Truth Behind the Fantasy of Porn

by Shelley Lubben

  “Have you tried to kill yourself before?” He stared at me blankly. Okay, now I had to be careful. I shifted to the other side of the chair and casually covered the scars on my wrists.

  “No, I haven’t tried to kill myself before,” I lied. I had to. I wasn’t going to lose my baby over stupid questions. I just wanted some medication so I could have some relief.

  “Tell me about your past.”

  Oh wow, I thought. How much time does this guy have?

  Suddenly the words came out of me, “I was a dancer for eight years.”

  “Do you have any physical pain from dancing?”

  Of course I do, I thought.

  I went on and on about my left hip, my left shoulder, my lower back and my neck. I told him I was in pain twenty-four hours a day and that I hurt my left shoulder when I got really drunk and dove into a stage at a topless bar.

  “Do you drink alcohol?”

  “I’ve been sober for about two weeks.”

  “You’re probably still experiencing alcohol withdrawals. Did you do other drugs?”

  “Um, yeah, I did all kinds of drugs. The main drug I recently did was speed. I quit that three years ago though. I don’t feel cravings for drugs. But I definitely crave alcohol. But I’m trying not to drink for the baby.”

  “That’s good, Shelley. Tell me about your nightmares.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Shelley, can you talk about your nightmares?”

  A terrible pain formed in my throat and a huge deafening voice pushed its way out of my mouth and suddenly I blurted out, “I dream about men stuffing their big penises down my throat and choking me!”

  Then I vomited out every horrible thing I ever did in porn and prostitution.

  While I was trying to get my words out through blubber and spit, I noticed he dropped his pen and laid down his notepad. That couldn’t have been a good sign.

  At the end of the long session, which felt like it lasted five hours, he diagnosed me with Bipolar Disorder, Impulse Control Disorder, Alcohol Dependence, Depressive Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was prescribed Zoloft for depression, Antabuse for alcoholism, Naproxen for joint pain, sleeping pills and an eternity of counseling.

  Okay, now I’m officially insane, I thought. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing I was insane. I was starting to think I was still demon possessed or something.

  An evil voice chuckled within.

  The Army psychiatrist wrote out my prescription and sent me over to the anger management counselor and the SAD help desk. I was also diagnosed with Seasonal Adjustment Disorder. Due to three hundred dark days a year in Washington State, ya think?

  With appointments made for anger management counseling and “light” therapy, I went down to the pharmacy, grabbed my drugs and headed home in the rain again. I really missed California.

  Couldn’t it just stop raining for one day?” I asked God.

  A Voice interrupted my thoughts again, “Shelley, didn’t you read my Book?”

  I would have thought it was Schizophrenia after reading the pamphlets, but the Voice was too nice to me. I could never be that nice to myself. Anyway, I knew Who it was. God Almighty had been talking to me for years.

  “Of course I read your Book, God,” I answered Him flippantly.

  “Read it some more. I have much I want to teach you.” Then He was silent. God’s still but small Voice was always short and sweet to me.

  Next Sunday I was back in church and the Pastor began his sermon as usual with the explosive words, “Success begins on Sunday!”

  I wish I could be successful, I thought.

  Pastor Kevin instructed the congregation to turn to Joshua 1:8 and after a minute uttered out the words, “Do not let this Book of the Law depart from your mouth; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful.”

  “Gee, didn’t God just tell me to read His Book?” I mumbled to myself. So I went home and made a new commitment to read the Bible again.

  Just as soon as the anti-depressants kick in, I promised myself.

  I was weak. I admit it. I was extremely tired too. It wasn’t easy trying to raise a baby and a nine-year old while working at a restaurant where alcohol was readily available to numb the traumatic wounds of my past. It wasn’t easy one bit. In fact, it was hell and I didn’t know how I was ever going to make it.

  But the powerful words of the Pastor repeated in my head, “There’s a Champion inside of you!”

  Maybe he was right, I slightly hoped.

  But old negative thinking kicked in and I whined to myself, “But I don’t feel like a Champion.” Then I thought about all the crap I felt like twenty-four hours a day with no help or hope in sight.

  Apathetic to my pity party, God interrupted in a thunderous Voice with the words, “For we walk by faith, not by sight!”

  2 Corinthians 5:7 resounded in my head as I scribbled it down and smacked it up on my wall.

  There, I thought. Now it’s up on my wall where I have to look at it every day.

  Satisfied with myself, I walked away not knowing that verse would become the first of hundreds pinned to my future walls. Scripture themed wallpaper, God was determined to turn me into a Champion.

  It was only a matter of time.

  XXI

  Admit One

  Better Street

  Chapter Twenty One

  A good battle plan that you act on today can be better than a perfect one tomorrow.

  - General George S. Patton

  Sober, sedated and ready to move on with God’s plan for my life, I made a call to the military on-post housing to see if our rent-free three-bedroom house was available yet. After a year of waiting and praying to move on to the Army’s Fort Lewis, where the grass was greener and the groceries were cheaper, it was finally our turn!

  It was a dream come true for a dirt-poor military family.

  When the lady on the other end of the phone told me our number was 517 on the list but for some “strange” reason a house became available for us anyway, I knew it was God.

  Good old God coming through for me again, I thought. While I proved my potential and passed tests, He proved faithful.

  Our new house on Davis Lane was a mansion compared to the small apartment we were living in. Three big bedrooms, utilities paid and a big green backyard with fir trees, I was in green Army paradise! I humbly thanked God and thought about all He had done for me in such a short time. I knew I didn’t deserve it.

  Over two years out of porn and alcohol free, I loved my new street I lived on. The laughter of children and voices of Moms chatting on their front porches, I finally felt part of a family. Accepted into their world, it was the first time in my life that other women actually liked me. Of course, I neglected to tell them that I was a recovering ex porn star!

  Are you kidding?

  Anyway, I was a Champion living the Champion life where nothing was impossible and everything was an opportunity. With my ugly past behind me, I boldly stepped onto my new street and breathed in the fresh cool air.

  Washington wasn’t so bad after all, I thought.

  Still working nights at the Mexican restaurant but without the Margarita breath, I spent my days reading God’s Word and raising Teresa. Tiffany was in her new school and finally had some friends. Her fourth grade class was much better than her third grade class. At least the Army’s school didn’t screw up and put Tiffany in the wrong grade again. Yes, that actually happened to Tiffany!

  Life was getting better and so was I.

  Now if only I could cook, I thought.

  Trips to the commissary, [the Army grocery store], became my new learning environment and sweet Vietnamese ladies became my teachers, especially about rice and meat.

  “Yu shult make glound beef. It’s leally goot,” one petite Asian lady told me with her hands full of wrapped meat.

  I didn’t know they wrapped meat, I t
hought.

  But I listened to those sweet Asian ladies and learned a thousand ways to cook ground beef. From crowded casserole, spaghetti and meatballs, to Beef Goulash and meatloaf, the Lord knew I didn’t like meat and He still made me cook it.

  “Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord and He will lift you up,” the Lord whispered into my heart. James 4:7 got me every time!

  At first I burned my meaty meals and became very discouraged and wanted to give up. But Garrett was thankful and pretended to love every burnt bite. Then he strongly encouraged me to go back to the commissary to learn some more from the little Asian ladies.

  So I went back and this time I worked the nerve up to talk to the meat guy.

  “Psst!” I looked around to make sure no one was listening.

  “Excuse me, sir, um, why do you wrap the meat?” Embarrassed that I didn’t know anything about food or cooking, the meat guy had compassion on me and lovingly explained the world of meat to me.

  “No wonder they wrap the meat,” I said, nodding my head as he held up a bloody dripping piece of meat.

  Comfortable in my new grocery hangout, I began to approach complete strangers asking them what their favorite recipes were. People loved it! They couldn’t wait to share their recipes from all around the world with me. On a military base, where there were more foreigners than New York City, I learned how to make everything from easy “company” chicken to Asian beef and noodles. Life was getting better and I was on a roll like butter!

  Unfortunately, life got “slippery” after we moved on post and I began to feel so good that I gave myself permission to drink again. It’s not like I was a professional recovering alcoholic, I had no one to mentor me and anyway, everybody else was doing it.

  Unbeknownst to me, the military base was one big happy hammered family. With husbands gone constantly, military wives huddled together at whoever’s house had the most beer. Poor, miserable and lonely, beer and board games became a part of our everyday life.

  But I was different. I had a Champion inside of me. With church still on my top favorite things to do, every Sunday and Wednesday I would hungrily seek out the truth asking God to heal me from my past. Filled with loneliness from Garrett being gone, I was forced to learn how to rely on God to fill the void. I knew Him as my Father but now I would learn to know Him as my Friend.

  “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness,” and he was called God’s friend”.

  I began to understand that He wasn’t that mean guy up in the sky but a kind, sweet and caring God. What a realization.

  Especially when my Friend God took the loving time to show me what really happened when I was in the sex industry. Thoughts of me racing my hot red Miata crossed my mind, when suddenly a clearer vision of angels guiding my swerving vehicle formed inside of me. I was taken aback. Then another time God reminded me of how I walked toward a sleazy motel in downtown Los Angeles and a Voice warned me to “STOP” and I waited. Suddenly a crazy man ran out of the motel with a bloody knife and I turned to run and saw the “Jesus Saves” sign on a building.

  Gulp.

  Or another time when I drove a hundred miles per hour in the left-hand lane on the 110 freeway and there was a parked car in my lane. When invisible hands grabbed my steering wheel and jerked my car into the lane next to me, I was shocked. Scared out of my mind, I looked up in the rear view mirror and saw a car with its parking lights on.

  God visited me so profoundly that I couldn’t even stand up during worship. All I could do was weep at God’s goodness. I had absolutely no idea God was with me during those eight years so closely. But He assured me the devil would have taken me out right away if it weren’t for His mighty protection. I couldn’t bear to think of how many times God saved me. It was probably tens of thousands.

  God also showed me how He saved me from HIV. I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked God to stop showing me the truth about my past and He did, at least until the following Sunday when He continued to rewind the years and show me the hardcore reality of what really happened.

  Lie after lie revealed to me, I became the Kleenex queen, wiping the spit and tears off of my face for years, not months, but years. Whenever Garrett came home from the field and went to church with me, He knew right away to hand me the box of Kleenex.

  It was amazing that I was able to serve in the nursery. From almost day one I joined the large church, I was lovingly forced to serve in the Children’s ministry. The Champion’s Church was as big as it was smart and made it mandatory for all parents who used the nursery to serve in Children’s ministry once a month. Go figure -- God would use me even though I was a complete wreck.

  The kids loved me anyway. Animated like that cute little girl in first grade, I entertained the little buggers with Noah and his ark animals.

  “Hello, kids, my name is Noah and this is my boat!” The kids laughed and loved me as my giraffe puppet bit their little chubby arms. Finally, I had an audience that appreciated me!

  The Children’s ministry was the perfect place for an ex prostitute to heal from childhood wounds without anybody knowing. I absolutely loved it! I felt so safe and pure around children. God knew I still hated men and needed to heal so He lovingly put me in Children’s ministry. What a genius. But I knew deep inside that I was made for something more so I tried to promote myself rather than wait on God. Zealous to use my creative writing gift, I volunteered for the Pastor’s writing team within the first year of becoming a member. Something tells me they had a good laugh when they read over my lack of qualifications.

  But I was unstoppable due to the beautiful discovery of life I was on so I continued to go forward, God directing my paths like He promised me in Proverbs 3:5-6.

  Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.

  I obeyed God and did what His Book said and I practiced His principles on purpose. God honored my small steps of obedience and blessed me with even bigger surprises of success. When I screwed up I simply confessed my sins and trusted in the sacrifice of His Son Jesus to cover me. I figured if God loved me enough to save me from something like porn and even have the audacity to clean me up, I was pretty sure He was serious.

  With God on a mission to save me and heal me, who was I to stop Him? I didn’t understand it all but I really tried to give my all. I read His Word, I prayed, I humbled myself and trusted in Him through the “icky” moments, like the time I had to go to Army rehab.

  Yeah, that was a real bummer. Imagine me surrounded by military men in the ISTOP program, the intensive short-term outpatient program. I hated it but I couldn’t get a grip on the alcohol so I figured a secular program would help me out. Quite the opposite, after blurting out my sexual trauma to a group of weak men, I continually got asked out.

  How appalling, I thought.

  At least I didn’t call them male pigs anymore. That was an upgrade from last year’s thinking and anyway, things were getting better in my life. No matter how bad it seemed or how much junk was in my trunk, I knew God had something better for me.

  Better marriage, better life, better health, better sobriety, God had an awesome plan for my life and something told me, I better not miss it!

  XXII

  Admit One

  Don’t Let the D’s stop You

  Chapter Twenty Two

  My high school transcripts were horrible! I barely graduated with an F in computer, a D in nutrition, and a D- in art, probably due to smoking cigarettes in class. Eleventh grade wasn’t any better. An F in U.S. History, D- in basic math, a D in typing and a C- in English. I wondered how the heck I even graduated!

  I would have never thought I would ever be allowed back into an educational institution.

  As I watched Garrett go through college in the military, I felt resentful. While he bettered himself I barely got through Army rehab. While he worked full time and attended college paid for by the mi
litary, I stayed at home with kids and worked at a Mexican restaurant while trying to recover from alcohol.

  What’s wrong with this picture? I thought.

  But I didn’t know any better until one surprising day when Garrett took me to the military education center to pick up his books. Feeling bad about myself, Garrett noticed my long face and asked me what was wrong.

  “I feel like a loser while everyone here is smart and going to school.”

  “You can go to school,” he quickly announced.

  “No, I can’t go,” I sadly replied. “I mostly had D’s in high school. I didn’t even take the SAT test because I knew I would never go to college. My high school transcripts are horrible,” I said as my sad eyes wandered to the ground.

  “Shelley,” he countered, “don’t let the D’s stop you. Anyone can go to college if they want to. All you have to do is take the college placement test and they will put you in the classes suited for your level.”

  “But my level is eighth grade math and maybe eleventh grade English,” I miserably replied.

  Garrett insisted, “Shelley, that doesn’t matter. They offer high school level courses at city colleges. Why don’t you take a placement test and find out what level you’re at? You’re so smart, Shelley. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

  That’s what my Nonnie used to tell me, I thought.

  “You really think it’s possible for me to go to college?” I asked with a thin layer of hope.

  “Yes, Shelley!” Garrett’s words hit my heart and suddenly the heavens opened. At least that’s what it felt like. A gigantic light went off inside of me and led me over to the admissions desk where I asked if I could take a placement test.

  “Of course, what day do you want to come in?” The receptionist’s beautiful words gave me hope. I asked her for the next available date and she marked it down in her computer.

  Wow, maybe there’s a chance for me, I imagined.