In the moonlit Egyptian summer night, looking out from the balcony of my parents apartment in a quiet Cairo suburb, holding hands with my then boyfriend and listening to savage garden. I knew I loved you before I met you was the name of the song. I related to every word of it. He was the one, I dreamed him into life.
There’s just no rhyme or reason
Only the sense of completion
And in your eyes
I see the missing pieces I’m searching for
I think I’ve found my way home
He was my way home. I was completely in love. I couldn’t think of anything better than to be in his arms. even now as I write this, 17 years later, I still feel that slight sense of joy form remembering the feeling I had when I was with him. My sex addiction made him the saviour. He was going to fix me. He was the answer to all my problems. He was the fulfilment of all my dreams. But the fact is, he was none of that.
I had designed a description of my saviour, it was tailor made to represent my fantasy. when I met him, I almost immediately dressed him up in my description. now looking back I could see that it was the wrong size, it ripped the minute he tried it on. But that didn’t alarm me. I was convinced that it fit him perfectly. He was the one.
not sure where to go from there, I was listening to savage garden the other day and it brought back all the memories. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t in recovery from sex and love addiction so I can indulge once more in such feelings. Most times, however, I am grateful for the life I have in recovery. It doesn’t offer the highs of my addiction but it also protects me from the deep lows I was left with in between the highs.