Another interesting day. To say the least. I may as well start with the beginning of the day, the opening of the self, and my mouth, then bring it all the way to the close of the day, this precise moment, the now and present. Here we go. Why do I feel like I’m confessing? And why have I always thought of confessions meaning I’ve done something bad?
Went to my early morning SAA meeting again, and as you may or may not know, the fact that I’m a pornstar has been weighing heavily on my mind. I have been feeling like I’m keeping a secret from these guys, like my being there was an intrusion on the most sacred and honest place they have, and being that my profession is the focus of many of their addictions, I’ve been worried that upon opening up, and speaking my truth, I would be ostracized, asked to leave and never return, be looked down upon for participating in that which they’ve almost lost wives, families, and jobs to view. I spoke with Jill about sharing, with Karim about sharing, with Duncan about sharing, even with one or two people in the meeting that recognized me, and they all said different things. That’s the way it goes though in life, like research papers, you take a bunch of peoples opinions and move forward with your own. So I decided it was time to let the proverbial cat out of the bag. I waited until I was the last share, afraid to take that first step, the leap of faith and aggression that it takes to get a word in edgewise, and I may have run a little over the time limit, but I had to get it all out. To lay the foundation of my addiction on the floor so that it no longer festered inside of me.
I’m Jennie, and I’m a sex addict. (hello jennie). This is a very aggressive meeting, and I suppose parallels the nature of our disease, of the behavior that manifest itself daily in all our lives. I need to share how my addiction has managed to manifest, because I feel as though I am keeping a secret from all of you, and because this is such an open and honest place, I don’t want to keep any secrets, especially one like this. My addiction has manifest itself in many small ways, but in two very large and direct ways in particular. I do these things, and did these things in order to numb the shame I’ve felt from childhood trauma, to feel accepted in the eyes of men and women, and to fulfill feelings of inadequacy that I’m still trying to unearth the root of. My sexual addiction has manifest itself through alcoholism and pornography, but probably not in the way many of the addictions have come to light in this room. I’ve been in the adult industry for the past 8 years, and in the past 51 days, I’ve changed my life entirely. I’ve quit drinking, and drugging, I’ve quit my job and moved away from my trigger zone, and when I say I quit my job I mean I’ve quit performing and running a webcam studio, and I’m in the process of trying to quit being the woman whose persona and character I’ve been creating since I was 18 years old. I’m finding every day that there are things about myself I never knew because I’ve always traveled under the guise of an onscreen character, a fictitious woman that had little or no feelings. I’m addicted to every aspect of being in the adult industry. From the attention and glory to the money and meaningless sex. I’ve used all of it to numb the fact that I am a human being, and a woman, and it’s incredibly hard for me to do. But every time I come into these rooms, I am reminded that I am making the right choice, because what I do for a career has directly affected each and every one of the loving and honest men in this room, and I don’t want to contribute to what is causing you all great pain. The shame inside of me tells me that this is the only occupation I am capable of doing. And I know that sounds stupid, and I know it’s not true. But on dark nights, when nobody is listening, this is where my head goes, and I want to thank all of you for helping me to believe there is more out there for me than being a pornstar. Thank you for listening.
During the one minute burning desire, a man thanked me for my share because it made him aware that there are real people behind the images he views, and I sat in tears because in a few short breaths, the meeting would be over and I would be confronted with the truth of my share. With reactions. After the meeting I had more than a few men come up and thank me. Look me directly in the eye and thank me. And I couldn’t turn off the waterworks. I couldn’t help but cry at the outpour of support from men who’ve lost just about everything because of an addiction so subtle, it can keep you locked in your office pretending to be answering emails. After the meeting I even had one gentleman come tell me that “you can take the cross off your back. You haven’t contributed to anybodies addiction, just as none of them viewing it has contributed to yours. You don’t have to be a martyr. you can just be yourself.” And I felt better. I felt as though a great weight had been lifted, and now we could laugh at the fact that I’ve been sitting in silent terror at the thought of people addicted to the product of my career sitting in the same room as that product. The cycle has come full circle, and it’s because of this open, honest place that I feel comfortable in moving forward with my choices, and life.
We all went to breakfast after, and had laughs, and joked, and nothing was said about the fact that I’ve made porn for the past 8 years, and everything was said about the possibilities in my future. Some said I should sell things, that I speak passionately, and as long as I’m selling something I believe in, I can sell anything. Others said I should write, (to which I replied “already on it!”) or go back to school (that’s next!), but all in all, every single man in that room had my back, and this time, there was no mattress strapped to it.
The entire time I’ve been writing this tonight, I’ve been listening to the “Ohs” and “Ahs” of some chick getting banged in the next building. Normally, I would bust out my vibrator and go along with it, regardless of whether or not she sounds contrived and robotic, which she did. No, tonight I listened very carefully while eating my ice cream and tried to decide whether or not she was really enjoying it. I listened curious if there was some moment, where her breath was taken away and she was swept off her feet in orgasmic furry, and only heard the standard “Ohs” and “Ahs” I’ve been hearing for the past 8 years; an “Oh” every even pump, and an “Ah” every odd. Wash, rinse, repeat. At what point are we supposed to towel dry? The exchange between her vaguely interested moans and my ears lasted maybe 6 minutes, also about how long it sounds like their sex lasts, and I’m glad I’m not fucking anybody tonight. Or tomorrow night for that matter. Or for 311 more nights for that matters matter. But none of it matters, which is why I’m not having sex with someone I have to fake it, and why I closed the windows with a sigh of relief. Thank god it’s not me.