Hypersexuality Dipped in Love Addiction

As some of you may know, hypersexuality is a symptom in bipolar disorder. These past several days, my body has been on fire. It’s like I can feel every drop of blood rushing through my veins. My clitoris feels like it’s on tilt and won’t stop throbbing. The dirty thoughts running through my mind won’t stop either. I was prepared to handle the situation by myself (aka excessive masturbation) but a text came in—a text that changed everything.

“Am I sexy?” Soothed texted.

“Of course,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Just need a self-esteem boost. Feeling some doubt—like I don’t measure up.”

Aww. Poor fellow! It pulled at my heart strings. He was vulnerable. I’m always in a state of vulnerability. It was nice to have company for this misery of mine. He proceeded to tell me that he was feeling sad, lonely and horny. I stroked his ego with words of flattery and told him that I wanted to make him feel better.

He said that snuggling with me would make him feel better. “His body would make me feel better,” I thought to myself.

Of course I knew snuggling probably was a code word for something else but I didn’t care. I was on fire and needed to be extinguished. I needed to be touched. I needed to feel his kisses. I needed to feel him surrounding me. I went downstairs to his apartment. We crawled into his bed, talked and held each other for a couple of hours.

He began to kiss and caress me. It has been a while since anyone has been so close to my body—105 days to be exact. He touched me as if I was the last woman alive. He then summoned the love addict in me. He kept telling me how sexy and lovely I was and how happy my presence made him. A part of me wanted him to tell me that he loved me too and I nearly asked. One thing led to another and we were doing all the kinky things that we used to do. It was exhilarating. It’s been so long since I felt that way.

I collapsed in his arms and throughout the night, he continued to feed me compliments whenever I tossed and turned. I had insomnia and tried my best to feign sleep because I knew he had to work in a few hours. In the morning, I went upstairs and crashed for several hours.

It has been 6 days and I’m still feeling hypersexual. Touching myself hasn’t been enough. I want to knock on his door but I’m trying to stay away. Regret has made itself home in the corner of my mind. Giving into him was every variation of stupid especially after he told me I couldn’t be a potential mate because of my race but my feelings were uncontrollable that night. In my twisted little mind I felt like we needed each other.

I went to see my psychiatrist later that day. He wrote refills for the prescriptions I’m not taking. I go to my appointments to keep the insurance company and government off my back. Maybe I should take them. Maybe being a zombie is better than being up and down and impulsive. One of the nurses wanted to know why I ditched that therapy last month. I couldn’t come up with a feasible excuse that didn’t make me sound crazier and told her that I would attend a session soon. She said that it would make me feel better. I wasn’t aware that she could see my sad eyes. I try my best to camouflage everything and unload it in this blog. There’s a session being held tomorrow morning. Maybe I should go. Maybe I should make time for a SLAA meeting too. Maybe my “maybes” should be a “will be.”

Missing Him…

Image from Photobucket

I miss him. There, I said it. Some masochist I am—or even a fool perhaps. I wasn’t happy in our “relationship”. I felt ignored. I felt alone. But there were times in which I didn’t feel so alone and ignored. I miss the way we kissed. I miss the way we talked that talk as our bodies and mouths invaded each other. I miss the undeniable passion that we had for each other. I miss the way he rushed through my veins. I miss getting high off him but I hated crashing.

I miss the way we stared at each other.  I miss laughing and being silly with him. I miss the fact that he liked my silliness and I his. I miss texting each other all day long. Every time my phone chirps with an incoming message now, a part of me longs for it to be him. I miss feeling like a teenager because now I alternate between being a Bitter Betty and a Sentimental Sally. I want to reach out to him but I cannot bring myself to do it. A part of me knows it wouldn’t be the grandest idea I ever concocted. It may be yet another recipe for disaster! But I often imagine how good it would taste and feel until it comes out the other end—the wells of my eyes.

I have a confession. I have been using Lied lately to try to forget about Text. I know. It’s wrong on so many levels. We talk nearly every day now. On top of that, every single day we play Words with Friends on our mobile devices from morning until late at night. It’s been a great distraction but comforting too. And he’s getting to the point where he’s trying to take sole possession of me. I think he’s relieved that I’m not with Text anymore. He doesn’t say it but I can tell. He made it his mission from day 1 to tell me how things didn’t add up with Text and how the relationship failed in comparison to most romantic relationships—including ours.

And in case you’re wondering, yes, we have slept with each other since my breakup with Text. I know it’s wrong—dead wrong— but I needed someone at the time. I needed to be held, kissed, caressed, and needed to extinguish this fire inside that still burned for Text. It felt like old times—like we were 19 all over again. Gosh, I wish Lied and I were 19 again. And during that lustful moment, Text did not cross my mind at all. Thoughts of him saddened me and I needed somewhere to bury the pain temporarily—inside of Lied’s mouth, hands, and lions. It worked for the most part but at this rate, I would have to have sex everyday to keep my mind off Text and Lied isn’t in the position to make that happen and the thought of finding someone new terrifies me.

I’m starting to seriously wonder if I have a problem. I have been reading this blog lately and I noticed that there was a link to a questionnaire to Sex and Love Addiction Anonymous (SLAA) website. It’s called “40 Questions for Self-Diagnosis” in regards to having love and sex addiction. Out of the 40 questions, I only answered “no” to 4 of them. Wow. 4. And those 36 yeses made me want to crawl in a hole and just stay there until never dawn. I honestly did not know that I actually behaved in such a manner. Of course, the questions are not a substitution for a formal diagnosis but it made me realize parts of me that I never knew or often shrugged off to being sexually liberated.  I’ve always thought my sexual liberation was splendiferous but there seems to be a distinguishing difference between liberation and addiction.

What do I do with such information? Do I consult a therapist? Do I actually join SLAA? Is there even a chapter in Houston? Hell, I can’t even bring myself to join a Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance (DBSA) group out of complete and utter shame. Speaking of things bipolar, I am back on my medication after a lengthy, self-imposed, and unnecessary hiatus. It makes me feel numb and spacey at times. All the racing thoughts have settled dramatically but my mind feels a little lonely without all its friends AKA colliding thoughts. It’s still too early to tell if it’s really helping but I do sleep more often and longer most nights. My mood is still shifting and I’m uber hypersexual. I’m trying to maintain as much as I possibly can.