I will never f*** a stranger again.
My wake-up call was in 2014. I’d just moved to New York. I was lonely. My only friends were this nice guy from meetup.com and this chick from my support group. I was meeting guys off OkCupid. I’d done bars, clubs, the kink scene, etc. I had to try everything. Otherwise, I felt like I wasn’t real.
The psych community is divided on sex addiction.
It’s not in the DSM-5 [Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders]. Professionals tend to see hypersexuality as a symptom of something else: bipolar or borderline — a way to fill the void left from bad parenting; compensation for a poor or non-existent self-image. It’s that last one for me. I have to be active. I have to be beautiful. Everything else is secondary.
I think a lot of it has to do with my autism.
MM Confessions: How much sex I’m having.
I was diagnosed at 13, around the same time I started getting hit on. I wasn’t used to positive attention from kids my age, just from teachers telling me I was smart.
In high school, I developed a reputation. I dug it at first. I liked being something other than the weird smart girl. But my relationships weren’t healthy. My rep wasn’t making me any friends, either. I hated myself for what I was doing, but at the same time I fed off it. I remember this nifty story by Bolshevik mascot Maxim Gorky called Twenty Six Men and a Girl that rung a bell. He writes about a devilish bun baker:
“There are some people for whom life holds nothing better or higher than a malady of the soul or flesh. They cherish it through life, and it is the sole spring of life to them. While suffering from it they nourish themselves on it. They complain about it to people and in this manner command the interest of their neighbours. They exact a toll of sympathy from people, and this is the only thing in life they have.”
Being a sex addict with Asperger’s might sound pretty out there. But it’s not that unusual, especially for women.
I’ve seen men with autism guys use sex to connect with people too.