The Secret Life of a Sex Addict

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The rehab was intense, but once I was home, I was back on-line. The therapists urged me to attend regular meetings, but I wasn't comfortable there. "The idea isn't to be comfortable," said the head of the program, "but to process your feelings by speaking your emotional truth." The truth, though, is that the other addicts didn't have my education or my intellectual understanding of the addiction. If I could find a group of my true peers, maybe that would work. I've been told I lack humility, that without humility--admitting that I can't do it alone--I'll get worse. But having lost everything, living alone in a run-down studio apartment, sitting in front of this computer night and day, staying drunk on sex sites, I don't see how I can sink any lower.

OMAR: 'Same Corner, Different Lady

My daddy was a construction worker, and so am I. My daddy had girlfriends, and so do I. Sometimes, when I was just a little boy, he'd even take me to meet them. They were nice ladies, pretty ladies, prettier and sexier than my mom. Sometimes he would even describe what the ladies did to him. He said this was part of my education. I understood why Daddy did what he did. He did what men do. "Truth be told," Daddy said, "that's what makes us men."

I married my lady when she got pregnant--this was five years ago, when I turned 30. I thought it was the right thing to do. It was the same reason my father had married my mother. But during the pregnancy, stuff started happening. At first I didn't see it as bad; I just saw it as convenient. I had sex with a hooker. After my one outside girlfriend kicked me to the curb--she was feeling guilty because my wife was expecting--I didn't want the trouble of hitting on someone new. I was working overtime, tired and in no mood to sweet-talk someone out of a little love. Driving home one night I went down the wrong street and saw what I wanted standing on the corner. It happened right there in the car. The adrenaline rush was serious. The next night I was back. Same corner, different lady, bigger rush. I figured if I could satisfy my sex needs in a straight-up business transaction, everything was cool.

But everything heated up when I found I wanted that rush more and more. One day at work I took off during my lunch break and found myself at the same corner. I went from a once-a-week John to once-a-day. The night before my lady went into labor, I couldn't sleep, so I snuck out the house at 2:00 A.M. I had to have it.

I had to have it when I was happy, when I was sad, when I was lonely, when I was scared. I believe I would still be having it if I hadn't got caught in a sting. One of the girls was a cop. The judge let me off with a small fine and mandatory attendance at a 12-step program. I hated the meetings. I sat and sulked. I had nothing to say. I didn't want to be in a room with a bunch of freaks and perverts. Their stuff was a lot freakier than anything I ever did. It was like some kind of public confession. I looked down on everyone. Until I got caught a second time.

The second time was bad because I went to the corner against my will. I'd sworn off hookers. I'd made a vow with God, because God had kept my wife and family from finding out about the first time. So what was I doing on that same corner looking for that same nasty rush? I can't tell you. My wife told me never to look at her or the baby again. She made me take an AIDS test. Luckily, I was clean. But my heart was dirty; everything about me felt dirty. A lawyer got me out of jail time on the condition that I'd go to 90 meetings in 90 days. This is day 45. They count time in the program; they give chips for consecutive days of abstinence. I used to think that was stupid. Now I'm not sure; maybe that's what I need. A goal. Something to keep me going. When I first got caught up with prostitutes, I said to myself, I can stop whenever I want. Hell, hookers aren't heroin. But maybe they are.

COLE: 'The Secret Smoldered Inside Me

I stand in front of the window in my kitchen and stare into my neighbors' bedroom. Then I take a walk around the neighborhood looking for open blinds and pulled-up shades. I seek shadows; I explore back alleys. I have exposed myself on several occasions. I have masturbated in public. And I've never been caught. I'm a 33-year-old single man employed as an assistant manager at an office-supply store. Women say I'm good-looking. I date often, but relationships never last more than a few months. I prefer to watch a woman from afar--watch her undress or step into the bath.

I've been doing this since I was a boy. Being fondled by a family member supercharged my sex drive and filled me with shame. I still carry that shame. After every voyeuristic episode, I'm filled with remorse and vow to stop. But a week later I'm back at it. The thrill--of what I might see, of the risk I'm taking--is too great to resist. I can't discuss it with my friends or parents because my shame is too great. I tried to discuss it with my minister but could only tell him half-truths--I left out the part about exposing myself. He suggested getting closer to God through Bible class and retreats. I went on one such retreat but left after a day, hurrying home to act out.

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The secret smoldered inside me, and it seemed to give my obsession more power. I was convinced I'd have to live with it forever. Then I saw a small item in a newspaper about 12-step groups for sex addicts. I didn't want to go, but I was out of options. So I went to my first meeting, afraid I'd see someone I knew. I sat in the back and lowered my head. The first thing I heard was, "You're only as sick as your secrets." Then someone else said, "Your addiction thrives on isolation." I related to everyone and everything I heard. People were open and honest about how much they wanted to act out, how they loved acting out, and how acting out was destroying them. They were supporting one another with understanding and unconditional love.

For two months I went to meetings without opening my mouth. During those same two months I continued to act out. But the minute I told the group what I had been doing, the minute I admitted powerlessness over my compulsion, I felt relief. It was like lancing a wound. Afterward two guys came up to me and said they had the exact same addiction. Until then I felt totally alone. Now I know I'm not.

Next: What is Sexual Addiction and How Is It Treated?

Last updated 5/03.. Last reviewed: 10/05.

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