I read a short news article about a teenage girl who suffered with sex addiction.  She ended up committing suicide by hanging herself after the way she was treated at school when the other kids found out.  This sparked my need to write a short story, written in first person, about a teenage girl who suffered with sex addiction.

***WARNING*** This story contains sexual content, but NOT graphic.

Why, God am...

they don’t seem to know what I’m feeling.  I walk the hallways thinking that, if they knew, they would really know the way i am.  I’m sick of feeling apart from others even though i talk to them in ways friends should.  guys should know that i like them.  i know it’s my fault.  i’m sure they think of me sexually.  i can feel it.  i can see things they don’t think I see.  in a way i think they know but don’t know.  if you know what i mean.

my friend visited me just awhile ago.  jenny was really cool, like helpful.  I would love to tell her about what i was thinking i would do to guys if i could but i don’t think she would think it would be the best way to let him know what i wanted from them.  maybe telling him, actually telling him, would be better.  i’m sure it would be safer to my feelings if i did it that way.  it just seems like things don’t become the way they should unless i do it a certain way. you know, apart from what others would do.   it’s not like i want to do it but i’m thinking this is the best way.  don’t call me a pervert or something, but i’m sure it will be okay.  it’s not like i’ve done these things before.  please don’t judge me.

I wrote that, but I wasn’t really secure in what I was thinking. I wrote it anyways.  It’s weird being seriously thinking about boys in that way.  I’ve never thought that way growing up as a kid.  My mom taught me about being really sure about myself, making sure that I sent the right messages, and that I’m true to myself in whatever I do.  I never really thought that what I did would get as big as it did.  

- but it did. It got that bad.  But I’m the only one to blame.

Jenny was sick the day before yesterday, the time I started writing in my diary.  I think it was about eight or so weeks ago even though time isn’t the same anymore.  It seemed like it was nothing, but for some reason, I felt differently than I have in the past.  I would never tell my mom because that would be creepy.  My mom isn’t one to do or think of anything sexually.  In a way I think I was delivered in some weird alien kind of way no one would ever know about, except for my mom and the dude with the eight suction like arms would know.  I could never say anything to her, even though I know she would like to hear everything I say.  If I really talked to her.      

Believe me.  Boys are really cool.  I love the way they are.  Seriously, I can’t describe it, but they seem sure of themselves.  Not only manly and masculine, or boy like, but I really see myself with them.  “With them”, I mean sexually.  I should really be afraid of saying things like that, but I am of age.  Like I said, I’m seriously thinking of them in that way.

Jesse looked at me the other day.  it was at the end of school and he was really trying to get somewhere fast, but I knew he looked at me like he wanted me in that way.  he wore that thing i knew he liked.  not his uniform, but that same tshirt he would always wear to practice.  i kept thinking, did he see me looking at him?  if he did, i would be like toast to his friends.   jesse had really good friends.  it wasn’t like i knew him, shoot, i didn’t really know jesse.  i saw him looking at me, so i kept looking back.

did i say he looked at me?  i think he smiled a couple of times.  i really believe he could like me like a girlfriend.  one thing is for certain... i must increase the makeup wearage.  guys like the makeup.  that I KNOW.


I knew what I was writing was way out there.  I knew it as I was writing it, but you don’t really know what you’re writing until you read it like a million times.  I keep saying this, but believe me, I knew what I was writing was wrong.  I was way ahead of myself.  It didn’t take until that day my friends and me went hanging out together.  You really need to know the best time to ask your mom about going somewhere, anywhere.  I knew, that this day, at that time, that I would be allowed to go out with my friends that afternoon.  This sounds really typical for a teen to say, but we went to the mall.  The fucking mall is really lame.  “Really lame,” is what Sus said when she picked me up (Sus said “lame” a lot).

Of course my mom was looking at me as I left the house.  Some of my friends knew that she was looking.  Shoot, she always was.  I hated her for it, but it seemed kind of cool in a way.  I shared it with one of my friends, the way I thought my mom looking at for me was cooler than what most moms did, but I don’t think she was listening to me when I said it.  I just remember waving at her as we passed the next house.  I hoped she saw me doing it, but I’m not thinking she did.

the mall

there’s this thing at the mall that you should know.  its like people my age are always looking at me.  it’s not like they’re only looking at me but that they’re always looking at my friends and me walk down the mall.  we watch them on the level above us, and when they look at us from the stores i cringe.  i tried to tell me friends this but they were laughing at other stuff when I said it.  we don’t really say things to each other like we’re in a quiet room where we know we don’t have anything to think about but what the other is saying to each other at that time.  in the mall, i said it anyways.  my friend didn’t hear me.

I play this game even though I know it’s not the right thing to do.  It’s the boy’s fault.  those boys play games as well, like me.  I think my friends play it too, but I know them better than they know themselves.  I usually spot the couple or so boys I like the first time around the mall.  The first level is, you know, the trial time for me.  I look left and right, always keeping an eye on the upper level.  Obviously, we’ll get there at some time.  Giving the way boys think, they might think way to much, like they know what we’re thinking.  I’m not never sure they think like us, even though they say those things to me.  and my friends.  

Andrew, a boy a met as he passed me one day in some mall (another mall in town) seemed to always know me and my friends would always be around there, like today.  We were, since stupid Cady told some lie to get out of the house.  I guess she is beaten, maybe beaten down, I guess.  Maybe from her boyfriend. I don’t know, but I don’t really don’t care.  Anyways, my friend, Cady and I were, you know, planning out the days boy activities.  Andrew played the same game like I did.  He was always there at the dressing room, waiting at one of the stores.  It wasn’t like a big store like Sears or anything.  Anyways, how would anyone my age, like a boy, go to Sears unless it was some part of a game I played.  I played it well because Andrew was waiting for me at the dressing room place.

he was really good looking like he knew what I wanted him to look like.  i played quiet and innocent but i think he saw through things like that.  i know the look, and guys.  its like its really important to them that they be there with me at the same time. almost like if they weren’t there, they would like die, or something.  andrew had that same look on his face.  all i could think about was how i would like to give him a (you know what).  i could do stuff like that like no other girl was able to do, or if he had, wasnt as good as me.  i wanted him to grab me and throw me against the wall so he could grab at anything he wanted.  for some reason i held back like I was the way i should be, this little girl. like my mom always said i was innocent.  i just wanted some guy to take me. away from things

My mom was angry at me and at Susan, as some stupid girl named Cady dropped me off after the end of the day.  Mom said that I was irresponsible and that I didn’t think about anyone but myself.  I tried to tell her that it was Susie’s fault, trying to tell her that her friend Cady was so irresponsible like her family didn’t care about their kid like she did.  My mom bought it, not taking any of my past “indiscretions”, adding to my current bad judgements.  I ended up going to my room listening to some music.  I texted Sus saying that I was sorry that, “like, my mom was acting weird”.  I think she understood.  She texted back saying that I was special.  I didn’t know what that meant, but I went to sleep knowing that I didn’t study the way I should have for my test tomorrow.  It was for Social Studies, or something like that.

Andrew was a student at the same school as me.  Apparently, he was like a junior, or something.  I don’t pay much attention to stuff like that. It wasn’t until after second period when I found out I was more popular than I thought I would ever possibly be.

I wanted him to be gentle. i think i said that to him, but he was acting cool, like it didn’t matter.  he just kept saying that he thought i was cool and really sexy like it was a perfect thing for him. he wouldn’t tell his friend, he told me that. i remember the countless number of hangars poking me in the butt as he did it to me in the closet. i said a couple of times that we should stop, but he didn’t. Andrew reached inside my pants before he said he wasn’t really sure he should do this. for some reason i encouraged him on.  i wanted to feel some body inside me. i wouldn’t lie, it felt good inside me. it was poking but still it felt good.  i told him, once again, to stop but he didn’t. i like they way it felt no matter what I said.  i wanted more, like he could push it inside as hard as he could so i could feel it.  he had really big pecks. a big chest, muscular.  i thought that he might have worked out. at least i thought that since i like my guys i fuck to be athletic even though i knew they might not be.

I was embarrassed, you know, like, who wouldn’t?  I could never show up to school like the way I wanted to anymore.  I needed some time, so I pretended to be sick.  Even though I was successful a couple of times when I was a kid, I guess I lost my touch.  It took my mother two times to check me before she decided to also call in sick from work.  Shoot, you know, parents can’t leave their high school kid alone, like we can’t take care of ourselves.  I can’t complain though.  She, as many mothers do, treated me like I was the most special person of the day, serving me anything I asked.  Sick or not, I was treated like a queen.  But I kept thinking that I should be thinking about about I was waiting for.  I knew I couldn’t sit in bed all day.  I knew I needed to get out, I just didn’t know how.  Sus texted me like several times during school, asking me if I was watching some soap opera her mom apparently liked.  I guess she tapes some of them for her mother, or something.  I texted back saying that I didn’t.  I told her that I was looked after from my mom like some hostage.  She accepted it.  It was probably because she was treated similar to me.  I asked her about how things were, as if things might be different now.   At school, from what I didn’t hear her say even though she said a bunch of things, it was like it was different.  I might be someone else when I eventually get back.  It was as if some guys, including Andrew might have said some things.  I just told Sus that things will be different since I didn’t do anything wrong.  I think Sus accepted the things I told her since Sus accepted most of the things I’ve said.

French onion soup, dry crackers, 7-Up, and a Snickers bar. I fell asleep soon after.  I tossed and turned all night.

I was assigned to some ward, or that’s what they called it.  It wasn’t like I was being punished.  It was like I was being treated like an prisoner with benefits - I still got fucked, almost daily.   I tried to ask for my mom but I was treated like the other co-workers were given  instructions how to act like my mom.  Actually, they kind of like yelled at me for the same things I did at home.

I think it was some girl named Sindy that welcomed me to the new part of my school experience.  I’m sure her name was spelled with a “C”, but I wasn’t sure since she was dressed in some outfit I could only describe as slutty.  It wasn’t me, but she was still kind of cool.  Sindy pushed me toward a group of her friends that seemed okay, I guess.  Except for that they seemed unlike me. It was different and weird, like I should be running away from them, but I shouldn’t because it felt better doing the opposite.  I treated them okay, only thinking that I should be somewhere else.  I always thought I should be somewhere else.

I was to be assigned to someone that could “help me” at school.  I kept looking for Sus, but I’m sure she was assigned to take a different bus than me, maybe a different school than me as well.  Her name for Christine.  Not, Christy, or any variation of Christine.  She was sure of that.  I just thought to myself that I should just nod and repeat the same thing she said to me but in a question, just to be safe.  Anyways, I knew my mom would pick me up and take me away to where I should have always been in the first place.

“Sexuallness will not be tolerated.  You hear that?”

I wasn’t into girls, but I was, in a way, turned on.  I didn’t say that to her, I just nodded - scared like.  I knew she expected it.  I was good at saying the right thing at the right time, like pretending to be sick.

I don’t know if you know or not, but, I guess there is, like, a couple hundred or so diseases you can pick up if you’re “sexually active”.  I would tell her that it sucks to be her, but I didn’t.

“Can I go now?”

After looking at the clock, Christine just nodded.  I left.  I was horny.

Adults don’t realize time like kids do. it’s like they’re always looking in the rear view mirror, not looking ahead of them. my mom was like that before this whole thing with me happened.  now she looks in the rear view mirror, looking at me, waiting for me to look ahead at her, like I had an imaginary turn signal pointing out of my head, telling her which way to turn.

Andrew had told his buddies that I was “easy”.  Probably putting myself in this situation I was facing now.  I couldn’t actually see them chasing me, but I could feel it.  I’m not one to lie, especially now.  I wear a lot of make up now.  Like before, make up works like a sign.  I’m sure to hide it away from my mom the best way I could.  She’s like in some hyper mom mode now, or something.  Make up is really cheap in most places, plus it’s at every mall and at every store that sells personal hygiene stuff.  

You know, at the mall, I can sense guys looking at me.  It’s like I can see it a mile down the road.  I really get a really cool vibe from it.  It was like I could push it, but it would push back.  If it wasn’t for those many crappy older guys looking at me at an early age, hiding it from their girlfriends or families, or something, I could really get to like it.   I want guys my age to grab me and fuck me, but in a loving way after.  

After telling my mom where I was and should be (but not) the night before, she dropped me off at the “drop off” sign in front of the Care Center the next morning, not waiting for the door to shut before she drove off.  I was confronted by a group of care takers dressed in a bad tint of yellow, thanking me for entering (again) their “solace of sunshine and embrace”.

I’m sure they didn’t say that, but I’m sure I heard it.  It sounded cool to me, plus I knew boys would be there.  This place was like some kind of new age place where kids who had sexual problems were allowed to inhabit the same space, but only in the presence of the Lord.   I just looked forward to seeing the guy’s muscular bodies.  Plus, I knew some of them would be older.  I wasn’t used to getting some from older guys, since I didn’t prefer it before, but I was open to it now, like it was something that could be fun in the right, good feeling situation.

The prom queen of my prior, real school, got pregnant.  so did Sus that year.  I don’t know if we were required to be apart from each other - Sus and I - but it happened.  I thought about Sus a lot, but not in the same way.  I knew she would be alright since I always thought people were happier than me in general.  Being apart from others you once hung out with is kind of cool.  It was like a chapter in, you know, so many of the books I read during the many recoveries I made locked up.  I still crave guys, but I think to myself that this is normal as long as I don’t act on it so aggressively.  Regardless, I think about boys and what they can do to me more than I would ever talk about, regardless of how much the people here tell me to express my feelings.  One thing I won’t definitely talk about is my new found feelings toward girls.  Especially the younger ones.  But I’m sure I’ll get over it.  I’m told I’ll get over it as long as I really conduct myself in ways most girls do - “with dignity and respect”.  The cool thing is that I said this to my “comfort agent” - my liking for girls.  If I’m lying, you know, strike me down.  A comfort agent?

i always envisioned like some place with a really large sofa where any guy with big muscles, or a guy talking me into thinking that he was a big to-do or something, sitting next to me overlooking some stars or something, since that is what we were expected to do in the movies. the guy next to me may have watched a movie or two, but i don’t think they were thinking about the cinema.  if you know what I mean?  I questioned myself, going through the “difficult questions every young person should go through before making the ultimate sacrifice of putting their soul in jeopardy” but i did it anyway.  the guy, i believe was named jake, or samson.  he had his way with me for what seemed like hours, pounding acceptance inside me.

“God?  Why am I... so destructive?  God?  Why am I... not the human being I was promised to be? -- it went on forever, the questions.  This place wasn’t specifically a place of worship or whatever, but it was a place where tattoos, I guess were expected from everyone that worked there since they all sported them.  Tattoos of crosses on their bodies everywhere.  Mostly you saw them on their shoulders or their necks.   Jewelry wasn’t allowed, but body defamation was accepted.  It’s life.  It’s life.  That’s what I kept saying to myself.

Sherman, or pastor Sherman as everyone called him, was the one that nailed the question of “why am I?”  into my brain, exposing why I did what I did.  I didn’t think about it for months at a time, but it did eventually sink in.  It was probably after pastor Sherman fucked me over a sink in a place he said was, “Holy ground”.  I’m just kidding of course.  I don’t think about things that way anymore.  

Susan Francis Birnbaum was to be married at some historical Jewish site.  I got the invitation and attended the gala.  I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember the name of the location if they held a gun to my head, but they were married there.  I was in attendance but wasn’t a participant.  I didn’t “hate on her” since high school was over ten years ago, but I did feel like she was leaving me behind by not letting me be one of her bridesmaid.  We didn’t, or I should say, hadn’t lived close for some time, but it did seem like I earned enough friendship points to be part of the festivities.  Thinking back on the whole thing and how I was, I think I was just lucky to be invited.

The dress I was able to wrestle up for the occasion was actually one of my mother’s wedding dresses.  She, or as I’m expected to call her, Mrs. Banning (since I haven’t, by her own personal representative, earned her “respect” yet) was encouraged to let me wear it by a close friend of hers.  I don’t blame her, my mother, because I did, regardless of the blame, put her in a position of defense.  A defensive mother is one that probably, when you think of it, requires a Mrs. in front of her name until I earn something back from her.  To this day, I haven’t.  I do know that she met someone else, probably destructive like me.  I’m not sure if I’ll be invited to her fourth wedding, but I can only hope.  Mrs. Banning-Jackson will make a great third wife to Burt Jackson.

After a white daffodil wedding cake where the usual crappy thing happened where a piece of wedding cake was pushed into each others faces, followed by dancing north of the macorana, I was able to enjoy a fine evening with everyone involved.  I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic of the multiple ass grabbings on the dance floor, but I was able to “remove” myself from the joyousness, separating the physical acts since they “didn’t have any emotions attached to them”.

Masturbation never became a substitute, but it did feel kind of good.  My “sexual awareness” advocate said that I should do whatever I should to get through the day.  I fight that way of thinking, but men only want one thing and women don’t “do” it for me in the long run.  Maybe my dad will come back in my life after I’m sure my mom told him everything I went through.  He was never able to “be reached”, so I assume he won’t come back to even make a brief appearance.  It must be tough knowing that your only daughter is a recovering sex addict.  But, I’ll never know since I’m thinking of hanging myself.