Confessions of an Alcoholic Sexual Predator.

“Can we go have a quickie?” I asked my wife on too many weekend afternoons to count.

She could have been folding laundry or preparing our family to leave to go on a Saturday hike. It didn’t matter. In my selfish requests, I wasn’t concerned about timing or appropriateness. It was all about physical connection and soothing anxiety for me. Drinking had long since stopped being about having fun. Drinking calmed my nerves and helped me relax, and so did having sex with my wife when she was least interested.

I was married. I was faithful. I worked hard and provided for my family. I thought I had an accelerated sex drive, and that my wife should appreciate that I was still attracted to her 20-plus years into our relationship. I was well aware of the strain my drinking put on our relationship. I thought our intimacy would heal wounds and draw us closer together. I didn’t understand that there was nothing intimate about my frequent interest in selfish sex. That which I thought would create a bond between us did nothing but push us further apart.

I didn’t get it. My solution was the problem.

Drinking alcohol is a selfish pastime. You can cross the invisible line that separates social, fun-loving drinking from addiction like I did, or you can…