Sex Addicts Anonymous

I went to a meeting in a church

All that stuff I used to think guys were retarded apes for— creep shots of girls in public, begging for nudes, jerking off in the bathroom, staring at that fat ass when she walks by: now it’s all me. 

That sex-obsessed cliche I once felt so far above, that Brock-from-Pokemon complex that gets old after like four episodes, now it’s all over these pages, it’s all I am.

I don’t know why or when I became like this and I don’t know how to quit.

I considered attending “Sex Addicts Anonymous” but I’m worried I’ll just become obsessed with some girl at the meeting. Some tatted-up loser whore who happens to be able to construct a decent sentence and introspect hard enough to seek help. 

I’ll just be an impediment to her progress. She’ll be the subject of my next erotic fan-fiction. We’ll both eventually move on, each more sad and jaded than before. Just like every single other time I’ve ever inflicted myself upon a girl, over the past several years. 

Oh no, and another one sits down right in front of me. I must look particularly miserable today, despite the slight smirk on my face, which I tactfully deploy just as she looks in this direction to indirectly signal that I am enjoying my work and that I am enjoying my life and that I am generally happy and so if you align with me then you may ‘leech’ off my happiness and maybe if you’re as lonely as I am then we can find a way to be happy together. Blinking for clarity. God I wish it would stop. 

I’m not addicted to sex. It’s not the physical pleasure— it’s the emotional high of getting a new, decent girl to submit. It’s like a video game, and cheating on your partner who you live with is like playing on hard mode with no extra lives.

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[Monday night. In a church.]

Why am I here. I can’t stop cheating. I don’t know how to stop. I can’t stop thinking about sex. Writing about girls. I have a racist lifelong obsession that is taking me nowhere. I worry I only moved to this Gay Liberal City because there are so many Asian girls here. 

I go out in public with my computer and type about the girls that I see and I post online under a pseudonym. No one IRL knows I do this. Sometimes I manage to write about things that aren’t that and I share those with people I know. Friends tell me they like it but I know they don’t really care. 

I wish I could stop thinking about all this. I wish I could just walk down the street and see a physically viable female girl in the summer and not have my mind completely derailed. I don’t know how people do it. 

Why am I here. I can’t keep spending money on prostitutes, music festivals, obscure dating apps. I can’t keep lying and giving girls a fake name. I can’t keep lying to my girlfriend, hiding in the bathroom— this is all going to blow up in my face very soon and when it does I want to at least be able to say that I tried. I tried to stop. Not for you, for me.

Because I don’t want to be like this. I’m not proud of it, It’s not cool, I wish I could be really interested in something productive instead.

This is a huge waste of time. I’m wasting her time too. Wasting some of her best years. She’s fully in love with me, she doesn’t know me at all. No one does.

A couple times I’ve fully exposed myself to random girls, only after we hook up. I tell them the whole truth: my name is not James, I have a girlfriend, I’m sorry, and they empathize at first but then they think about it a bit and disengage. Which is for the best, actually, because the very last thing I need is another girlfriend.

I don’t know what I want. But I do know that I want to stop being like this. So that’s why I’m here sitting here with you tonight.