The Lonely AddictPosted: January 23, 2015
The other day I came across this revolutionary article on addiction. The premise of the article is that the war on drugs has been largely ineffective, because we don’t understand what actually causes addiction. The author of this article has spent years travelling and researching this, and has come to the conclusion that, contrary to popular belief, addiction is not caused by a drug hook that hijacks our brains and makes us need the substance. Addiction is caused by isolation.
This seemed rather touchy-feely and simplistic, and I was skeptical at first, but the more I read, the more I agreed that the evidence is compelling. I’m not going to recount it all here, as this isn’t a scientific blog, but it did make me think about my own life and my experience with sex addiction.
At this point, while I would say my libido is still strong, I would also say that it is healthy. I have zero desire to have meaningless sex with anyone. I have been recently contacted by a few different men I’ve hooked up with in the past 6 months, and I wasn’t even a little tempted to take them up on the offer of more shenanigans.
This is NOT because I am having so much sex that I am totally satisfied all the time. Between last week and this one, Papa Bear and I had three dates in a row where we didn’t sleep together. We just weren’t at home because we were out doing other things. In the past, that would have driven me crazy. I would have probably insisted on sex on each date, regardless of us having to get up early for work. But though I thought that sex would be nice, or that I was horny, it wasn’t the crazy, cloying need that I have known before.
I actually haven’t experienced that level of need in awhile.
The husband and I had sex the other night. He woke me up around 2 AM and we went at it for awhile. Usually, after sex that lasts a “normal” amount of time–it was maybe half an hour to 40 minutes–I am even hornier than before. I want more. It’s like something wakes up inside me and I am not satisfied until I have almost overdosed on orgasms. This time, I was totally satisfied and happy and in a disgustingly good mood all day.
Isolation as the cause of addiction is certainly an interesting theory.
- Rats isolated in small cages, when given two water bottles–one laced with drugs–were more likely to demand more and more of the drug laced water.
- Rats in large cages with other rats, toys, and the finest rat food, preferred regular water when given the same two bottles.
- People who break a leg and are hospitalized are given the medical version of heroine for the pain–and yet most do not become addicted, or seek out more, because once released they go back to their lives and their families and friends.
- When Portugal decriminalized all drug use, and put the incarceration money towards helping addicts build community instead, drug use dropped by 50%.
It isn’t about the drug–it’s why we use it in the first place that needs to be addressed.
I’m not going to say that Papa Bear’s love saved me–that it cured my addiction. Love is powerful, but it isn’t all about romance and feeling like someone adores you. It’s everything else that has helped–my own little poly community. The feeling that my nuclear family and I aren’t stranded alone out here. It’s the friends he’s helped me make. The support when I am down. Having a second home. The constant cheer-leading and good advice and unwavering faith that I receive from ALL of them–not just him.
I’m also not going to say I am no longer a sex addict. I really don’t know, and its too soon to tell. What I will say, is that at the moment, sex is a want, not a need. It’s something I crave when I need intimacy, or when my husband is looking delicious in the light pouring into the living room as he’s drinking his morning coffee. It’s the desire to pounce on Papa Bear when he smiles and his eyes twinkle and I just want to experience all of him because I love him so much. And yes, sometimes my cooch just needs a cock in it, but not RIGHT NOW, AT ALL COSTS. It’s an itch that needs to be scratched, but it’s an itch that can wait.