Dear Concerned Person,
I'm writing to you because I don't know anyone else who would be willing to hear about my compulsive behaviors. I've only one good friend and few acquaintances. My family is supportive, but does not understand the impact of my compulsive behaviors. Their response is generally:
You don't have any problems that other people don't have. Have you been taking your medication? We're not doing any better than you.
I feel their responses are genuine, but they make me feel more hopeless than ever.
I have a bleak void of loneliness filling my life. I am extremely introspective, self centered and often selfish. I try to fill the void with compulsive behaviors which bring a temporary false sense of joy. My compulsive behaviors isolate me from other people, make me feel guilty, and compel me to hide my true nature from others. I spend most of my time acting like I'm someone else.
I often feel I'm living inside of an elaborate computer program.
Not since before Junior High School have I been myself.
When I moved to Davis for Junior High School, my friends were members of the church. Two incidents happened which pushed me onto the path of isolation and compulsiveness. The first was when I passed the Sacrament (I didn't join the church until I was in my twenties). In the deacons quorum, our teacher told us that someone had passed the Sacrament who didn't have the priesthood and that the person acted just like a member even though they weren't... I felt very embarrassed and uncomfortable.
The second incident was when my father grounded me because my grades weren't good enough. With the commencement of the grounding, I spent my time doing homework in my room or reading books.
In High School I had acquaintances from church and school, but no close friends. I never had anyone over to our house. I never went on a date. I never kissed a girl. I never held hands with a girl. I never hugged a girl.
My compulsive behaviors seemed to start in elementary school. I started collecting comic books. Comic book posters, cups, figures,... My father never gave us an allowance and we couldn't work. I stole money from my mother's purse to buy my comics. I hid the comic books underneath my bed and was very careful about when and where I read them.
Occasionally my mother would ask me if I took money from her. Of course I lied and said, "no". I continued to collect comic books in this manner throughout high school and my first year of college.
I left high school after my junior year to attend UC Berkeley. I spent hours in the library writing in my diary about how lousy everything was. Half of the diary was written backwards.
My father would ask me what was wrong. I would reply in various tones "I'm OK". I would minimize my conversation with him and everyone else.
Everything I've done since that time has been left incomplete due to my inability to follow through and complete a commitment.
Between my sophomore and junior years at UCB, I was required to attend a ten week Forestry camp located in Plumas county (up in the mountains). At that point in my life I decided I would get friends whether they liked it or not. I created the new persona of "Spunky". I started to drink beer. I started to get drunk and obnoxious (I acted as if I was on speed). I ran around with a beer can glued to the top of my hard hat.
One incident stands out in my mind from this embarrassing period. We had the weekends off and a group of people decided to drive up to the lake and leave me behind. I walked 18 miles up the mountain. I couldn't find anyone at the lake. I was mad. I drank a six pack of beer as fast as I could. I swam in the lake for awhile. I made my way back to camp managing to pick up a toy shovel. I used the shovel to scrape a dead squirrel off the road and carry it in to camp. I thought it would be great fun. Nobody else did.
I took a lot of pictures of dead animals that summer.
In the fall of my junior year at UCB, I moved into the dorms and continued drinking. I failed tests because I was too hung over to concentrate.
A women in the dorm was raped. I felt as if it had been me. We were asked to exchange rooms with the roommates of the woman who was raped. I volunteered to make the exchange without consulting my roommates. My roommates were not happy about having to move.
I decided I needed to do something to make everybody happy again. I offered to buy playoff tickets for the A's and people could pay me back when they got the tickets.
I withdrew all of my money from savings and went on a shopping spree. I selected one of each text book at the bookstore. I bought computer equipment, a TV, paper supplies, calculators...
On the evening of the A's playoff game, my sister was supposed to come over from Davis so we could all go to the game. Before she got there, the police had hauled me off to the student hospital. I escaped and returned to the dorms. They called the cops again. The cops hauled me back to the student hospital, which transferred me to another hospital, which transferred me to another hospital where I stayed for several weeks before being transferred to another hospital.
My parents and brother were out of the country at the time. My uncle flew in from Texas to take care of me until my mother could return. I wanted to leave the hospital and my uncle testified against my being released. I asked the judge to let me go.
Every time my parents visited, I packed up all of my stuff so we could leave together. I become frustrated and angry when I couldn't leave.
For the next few months, I couldn't read because my medication affected my vision. I hated taking the medication.
It hasn't been until the last year that I have come to terms with the medication issue.
I tried to resume my schooling, but withdrew after a couple of weeks. I couldn't concentrate. I felt embarrassed associating with the forestry students.
I went to stay with my uncle in Phoenix. I got a job shining shoes in a country club. Tips were good. Many of the club members were very demanding. I felt a lot of pressure.
I had a Mexican girl friend (Carmen) who couldn't speak English very well and I couldn't speak Spanish very well. We went to a few concerts and the state fair.
My grandmother knew her family and her brother told my grandmother that I had tried to have sex with her. I was furious because I hadn't even tried to kiss her.
Shortly there after, I ended up in the hospital again and moved back to California. I never told Carmen why I had been in the hospital. She wrote to me several times trying to make contact with me. I sent her no reply.
The most destructive compulsive behavior I have began when I was in High School. My parents told me nothing about sexuality. I discovered m** one night. I didn't know what it was. I wondered if everyone could do it, or if only some people could. It felt very good.
I started collecting material for my m** from TV, people around me, magazines, books, and pornography. I wasn't sure whether it was bad or not. I didn't want to know. I didn't tell anyone about it. I hid my pornographic stuff underneath the bed.
Anytime I felt stressed, I would m**. I felt stressed about once or twice a day. I spent a large part of my time thinking of things associated with my m**.
When the missionaries talked with me about the law of chastity I thought it might include m**. I did not want to ask them about m** because it might have confirmed my suspicions. I reduced the frequency of my m** and threw out my pornographic materials.
Since my baptism I've tried to eliminate pornographic materials, but when I feel stressed I will collect more pornographic materials and throw it out after a few days. I promise myself I'll never do it again, knowing I will.
TV has been a particularly rich source of pornographic materials. I can't remember how many times I've stayed up late at night after everyone has gone to sleep so I could m** to the TV. I would pull my pants down, put the mute button on, have the remote control in one hand, the other hand... I would flip through the channels until something pornographic came on...
I no longer watch TV.
During my interviews with the bishop in preparation for going on a mission, I brought up my m** problem. I agreed to stop it. I reduced it, but did not stop it. In retrospect, it's clear I lied to the bishop and the stake president about keeping the law of chastity.
At the MTC, I confessed about my m** problem. I was able to keep clean for three weeks (the longest period of my adult life).
I broke down and went on my last temple visit because I was too afraid to explain to my companion why I could not go to the temple.
I have always hated going to the temple because I haven't been worthy to enter and feel very guilty.
I was very letter of the law oriented with my companions. I was never with a companion for more than a few months.
Domestic violence and rumors among members and celestial candidates caused me great anxiety, frustration, anger and hopelessness.
Every other month, I talked with the mission President to get my yo-yo wound up.
Every week I'd write to my father, girl friend, and mother.
I told everyone, especially my girl friend, how wonderful things were.
My mother only wrote me three times. I'm still very disappointed she didn't write more. I've been very distant with her since then.
After fourteen months, I decided I would leave no matter what. I thought about getting enough money together to ditch my companion in the city and take a flight home. I finally ended up putting on a crazy act for my companion. I paced up and down the room for a couple of hours acting like a fish. He called the mission president for help.
The mission president decided it was time for me to leave.
When I returned to Davis I had no money and slept on a couch in the living room for 6 months at the rate of $100 per month.
I was able to get a job within a few weeks. I tried returning to school and changing my major. I had too many units, so my request for a change of major was denied. I quit school and started working full time at student wages.
I was recommended for a job with the U.S. District Court by my member roommate. The job was a snake pit of contention.
About a year and a half ago I was feeling very depressed about my lack of friends, particularly girl friends. I talked with my roommate about the situation (he is a member). He suggested that I needed to learn more social graces. He suggested I talk with a women friend of his (non-member) who helped him out. I didn't want to at first, but decided I didn't have anything to lose.
We went out to dinner and talked small talk.
The next weekend she came over to see a video at our apartment. My roommate started to rub her back. I rubbed her back. We sat together on the couch. We sat closer together on the couch. When the movie ended and the others left, she asked me what I wanted to do. We kissed and kissed some more. It was late at night. We decided she should stay over and sleep on the couch downstairs.
She came to my room. We kissed. We kissed some more. My kisses roamed further south. I became unworthy to enter the temple.
For the next two weekends we had sex. I knew something was wrong, but it felt too good. I wanted to deny what was happening.
I told the bishop and haven't been involved with her since that time. She was very mad and felt that I had overreacted and that the church was sexually repressive.
Since that time the following has happened:
I've been robbed.
A roommate (non-member) accepted $1500 from me when I was mentally unstable.
I became stressed out and quit my job at the court.
Spent six months sponging off my sister while I half heartily looked for another job.
My old roommate (member) pressured me to move into his place just after I'd signed a lease for a different place (he only calls me now to ask for money).
I threw away all of my stuff except some pictures, clothes and kitchen stuff.
I've lost twenty pounds.
My lower stomach puffs up like a balloon after I eat. I've become near sighted. I do not feel I belong at church even though I should be there (I do attend).
I took out my first loan so I could buy an expensive stereo system.
Every few days I go out and buy another CD. I usually spend several hours searching for the CD.
If I'm not out buying CDs, I m out buying food or used books. I'll spend hours in the grocery store buying food that will last only a few days.
I feel lonely. Very lonely. Alone.
Every three months or so I feel I would like to die and get it over with. I never follow through on the idea because I'm not in a good condition for death. Too many things are left incomplete.
My compulsive behaviors can be summarized by the following:
Sex, Lies, and Buying Things
This letter is very whiny and shrill, but it represents how I feel.
I live a self centered, compulsive, empty, boring, mechanical life.
I want friends to love and to love me.
Sincerely,
Polar Paul