I Am So Popular: Love Junkies Unite-- Q&A with Rachel Resnick

When you have nothing to lose, you might be more inspired to get emotionally naked. In my case, there’s no husband, no kids, no super-close ties to family, no straight job or pristine reputation to wreck. I was in a unique position to spill! Plus, I was curious what I’d discover and hoped it would root my sobriety.

Samantha Dunn, a prodigiously talented writer and beautiful memoirist who’s also a good friend, explained that memoir is an emotional journey that spans the time you write it. Along the way, your job is to experience fresh insights and share them with the reader. She warned me that if I did what I was supposed to do, I’d be transformed. She wasn’t kidding. As I wrote, the past percolated up through whatever scene I was writing in a powerful, organic way. I could no longer deny the damage of my past. This was strangely liberating.

In the end, though, there was no one to blame for my adult bad behavior but me. The reason I wrote the book is because I wished I’d read a raw personal narrative like this years ago. That’s the only stuff that penetrates my thick head. When I was younger, I had no idea you could get hooked on love, sex, romance and relationships like you could on heroin. If I can reach one reader and save them some time and heartache, then the grueling challenge of writing Love Junkie and the self-exposure will have been worth it.

Spike: Sex addiction is in the news a lot these days. Some folks scoff and say the addiction isn’t "real." Do you feel like you have to defend yourself?

Rachel: First, let me say that I consider myself a love and sex addict. I’m not a straight-up sex addict. For me, and I venture for a lot of women, I fall in love with the fantasy of a person and romantic gestures hook me in. Then the sex, that intense physical arousal, cements the attachment. All that said, I understand critics who think this is bullshit. Until four years ago, I was one of those people. I always thought I was just unlucky in love or extra-passionate. It never crossed my mind that maybe I was the common denominator in the years of destructive relationships.

All I know is for me, something happened when I named it, when I called myself an addict. It was like a door of perception swung open, and I could then see and feel the chemicals dropping into my system when I encountered certain dangerous, seductive people. That feeling didn’t go away, but now I had the awareness. I could work on weaning myself from the love drug and digging into what lay beneath that all-consuming craving. I’m grateful that this addiction is more out in the open now, and I’m happy to be part of the cultural dialogue.

Spike: How would you define “love junkie”?

Rachel: A love junkie is someone who has to be in love, all the time. A love junkie lets parts of their life go to hell when there’s a relationship, or a person over whom they’re obsessing. A love junkie can’t stop, even when they know the person or the relationship is destructive for them. And most telling of all, the love junkie will keep repeating the same painful patterns over and over again.

Spike: Unlike smoking and drinking, if you're in recovery for sex addict stuff, you don't necessarily want to totally abstain. Will you tell me a bit about that-- the difficulty of it?

Rachel: It’s extremely difficult. This is not about morality. This is not about denial. It is about moving away from damage toward health and true intimacy. In my case, after I realized I had a serious problem and called myself an addict, I took two and a half years off from dating. It was a period of almost complete abstinence. I didn’t set out to do that and I don’t recommend it! It just seemed to happen naturally, as if my body and mind needed to detox so I could learn new ways of being and relating. I’m still in the process of learning. Now when I am involved with someone, I’m so much more present. It’s scary. It’s also far more satisfying - and real. If it doesn’t work out now, I can let go much sooner. In the past I would’ve hung on like a pit bull, jaws clamped around the disgusted lover’s leg. Now I think of it as a growth experience, and I move on with dignity and with respect.

Spike: Your book is super intense and super self-exposing. What's it like revealing your lowest points?

Rachel: When I do readings, people ask me if I regret being so open. They ask me if it’s hard to come out in public and talk about the ultra-personal things I’ve written. I say, not as hard as it was to write them! Truly, there is something so demanding, so taxing about sitting home alone, wrestling with your demons, putting them down on the page. Then going through draft after draft, peeling back the layers of your own delusion, your own lies. Getting out in public is frankly a relief after that! Once you’ve let it all hang out, what’s left to hide? Sure, some people will ream you for your work while others will praise you. That’s just what goes along with putting yourself out there in any form. I’m grateful to have the opportunity. I try to focus on being of service and take my ego out of it as best as I can. Once you finish a book, I believe it’s not yours anymore. It takes on a life of its own.

Spike: Most readers will probably wince at some of your parents’ choices. Have you been able to make peace with some of what happened to you?

Rachel: I’ll confess, some early drafts crackled with accusations, sparked with blame. Along the way, tough editors and readers called me on my crap over and over. Back to the blank page I’d go to dig deeper. Without fail, the more I turned the focus back on myself, the more I’d see my parents as humans with severe limitations who were doing the best they could.

I also saw clearly how these kinds of addictions are part of a family system. Everyone suffers. Writing this book helped me forgive, release old resentments, and find a new peace. That sounds too easy. Here’s an example. Even though I told my father not to read the book for five years, he couldn’t help himself and read it a few weeks ago when I was on book tour in New York City. I could tell parts of the book hurt him, but I give him huge credit. He kept saying, “It’s well written, and it’s your story. I’m proud of you. You write whatever you want.” Then one night he said, “I’m so sorry for the part I played in the hurt.” I brushed it off, said, “Don’t worry, Dad. It was no big deal. It’s fine!” Later that night I realized I wasn’t letting him apologize. I was throwing up a wall. So the next day I said, “I didn’t mean to shut you down. I heard you say you were sorry, and I want to thank you for that. It means a lot to me.” Afterwards, I felt closer to him than I ever had before.

Spike: Austin isn’t just a random stop on your tour…

Rachel: I have a very special connection to Austin. My brother Michael, to whom I dedicated my book, lives here. He’s been in Austin since 1997, but this is the first time I’ve visited him. For years I was so busy chasing “love” that I ignored people who truly mattered to me. One of the gifts of recovery is that I have energy and means to reconnect with my beloved brother, who is one of the most brilliant and interesting people I know. He describes himself as a “prototypical IT drone for a Fortune 500 company and a professional aquarist.” Earlier today, he told me something that maybe captures his essence in a different way: He once owned a blue-spotted jaw fish named Kermit, and he cried when he passed away.

And the first man I ever said, “I love you” to over twenty years ago lives in Austin now. These words launched me down the dark, twisty rabbit hole of romantic obsession for the next decades. Being in Austin feels like I’ve come full circle.

Spike Gillespie blogs regularly at www.spikeg.com. You can catch her show, The Dick Monologues, three more times in the Frontera Fest Long Fringe at the Blue Theater, including Friday night, January 23rd, at 7 p.m. Details here.