the sacrifice of self....
OK, I have to admit that I feel empty in part. It is like taking a whole pie, and removing slices until you are left with only part of the whole. I began with a whole person, Jeff. He was a mess, but he was a complete person such as he was. Then I began trying to become a better person. My wife almost left when I had a cyber-affair on her, so I decided that wasnt something I wanted as part of me. I reached in, grabbed a slice of Jeff and threw it to the side. I decided that pornography was something a Christian man such as Jeff shouldnt be playing with, so I grabbed another slice. A married man shouldnt fantasize about people other than his wife, so there goes another slice.
I sit here this morning, and I have remade myself into the person I always wanted to be. For months I have lived up to the standards I have set for myself, and I am really proud of that for the most part. When I look in the mirror I see an abused sex addict who has turned into a proud father, a loving husband and a good moral person. So why do I feel like something is missing?
Part of me liked being the self-destructive victim. It came with perks, such as having affairs, delving into porn all day long, and living for the next sexual thrill. Being the victim meant I didnt have to live up to what was right, and it was okay to live for the moment. I could throw my life on the ground and trample all over it as I chased the latest thrill, and take no thought of it, after all, I was sick and didnt deserve any better.
Okay, I miss trying to meet men for bi-sexual escapes. I miss trying to arrange affairs and seducing women. It seems like something is missing since I have stayed free of porn and cybering. My life isnt the same since I stopped writing erotic stories. I have overcome all these things, and I miss them badly.
I try to focus on the good, on all I have gained by sacrificing these pieces of who I was. I tell myself how much better adjusted and content I am, but I have still lost part of me in all of this junk. You can accept things you cant change, change things you can, and remake your life the way you think it ought to be, but remember there is a price to pay for everything we do. What will it cost you to become this person you think you should be? Is the price worth it? I want to believe it is, but sometimes when I am alone, I miss those things I have sacrificed.
I sit here this morning, and I have remade myself into the person I always wanted to be. For months I have lived up to the standards I have set for myself, and I am really proud of that for the most part. When I look in the mirror I see an abused sex addict who has turned into a proud father, a loving husband and a good moral person. So why do I feel like something is missing?
Part of me liked being the self-destructive victim. It came with perks, such as having affairs, delving into porn all day long, and living for the next sexual thrill. Being the victim meant I didnt have to live up to what was right, and it was okay to live for the moment. I could throw my life on the ground and trample all over it as I chased the latest thrill, and take no thought of it, after all, I was sick and didnt deserve any better.
Okay, I miss trying to meet men for bi-sexual escapes. I miss trying to arrange affairs and seducing women. It seems like something is missing since I have stayed free of porn and cybering. My life isnt the same since I stopped writing erotic stories. I have overcome all these things, and I miss them badly.
I try to focus on the good, on all I have gained by sacrificing these pieces of who I was. I tell myself how much better adjusted and content I am, but I have still lost part of me in all of this junk. You can accept things you cant change, change things you can, and remake your life the way you think it ought to be, but remember there is a price to pay for everything we do. What will it cost you to become this person you think you should be? Is the price worth it? I want to believe it is, but sometimes when I am alone, I miss those things I have sacrificed.