Last Friday night:
I’m leaving my best friend John’s house. In just a few hours it will be my birthday. John has given me good advice about the situation at hand.
“Why did she pick this day of all days, John?”
“Go home and forget about it. Just go to sleep or something. Forget it. What good will it do you to keep thinking about it?”
But my feelings are hurt. I feel betrayed. I feel unimportant. I feel rage, but the rage is now being fueled by vodka and orange juice as I sit alone in my house. The stop at Raley’s Supermarket to purchase this beverage, a beverage that was intended to put me to sleep, turns out not to be such a good idea.
I drink into the wee hours of Saturday morning.
I crash and burn.
I melt down.
The meltdown was witnessed in one of the last places where it should have happened: an adult webmaster forum where pornographers from all over the world converse with each other online. Thousands of them, all of whom knew Donny had become a Christian.
Except, now they’re seeing Donny act very unlike a follower of Christ. Donny is getting into arguments with some. Tearing down others.
Tearing down Belinda.
Belinda and I played a sex game for 10 months that ended in February of this year, 7 months before I surrendered my life to God. Perhaps someday I’ll share with everyone what I learned about stupidity, pride, ego and relationships from that experience. But let’s suffice it to say that even now, despite spending months and months trying to deal with the wages of our sin, it still is allowed to influence the lives of all involved.
That game had a lot to do with this meltdown.
I’m still influenced by past sins that ended months ago.
I try to make myself feel better by pointing out that others played a big part in all of this.
“Yes, I did ___, but they did ___!”
That logic doesn’t stop my stomach from churning. Even today, almost a full week later, my stomach is still a mess. It grumbles loud enough for people to hear it 20 feet away. I am that disgusted by my actions.
Thousands of eyeballs in the adult entertainment industry are watching me. Many doubt my “conversion” is genuine. This sure didn’t help alleviate that doubt.
Three weeks ago I met a counselor at a small group meeting. She’s also a published author and writes for a well known Christian magazine. I emailed her and asked if she’d be interested in writing about my “testimony” for the magazine. In response, she very bluntly let me know that I do not yet HAVE a testimony… that I am just another sinner who asked to be rescued from a sinful life. She put me in my place. She made me think. She made me realize that my ego is still enormous. Two days ago she saw me again and commented that I’ve noticeably changed.
This meltdown had a lot to do with that. I’ve realized I am not strong, like I thought I was. I realized I am not beyond my razor-sharp tongue. I am still a man who jumps at the chance to rip people apart for hurting my feelings.
Song lyrics are stuck in my head.
What’s going on inside of me? I despise my own behavior. This only serves to confirm my suspicions: that I’m still a man in need of a savior.