Benoit Denizet-Lewis - America Anonymous: Eight Addicts in Search of a Life

The Twelve Steps will be found on "The Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous" Section.

FOR THIS WORK of nonfiction, I immersed myself for two to three years in the lives of eight men and women from around the country struggling with addictions. Most requested that I change their names, and some asked that I not mention the town, city, or state where they live. I have obliged them.

To further protect their anonymity, in most cases I have changed the names of their family members and friends. I have also changed the names of most secondary characters.

There are no composite characters in this book. No scenes have been invented or embellished. I was present for much of what I write about, although I re-created some scenes with the help of those who witnessed them or were a part of them.

Except in the case of one addict (Bobby), no identifying characteristics have been changed. In Bobbys case, because I write specifically about the neighborhood where he lives, I have changed a handful of facts about his life.

While I tried to write about men and women who suffered from a broad range of addictions (and who were in different stages of recovery), this book is not intended to represent addiction and recovery in every form in this country.

These are the addicts I followed for this book (including their age and occupations when I started following them, and their primary addictions):

BOBBY , 34, unemployed. Heroin.

MARVIN , 80, retired. Alcohol.

TODD , 40, bodybuilder and male escort. Crystal meth and steroids.

ELLEN , 51, radio executive and DJ. Food.

SEAN , 20, college student. Sex and pornography.

JANICE , 55, unemployed. Crack.

JODY , 32, addiction counselor. Heroin, crack, prescription drugs, gambling, and nicotine.

KATE , 32, stay-at-home mom. Shoplifting.

I AM AN addictor, as my father prefers it said, I have an addiction. Theres no need, he insists, to so thoroughly pigeonhole myself. I think I know what he means. If I have an addiction , then maybe one day I can throw it away, or misplace it, or refuse to be seen with it. But if I am an addict well, that feels more permanent, more all-defining.

I did not consciously choose my particular manifestation of addiction (sex), nor did I make a concerted effort not to become enslaved to cocaine, or crystal meth, or craps, or any of the myriad ways addicts commit suicide on the installment plan, as educator Laurence Peter once put it. For whatever reasons, my brain believes that sex is the best way to medicate loneliness, disconnection, shame, anger, and a core beliefonly recently challengedthat I am inherently unlovable.

Perhaps my sex addiction was foreshadowed many years ago. When I was twelve, my favorite song was George Michaels I Want Your Sex. In the shower I could be heard happily belting, Sex is natural, sex is good, not everybody does it, but everybody should!

Back then, it would have been inconceivable to me that one could think about sexor, better yet, have sextoo often for ones own good. Sex was definitely not like crack, which I was hearing about with increasing hysteria on the news. Crack seemed very, very bad. Sex seemed like a great idea, especially as it was explained to me in the pages of the Penthouse magazines I found while snooping around my fathers bedroom. (My parents divorced when I was six, and I divided my time between their houses.)

If you had told me when I was twelve that I would grow up to be a sex addict, I likely would have prayed you were right. My attitude at the time would have mirrored that of some grown married men whom Ive told about my addiction. When I say that sex can take over my life, I dont get much sympathy.

But lucky I am not. Like any debilitating addiction, sex addiction is about as fun as a self-imposed daily practice of water torture. What does sex addiction look like? It can take many forms, but for me a bad day in my active addiction looked something like this:

9:45 A.M. : Wake up later than intended (resolve to get up earlier the next day).

9:46 A.M. : Feel shame for having blown off my friends (again) in favor of spending five hours the previous night in a chat room on the Internet, followed by an hour of sex with someone I met there. Resolve to see friends that night.

9:47 A.M. : Think about eating breakfast.

10:02 A.M. : Decide that Ill wait until lunch to eat.

10:05 A.M. : Blow off checking my work e-mail. Check my other e-mail, to see who responded to one of my online profiles, some more truthful than others.

10:38 A.M. : Have phone sex.

10:59 A.M. : Remember that I hate phone sex. Resolve to stop having phone sex.

11:03 A.M. : Check my work e-mailrealize that I missed an appointment.

11:05 A.M. : E-mail said person. Apologize, make excuse.

11:08 A.M. : Call a friend and make plans for that night.

11:20 A.M. : Try to work.

12:09 P.M. : Give up. Resolve to work harder the next day.

12:23 P.M. : Make a sandwich. Watch TV.

1:15 P.M. : Spend five hours online looking for someone attractive to have sex with. Ignore repeated calls from friend with whom I have plans.

6:17 P.M. : Call friend. Lie about why I cant meet.

6:19 P.M. : Feel shame.

6:20 P.M. : Go back online. Eventually find someone attractive to have sex with.

7:10 P.M. : Take first shower of the day. 7:20 P.M. : Drive an hour to meet the person. Wait. Person doesnt show.

8:40 P.M. : Drive home, angry and hungry.

9:40 P.M. : Get back onlinelook for someone new.

10:02 P.M. : Mom calls (later than usual). Let it go to voice mail.

10:05 P.M. : Watch some porn.

10:45 P.M. : Have phone sex.

12:45 A.M. : Remember that I hate phone sex. Resolve to stop having phone sex.

12:46 A.M. : Feel shame.

12:49 A.M. : Finally eat dinner (leftover Chinese food).

1:08 A.M. : Check moms message. Realize that I forgot her birthday.

1:09 A.M. : Feel like killing myself.

Fortunately, I can take or leave drugs and alcohol. I drink wine often (Im half French), but I stop after a glass or two. I enjoy marijuana, but not nearly enough to go looking for it. I tried acid once in college, but by the third hour I had convinced myself that my two chess-playing, acid-dropping friends were conspiring against me with every move. I tried mushrooms once, enjoying them very much until I thought I was a character in a television show I was watching and deciding that I would be happier curled up in bed listening to Enya.