Meeting the Giver of the Goods: Addiction 2: Men

When I was 18 and my parents kicked me out of their house ( I deserved it, trust me), I was bouncing from sofa to sofa. Mostly my car was my place of peace and rest but I made a lot of "friends" that year that would let me pass out on their couches or better yet, in their beds here and there. I went from being a weird social disaster from high school, to the ultimate blonde bombshell party girl. I lost about 40 pounds, bleached my hair, wore tight skimpy clothes, and like I said earlier, was willing to do anything. I was that girl the other girls HATED and the girl the guys loved. My first night out on my own I had guys approaching my car as I sat alone, crying, and scared at the park. This at that time was a popular hang out spot for the local burn outs, I fit in well. They invited me over to hang out and I gave them my sob story and they felt bad for me. Needless to say, I had a place to stay for a few days. I didn't know why nor did I care that not a single one of my relationships that year lasted more than a month at the most. If a boy wanted my attention, they got it. I was addicted to men, or more known as, a sex addiction. I was the Tiger Woods of the time. I am lucky it never turned bad for me, I never caught a disease or got pregnant, I just got treated like a whore. I chased men like a hungry animal and I didn't care who stood in my way. I lost two jobs, lost several places to stay, and a lot of friends because of my addiction. A few months of fun turned into several months of worry, pain, loneliness, and reverting right back to my lifestyle of stealing and deceit to get by. No one else would help me anymore and I was living full time in my car, no job, no gas, hungry, no friends, and like I said in my other blogs, I refused to ask my family for help. I suffered for a while until I was so desperate and hungry, I stole money, wrote bad checks, stole a car to go get money, and caused a lot of trouble for police. I was watched police like a hawk, getting pulled over nearly everyday for going a mile per hour over the speed limit and getting a ticket for it. I decided I had to get out of town. I met a guy, who I really didn't like much, who invited me to move out in the country with him and his brother. Life there was terrible. I wrecked a motorcycle drunk on a dirt road busting up my leg so bad I could barely move, but waking up the next day being yelled at to get off my ass and work, cook and clean, then help with the deer they killed. The brother was mentally unstable and would threaten to kill me if I stepped out of line. After a few weeks I met someone else and bolted out of there as fast as I could to another home in the country where the girls that lived there stole all my clothes and then called the police on me. That began my long stay in Boone County jail, where I was facing a nasty prison sentence. This snapped me out of my addiction to stealing at least, that I know was dead. I was done, cold, sad, and hollow. Not even men could fulfill this void. I sat in jail watching out the window that faced the highway hoping to catch a glimpse of one of my parents driving by to work. I saw my moms bright yellow company truck (At least I think it was her) a few times. All I wanted was to go home and be good.