Sometimes I'm a Satanist Part II

One day I went looking for God. My family was Catholic, culturally Catholic only, but I was baptized. I never saw the inside of a church until I felt the pull toward religion in my middle twenties. Anyway...why not be a Catholic, what the hell is there to lose.

I purchased the then recently published Catechism of the Catholic Church and read it cover to cover. The section on the Ten Commandments hit my like a ton of bricks. I realized then that I had broken every single commandment in almost every possible way. I experienced an absolute horror of my sins and spent weeks on the floor of my bedroom weeping and wailing for hours at a time. I desperately wanted to change and believed that God would be the catalyst.

There was no RCIA in my small town and I found a priest, Father Bob, who would give me religious instructions on a one on one basis. We met one hour a week for two years except for his two one month vacations over this period. I became obsessed with all things Catholic. I devoured books on the subject. After two years of religious instruction I made my first confession. It was done in three sessions, each taking about one hour. I received Holy Communion at a Christmas Eve Midnight Mass. Upon reception of the Eucharist I was so aware of my unworthiness that I thought God might strike me dead in the church for daring to receive Him in Holy Communion. It truly was an experience of communion with God. I thought that was to be the turning point in my life, that I would turn my back on my past and be separated from my sinful behaviors for ever.

Catholicism, God, Jesus, Mary, Prayer, Sacraments, Sacramentals, Holy water and Rosary beads do not.....I want to make this extremely clear, so pay close attention....those aforementioned things DO NOT CURE SEX ADDICTION.

My sex addiction continued to rage on with ever darker and more shocking fantasy material being employed to maintain the needed level of arousal and excitement. Now we add whole new dimensions to my addiction. Guilt and shame. The awareness of the evil and horror of sin and the consequences of these sins but not being able to stop. Going to confession every single week with the honest intention to stop sinning, with a firm purpose of amendment, but not being able to stop. Having the belief that the grace of sacramental communion, the grace of confession would be enough to overcome my sex addiction but continuing to act out anyway. Praying everyday for God to free me from this behavior, weeping true tears of remorse but seemingly receiving no assistance from God.

What happened as time went on, this battle going on inside me, this battle between Seamus the sex addict and Seamus the devout Catholic, what happened was that I grew numb. My heart grew hard and cold as stone. I was completely jaded from my ceaseless acting out. I was at the edge of the abyss...I fought, I really, really fought...but one day I gave up. I jumped into the abyss and got swallowed up.

So...after years of a fantasy life filled with fetishes and paraphilias and dark fantasies I was about to meet my last fetish. Either my sex addiction will end or I will pursue it to oblivion. Now is the time to make the decision....a decision for or against God Himself.

I am a blasphemy fetishist. Google it right now....go ahead, I dare you. There is one page on the whole web about this fetish and it is written by a satanist. You are thinking there must be only four of us in the whole world, aren't you?

I know of a chat room I can go to right now filled with Blasphemy Fetishists as well as satanic dabblers and hard core satanist...all gay and looking for sex. I must point out this is not a gay phenomenon but my experience is limited to the gay subculture.

OK....let's start at the beginning...you need a definition of a blasphemy fetishist. He is a person who is sexually aroused by blasphemous behavior and satanism in a sexual context. A blasphemy fetishist is interested in satanism only as a tool to become aroused. The rest of the time he is a normal person, perhaps a devout Christian. I hope at this point you can see the insane dilemna you end up in. You have a war going on inside you between your satanic sexual fantasy life that you want to escape and your Christian identity which you cannot continue to maintain if you persist in your fetish.

How did I get to this point? This is a result of the sin of lust. One of the daughters of lust in the hatred of God. Anyone who persists in this sin will eventually ended up alienated from God and despairing of an afterlife in heaven. Fifteen years of sexual addiction was turning me against God.

At this point I would like to say, I can see why some of the guys I chat with, gay men all, would embrace satanism. The three major Abrahamic religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam make their feelings about homosexuality very clear in their scriptures. Oh, yes, we have liberals engaged in bible exegesis who have entire careers rooted in twisting Hebrew and Greek to prove the bible is gay friendly but quite frankly, the Abrahamic faiths are gay-hating.

So what do you do when it seems God himself hates you because you are gay? What do you do when you spend a lifetime praying to God to take the homosexual feelings and desires away from you? What do you do when society rejects and labels you an aberration? Well.....for a small handful of men that I have encountered, you can become a blasphemy fetishist. You can act out your anger toward God and mix in sex and when it is all over you can take a shower and return to a life of relative normalcy. Go to a chat room, a phone line, a BDSM club and have a scene....then go to work in the morning and take you dog for a walk in the park when you get home.

Now at this point I can only speak for myself. Some people, when they are done having their fantasies can return to normal life. I can't do this any more. I need my sex addiction to stop, stop forever and stop for good. I need God to win and Satan to lose in my life. I need to be forever free of my blasphemy fetish. I am not sure how this is going to end or what tools will be needed but something monumental has to occur in my life. Something that will alter me at the very core of my being.

I am not sure how this is going to end. It might be really great, or really bad.

Sometimes I'm a Satanist. Usually on Thursdays. But only at Night.

SANCTE Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen.

Here is my story....a current piece of it. It might be the end of my story.

Many years ago after a failed attempt at college due to what I now know was my first depressive episode, I got tired of being a waiter and decided to return to school and become the great musician I was destined to be. I arrived at this pseudo-ivy league college with a world famous music school to study saxophone hopped up on antidepressants to assuage my depression and anxiety. Those antidepressants were about to set ablaze a wildfire of destruction that would transform the rest of my life.

You see....I'm bipolar. We didn't know. Bipolar disorder+antidepressants=mania. My grades at the end of that semester were all failing. I had been launched into a manic psychosis, and one of the consequences of this is an insatiable sex drive. The opportunities to act this desire out with another person were not available to me for a number of reasons, and one day I picked up a copy of The Village Voice and on the back pages were listings for gay adult phone lines.

I called. I was addicted instantly. I was a sex addict. Eventually, after flunking out of school I returned home and was treated for my bipolar disorder and it abated quickly. I was treated with a drug called Tegretol and became stable. I worked as a waiter for a time, I gave up drinking, I returned to school to study culinary arts and restaurant management and I was happy. All the time my sex addiction raged on.

At the beginning my behavior, consisting entirely of phone sex and solitary behaviors, was very "vanilla". That only works for so long. Tolerance. Time to increase the dose. So my fantasy life became more and more colorful...exotic....taboo....shocking. There was an escalation of the darkness of my fantasies over a period of about fifteen years.

While I was in culinary school, being extremely successful I might add, and very happy for what would be the last period of happiness in my life thus far, I was avoiding intimacy with real live people. Small town, small college, lots of homophobia, fear for my safety....you get the picture. So I continued to engage in my phone sex behaviors.

I spent thousands of dollars on my phone sex addiction. I stole credit cards from my parents and rang them up to satisfy my addiction. They never took legal action against me, they just let me continue and paid the bills while screaming at me to stop. I begged them to help me pay for a psychologist. That, they refused to pay for. I pointed out that if the behavior could be arrested thru therapy the whole family would benefit. They disdained psychiatrists and psychologists. They were afraid, and I quote, that I would go to therapy and "talk about them". So I never got the help I needed.

I was about to finish my culinary degree when I was hit with my next manic episode. This was particularly bad and I also suffered from psychosis during the course of this episode. This time hospitalization would be required. I went to a community hospital psych ward with woefully under qualified doctors as I could afford nothing better. I had no insurance and was put on drugs based on cost rather than effectiveness. I returned home sick, a failure, despondent. It was at that point in my life that I made the decision to cease living. I gave up.

I was home with my parents with no job, my education failed and done, suicidally depressed. My sex addiction took on new dimensions at this point. It was all I had in life. It became my life. The only time I felt good or felt at all or felt anything other than suicidal was when I was acting out my addiction. I continued to use mom and dad's money without asking (some people call that stealing) and I could have cared less if I went to jail. I could have cared less if I died. I don't know what stopped me from killing myself that year after my hospitalization as I woke up every morning and my first thought was always, without exception, "I want to be dead".

One year later....hospitalization number two. My psychiatrist, in front of me, told my mom and dad that people as sick and I were the people you see eating out of garbage pails on the street. He was a real gem. The only up side of the second hospitalization was that I was able to get Medicaid, SSI and SSD. Now I could afford the more cutting edge medications. I was placed on Risperdal, Tegretol and Prozac. I was normal in a matter of days. The moment that I would return to work I would lose Medicaid and not be able to afford the drugs. I was still stuck. I would never get unstuck.

I went to a community mental health clinic. When I told the doctors about my sex addiction they told me I knew more than them about the subject. I had therapy session with counselors who's only concern was that I had food to eat and a place to sleep. No therapy available. No one wanted to listen and no one cared. There were hundreds of poor patients who needed help and I was functional enough that they couldn't concern themselves with me. My addiction raged on.


This is the point in the story where you imagine what life is like for a mentally ill, sex addicted person who gets essentially no treatment whatsoever. No imagine this going on for years.

continued in the next post....finding God.