Confessions of a sex addict #1
by Hazel Pino
I did some pretty awful and risky things when I was in high school and looking back on it later, it made sense to why I did. It doesn’t justify my actions, but at least I know why I was the way I was.
I grew up abused by my brother. He would hit me every time he was angry. Not those siblings-fighting type of hits either but he would choke me with his hands or a bat until the darkness started seeping in from the corners of my eyes or he would sock me in the stomach or the back. And my mother always told me how worthless I was. How I would amount to nothing and I was a failure. My dad turned his cheek any time something like this happened and pretended to hear anything.
This one time two men knocked on our door, my mom told me to open the door thinking it was two of my friends (they did look similar to them) but it turned out to be door-to-door guys. I was polite and held conversation, what was I suppose to do? Find out they weren’t my friends and slam the door? My mom was standing at the stairs watching/listening and never bothered to interfere. When I closed the door, my brother slammed me against the wall and punched me. Obviously instincts came over and I was crumpling on the ground crying. My mom stood there with a smug look on her face saying, “why are you crying? You deserve it.” I deserve what? YOU’RE the one who TOLD ME to open the door.
A lot of the times things at home felt like a set up. Like they were teaming up against me. Punishing me for who-the-fuck even knows anymore.
At 17 I worked two jobs, had 7 classes + a Saturday morning class. I requested only one day off from my main job which was Saturday so I could go to San Francisco to see my friends. And that was my week. All week I did nothing but work and go to school, I was never home. It was perfect. And productive.
I also had a lot of sex.
Was that too forward?
I couldn’t really understand at the time why. Granted it was with ex boyfriends I “still loved” but that doesn’t really explain anything, if I thought about it long enough. Now looking back on it, it wasn’t for the reason I had thought in the beginning (which I don’t even really remember… besides trying to win them back). What it really was, was that I craved that feeling that someone needed me or wanted me so badly. Even if it was for a little while. Even if it was for the wrong reasons. There was nothing I wanted more in my life to just feel like someone actually wanted me around. And even though I knew deep down inside it wasn’t the fantasy I was making up in my head, that the reasons were wrong, and even though at the end of the day I was much more heartbroken and lonely… it was those messed up fantasized moments that kept me going.
Sometimes with I read my journals/blogs from those days and even though I know a lot of the things I was saying was more like convincing myself it was true — I feel ashamed of myself. But at the same time, I don’t because it was what it was. The situation was what it was and at the time it’s exactly what I wanted. It might have been wrong, but it taught me a lot about life and relationships. And myself.