed with him so that my mind automatically turned to him and I would find myself saying his name out loud without even wanting to. It was frightening, I thought I was going mad. I was ashamed and so angry. I berated and insulted myself and I tried to everything I could think of to make it stop. Looking back I think it was mainly the medication helped with the obsessive thoughts. It was a huge relief to be rid of them, although this still didn't enable me to cut off contact with him.
On the numerous (!) occasions that I announced to him that I was cutting off contact for good, I felt like I was cutting off a limb, that I would fall over and not be able to get up. It seemed inexplicable to me at the time. I couldn't figure out what he was providing me with - his sporadic affection and kindess gave me a huge high temporarily but it was not a balanced, mutual exchange between two adults who like each other - I knew it was not healthy. I was basically begging for crumbs from him, for anything - just one word, a little bit of kindness, just a sign I was special to him. It was like I was freezing cold and only he had the power to warm me up.
But how I felt towards him was utterly tainted by what had happened between us in the past, and I was still in a lot of pain over it. It had been such a nightmare. I felt he had manipulated and violated me, and had shown no respect for me or my life. Initially I blamed him for everything, the whole miserable mess, but I see now that I had a big role to play in creating this terrible situation for myself (more on this another time) and I was beginning to see this by the time I was in hospital. Still, I didn't trust him at all and yet I felt totally entangled. I hated him but I couldn't let him go.
I will continue this in the next post. Thank you for reading.
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