Origin Story

Usually when you hear "origin story," you usually expect someone to get super powers. I wish that were the case here. That would be much more appealing than what I'm about to share. Unfortunately, there will be no account of a mutant spider bite, the testing of a top secret government formula, or a devastating gamma ray burst (although Hulk fans may see some parallels between the two stories)...instead, the only super powers I gain are the powers of super-emotional-scars, super-self-hatred, super-hypocrisy, and a super-compromised-conscience.

The purpose/goal of this post is not to share every experience that relates to my addictions. Instead, I hope this post does three things: 1) analyze the subtle moral progression from smudged-to-dirty-to-filthy-to-toxic-to-radioactive, 2) explore the relationship between my hypocrisy and the growth of my testimony (it's definitely true that you can't serve two masters, but what happens if you try?), and 3) share the story of my addiction to lust as part of my effort to bury the behaviors. I hope to unravel some misconceptions for me as well as for others who find themselves in a similar or related situation.

Note: I will attempt to avoid crude language, although I want this to be as blunt, honest, and personal as possible. Also, I use the phrase “I was clean,” not to mean that I was morally blameless, but that I was successfully abstinent for a period of time.

The Beginning

I don't remember how old I was when my brother showed me and my friend pictures from a pornographic magazine, but I couldn't have been more than 10. I can’t remember why he did or what I said about it at the time; all I remember is the images themselves (though fuzzily), and my pre-pubescent mind and body tingling in a way that I knew was wrong, but was exciting because it was wrong.

By putting this first I don't mean to imply that my addiction is my brother’s fault. Even though he played a larger role later by being my unintentional supplier (I stole a lot of porn from him), I was by no means pure up until this point. From illicit schoolyard talk, excessive kissing of a neighbor girl, a brief experiment with self-fondling, and ogling of immodest girls at school and TV, I was on my way before that.

Anyway, skip forward to my thirteenth birthday: it was evening time and I was on the toilet (number 2). I noticed a razor next to me on the sink, and an impulse jumped into my head to shave the top of my growing crotch hair. I knew I wasn't supposed to do things like that, but I also suspected that the tingling awaited. As I reached for the razor, something happened that I have a hard time describing or even remembering exactly. It was an overwhelming sensation of warning--it was a distinct impression that "me in the future" wanted me in the present to not touch myself in that way. I paused for a while, slightly shocked and bewildered. [side note: I can't take this as evidence of the existence of God...although I firmly believe it is. I vaguely remember it being clear and overwhelming at the time, but over time I'm only left with the memory of a memory—not conclusive evidence] That moment is the one that I feel the most guilt about, even though there wasn't any pornography involved or any actual contact with the body part in question. I ignored the warning and picked up the razor.

The Black Hole

Over the next few years, my exploration into self-stimulation and pornography steadily escalated. You'd be surprised how many images there were in Newsweek, Reader's Digest, National Geographic, mail ads, etc that can stimulate a horny teenager. However, after many/most of my desperate searches for sexual images and self-stimulation I would throw away whatever I had found and pledge never to do it again.

One night as I was trying to find a hiding place (or a disposal area?) in the bathroom for one of these relatively-non-pornographic images, I reached into "the black hole." In a cabinet at the foot of the tub was a somewhat hidden unsealed part of wall (a gaping hole) that my family always referred to as a black hole. As my hand went in I felt loose paper. I pulled out a dated, but still thoroughly dirty, magazine. Not only were there images in the magazine, but there were dirty comics, stories, and interviews. After a while (a few days? a month? Not a year), my guilt was eating away at me enough that there was a tipping point. I threw the magazine away in the dumpster.

I felt proud; but the pattern--search, masturbation, guilt, disposal--repeated itself until I left the house six-ish years later. Over the years I stole/pilfered any pornographic or near pornographic image I could find, including ads in "innocent" magazines, dirty magazines I found, and (later) printouts from the internet and my brother's magazines and videos. Always I would use the black hole as a storage area. I never realized how fitting the name was: I was trying desperately to fill the black hole in my life, but it only grew deeper and more terrifying, refusing to be satisfied. And just like black hole’s extreme gravity, the closer I got the stronger it pulled.

Close Calls

I was almost caught on a few occasions. While trying to recover relatively non-pornographic images that I had torn out of "innocent" magazines and thrown away down a hole in the "black hole," I discovered that the renters in our basement could see my hand through a hole in the ceiling of their closet. They squealed in terror, and later I heard from my parents that the renters had seen a hand trying to reach "scraps of paper" in the top of their closet. My skin prickled and my face turned red as they told me. It suddenly occurred to me that I might be discovered. Part of me was relieved...but as the conversation continued, it became clear they had no suspicion what the scraps of paper actually were. Within the next few days I risked discovery to sneak into their apartment and retrieved the scraps of paper.

I learned to be very careful, to the point of being paranoid--one time I made a mistake though. I had taken a portion of a dirty magazine into the shower with me, and, in my self-loathing, left it crumpled up on the side of the tub. Several hours later I saw it there. Again, my skin prickled and I feared being found out.

There were other close calls. And there was always fear and paranoia.

Near Confessions

At one point in junior high school I really REALLY threw away the images and was determined not to look at immodest girls at school or women on tv, and I was successful for a few days. It wasn’t long, but I had a complete change of mind--I could feel clean for once! I felt so confident (and this has happened a number of times to post-19-year-old me) that I felt like I could mess up just once and still continue on with being good and clean. It's so illogical, but at the time it seems so convincing.

Another time, my dad took me out on a drive for "the talk." This was the only time either of my parents talked to me about anything sexual, but I mainly just felt awkward through the whole thing. The admission that my dad was attracted to other women, though he didn't act on it, and his description of wet dreams were helpful and memorable. When he asked me if I had ever seen pornographic pictures I told him the truth: that I had, and that I had thrown them away. He asked a few questions about how I got them, and I told him about my brother's magazines (which apparently wasn't too big of a surprise). Consoled by the fact that I had thrown them away, he didn't ask any more questions to gauge the extent of my involvement.

I mentioned that there are parallels between this story and The Hulk...I think Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a more appropriate comparison, though. Dr. Jekyll chooses to take a drug to unleash his inner worst self, and is protected by his secrecy and the goodness (or at least appearance of goodness) of his "real self."  He despises himself for letting Mr. Hyde loose, but he refuses to stop. His masquerade eventually collapses when the power of Mr. Hyde grows and Dr. Jekyll can't control his transformations into Mr. Hyde or the drug. The big difference is that during this time in my life, my lies never collapsed; the big similarity was that the other part of me continued to grow, as did my self-hatred and lack of self-esteem.

My Mission

I was obviously aware of my hypocrisy and dishonesty, but I had also firmly believed that I would serve a mission. I still remember a thought I had when I was in my early teens: recalling how firmly I believed the church was true and how what I was doing was wrong, I thought, "what I'm doing may be wrong, but I won't ever doubt the church." I mainly remember my unwavering conviction in the rightness of the church. As you may suspect, when I got older, I began to doubt. Still, I had the thought, "I still have a strong belief that the church is good and will lead people to be good." Strangely, my addiction made me want to serve a mission, to warn others about the sins the church warns against, regardless of whether I could do so honestly or with power (both of which I couldn't).

So I lied straight in the face to my bishop, stake patriarch, and stake president and went on a mission. When I went into the MTC I was flooded with spiritual experiences and positive influences. I prayed hard. My testimony grew. I didn't touch myself or look at sister missionaries. I got out of my comfort zone and became bolder. I began to love the Book of Mormon. Then I left the protection of the MTC and went to my mission in northern Europe. Firstly, I couldn't completely overcome my fear of talking with people--it was true I was shy and hadn't been outside the US before, but I think the biggest problem was my eyes (there were some very immodest women there). I didn't have magazines and I didn't masturbate, but I wasn't completely clean, mentally. I had put a bandaid on a bone-deep, gangrenous wound, and it was festering, regardless of my fervent prayers and efforts. I could be good in a completely sterile environment, but eventually it came creeping back.

About eight months into my mission I was left alone in my apartment waiting for my new companion. I was tempted to do something, anything...but I read my scriptures.

About a year into my mission I had a wet-dream-turned-self-stimulation. This turned into a near-nightly habit of touching myself. Eventually, this turned into a determination to come clean with my mission president, even if it meant I would be fully exposed and sent home. During the next interview I interrupted when he started to talk about making me a trainer (which I really wanted, though probably not for the best reasons). It felt really good to get it out. At the same time, though, I never overcame masturbation (and even secretly looking at somewhat dirty pictures from newspapers/my own drawing). I came to thoroughly love teaching, the scriptures, the church, the members, the investigators, my companions, and the country. It was all clouded and weakened, though, by my uncleanness and my fear. The country I was in was difficult (no one was surprised that I didn't baptize anyone...and in fairness, I might not have baptized anyone even if I were perfectly clean), but I'm convinced that my inability to consistently be worthy of the spirit was the primary reason for my lack of success and leadership positions.

Return

Throughout the second half of my mission I noticed a pattern. Whenever I was transferred I would have a few weeks of success in overcoming my returning addiction. This was true when I returned home. I had quite a period where I was mostly clean, helping around the house, seeking out work, etc. It was somewhat short-lived, though, since I stole a few more magazines/videos from my brother. There were simply too many memories and habits that I couldn't overcome, but desperately wanted to. After not too long, I decided that I needed to get out of the house. I talked with one of my friends who had served a mission, and we both moved to nearby student housing while we went to school.

One of the things I should mention is my addiction to video games. As my addiction to pornography grew in my teens, I would escape my guilt and spiritual/emotional numbness by playing video games. They occasionally were graphic--either violent or (when I dared) sexually explicit, but they very often were excessive. Because they were so closely connected, after my mission I avoided video games entirely. I didn't know what would happen, but I also didn't want to find out.

Enter My Wife

I wasn't actively trying to date...passively, maybe. The only thing I knew was that I was entranced after I went on a blind date with an intriguing girl. I wasn't threatened by her sexually--don't take that to mean that she was ugly, because she wasn't. I was very attracted to her, although most of it was intellectually and emotionally. But she was modest! I loved that she had a body that she could show off, but she chose not to. Not only was I not tempted to think of her inappropriately, but I was strengthened in my desire to overcome my addiction to pornography and masturbation because of her. During this time my thoughts and habits were clean. As I was getting more serious with her, I had a growing desire to tell her everything about my past. I was working up to it over a number of weeks, until I decided to ask for advice from our bishop. He recommended that I not tell her. I was amazed...and relieved! He said that most girls assume that guys will experiment with pornography and masturbation, but that it was behind me and I didn't need to worry her with it. I went with it because I was clean, although I knew she would have been horrified if I told her. I also don't think I accurately depicted just how long and entrenched I was in it. I'm glad he had that much faith in me, but I can't help but think it was a mistake. Maybe not, though. Why didn't God get me caught early on? Why didn't He tell the bishop to tell me to tell her? I believe He wants me to willingly come back and change. He's not going to force me in any way, although just thinking about it brings me close to tears, wishing he would have.

After Marriage

I don't have a very clear recollection about when I started looking at porn and masturbating again after getting married. Which is strange, since it's such an unbelievably more significant event. It may have to do with a general lack of motivation—neither of us were developing healthy habits (mainly poor eating, too much entertainment, and lack of exercise). Video games started up around this time too, I believe.

Many times I tried to regain my cleanness. Often I would go weeks without a relapse—I would even mark in a little schedule book in a secret code when I would relapse; afterwards I would set goals and try to go longer. The biggest difficulty I had was that whenever I had a moment of weakness in one aspect of my life, it would open a hole that would cause a relapse. Then in my frustration at relapse, I would indulge in other bad habits. The biggest weakness that started this chain reaction was video games. I would take a break from my homework to play video games. A quick break turned into a long break, which turned into open procrastination, which turned into dark feelings, pornography, and masturbation. It was a vicious cycle, especially since I honestly enjoy video games and don’t think they’re evil in themselves.

Confession

I eventually got to the point where I couldn't delude myself into believing that I could take care of it on my own. I knew I needed to tell someone, just like I had on my mission. I wasn't going to talk with a counselor or our bishop before I told my wife, so I told her. And as I feared, it crushed her. I was surprised at just how strong her reaction was—my paranoia at getting caught and guilt of what I’d done had lead me to believe she already knew on some level. But she had believed I was completely pure, in part because I complimented her modesty when we were dating.

The next Sunday I confessed to my bishop (together with my wife), and we agreed that he would take my temple recommend and that my wife and I would go to a counselor. I was clean for a month; then (alone in a hotel room) I relapsed. I told my wife right when I got home, and it crushed her again. The bishop and we agreed that I wouldn't take the sacrament for a while. During this time the counselor was helpful—he shared some great ways of thinking about addiction and pornography that I still think about. My wife didn't like him very much, mainly because he was...lenient?...in his attitude towards me, pornography, and addiction. There was probably more to it, but we eventually stopped going, mainly because of her feelings, my lack of relapse, and the cost. I think we both were anxious for the issue to just go away. However...

Secret Relapse

I forget the exact timeline, but at some point (maybe a bit longer than the first relapse in the hotel, although I fear not), I masturbated in the shower. I justified it--and that I didn't need to tell my wife about it--by saying that there wasn't any pornography involved, and that it was just a small set back. I'd simply get back on track and it would all be fine. But there was blood in the water. The next relapse I justified by saying that it wasn't hard porn, and that I could still get back on track. After that, I wasn't strong enough to see her crushed again, and I'd gotten myself in "too" deep (how would I explain that I had relapsed but hadn't told her?), and I could still turn it around, right?

It's been about three years since I told her, and there have been a number of pendulum swings in that time. The most recent attempt at abstinence was one of my best, though it wasn't long-lived as during certain periods described above. It was always white-knuckled abstinence, though...never recovery.

Second Confession

As of writing this, I confessed a second time to my wife two weeks ago. She was still heart-broken, but knows that...Actually, I'm going to leave it at she was heartbroken with no "but" attached. Sigh. She knew that things (in marriage, in work, parenting, personally) weren't going well, but at some level she didn't want to admit what that meant. I met with the bishop, confessed more fully to her, shared this blog entry with her, started researching addiction recovery blogs, started attending recovery meetings, and kept in contact with the bishop. Things feel quite different this time, in a good way, but it's up to me to keep it that way.

So I didn’t get super powers. If anything, not only did I not get super powers, I sold whatever “powers” I may have had. I would consider sexual purity, a sense of moral propriety, a clear conscience, and an untarnished understanding of femininity "powers" essential to anyone in the church who wants to be happy. But if I sold my super powers, what did I buy? At least Esau in the Old Testament, who sold his birthright for a mess of pottage in a moment of desperation, got some nourishment from the meal. Instead, I’ve bought something that corrupts everything good about me instead of fulfilling my hunger. So I sold my super powers for a bowl of poison porridge. Still, it took me 17 years to get where I am in this mess--it's going to take a long time to undo that damage. With detox, help from God and friends, and a growing understanding of myself, I have faith that I can recover myself from my addiction to lust.