By Chad Holtz
I throw myself into bed, exhausted and foggy, and look at the clock on my phone. 2:46 a.m. My God. Where did the last five hours go? Earlier this evening at 9 p.m. I sat down to read a book and thought about something I needed to get done tomorrow. I then sensed a feeling of stress or anxiety about it, put the book down, opened up my laptop to ease the pain…. now it is 2:46 a.m.
I know that in the morning I’ll be groggy and will skip my morning run. I know I’ll be unproductive at work. I know I’ll feel ashamed (I already do) about spending all that time looking at porn. I know I’ll be easily angered or agitated by the smallest of things.
And I know I’ll do it again.
Such is the life of an addict. At least this is true of me. I have lost count of the number of times I have careened down the street slamming my fist into the steering wheel while screaming at the top of my lungs to God how desperate I am to stop doing the very thing I both love and hate. And therein lies the rub. I love my addiction. I can’t stop, and won’t stop, because I don’t want to. There is something in the act of acting out — of losing myself to something — which makes me feel alive, if for only a moment. Ironically, it also makes me feel dead — like a black hole constantly hovers around my soul. I both love and hate it.
The first step in Sex Addicts Anonymous states We admitted we were powerless over our sexual addiction and that our lives had become unmanageable.
I couldn’t and wouldn’t stop until I confessed my powerlessness over my addiction. It owned me. I was a slave of my desires and those desires became my god. When they beckoned, I answered. Admitting powerlessness seems paradoxical, but so do Jesus’ words, “Those who wish to save their lives will loose them.”
Dying is painful. Dying sucks.
“For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it.” ~ Jesus.
Can you put it down and walk away at 3 a.m.?