I've been rereading "Unwanted" for therapy, and it continues to reveal my uncomfortable reflection – all of it, all of me. It often feels like fluorescent lights buzzing overhead at midnight. And yet Stringer's premise encourages me: sexual brokenness almost paradoxically revealing paths to healing.

This year for Lent, I felt like the Lord told me to give up "selfishness." But what the heck does that mean? Isn't that kind of...generic? Vague? A little too open-ended? Perfect, I can open the door for others before opening it for myself. Check. Well, let's back up a bit: I'm 27 years old, I'm an actor, and this last year has been a whirlwind, at best.

Do I fast because I truly desire to hear from Him more clearly, walk with Him more closely, and feel less spiritually cloudy? Or do I fast because, well, it's comfortable to be uncomfortable? Because it almost feels good to deprive, if not punish my body – particularly after I sin?

I found myself getting sucked into a world of fantasy. Porn was way better than watching some blockbuster: I could still be with guys without actually being with them. After all, I never cared about those guys anyway. It was all about me and getting off. The more I watched porn, the more I was hooked.

I'm not sure the "vulnerability hangover" has ever hit me as strongly with a blog as it did that one. It's been one thing to confess I'm attracted to men as a sort of "blanket confession" for all the world to see; it's another to invite people into the specific workings of my sexuality. Particularly with something as personal and hardly-talked-about as masturbation.

Here's one vocabulary term I've taken away from therapy: euphoric recall. I'd never heard that phrase until last year, and it gives language to this nebulous internal struggle I've faced since my first bout with pornography at 19.

Whatever the reason, this is where I find myself: apathetic toward the Church, God, and disciplines like reading Scripture and prayer. I'm not angry at the Church -- just apathetic. And in that apathy I feel ordinarily strong convictions weaken.

I've pretty much always been attracted to guys in one manner or another. Some times more obsessively and explicitly than others. Some times more emotionally than physically. And for whatever reason, never sexually.

"God has placed us together for a specific reason — that the times, stories, and experiences we share are beneficial for each other," she said. This led to discussion about how community requires vulnerability. Even with a wide open invitation, I remained a silent listener in the community.

This Lent, I'm giving up masturbation. And I realize that might sound really wrong or off or like I clearly didn't grow up in a liturgical tradition and have no idea how this Lent thing even works. But regardless. I'm doing it. I'm not masturbating for the next few weeks. It may not quite be a "fast" by technical, theological terms. But it's a necessary refocusing.

It felt good to be close to another man. And yet, was it right (healthy, faithful, acceptable) to like this? Is this what acceptance in a physical sense felt like?

I couldn't be like these people. They seemed like the antithesis of everything I stood for. Finding out that the Bible forbade homosexual sex only fueled my self-righteous anger. To assert my masculinity and avoid being labeled gay at all costs, I joined my other straight male classmates in mocking gay people.

I've cuddled with many fantastic men, all same-sex attracted. I can say with absolute certainty that these moments have been some of the most beautiful, moving, and totally platonic expressions of intimate love. I'd recommend reading these basic pointers based on my own past experiences with bro cuddling.

What if I did partake in male nudity in a non-sexual setting? What if I could make my nudist desires feel more normal and less of a sexual fantasy?

My nudist desires have never been entirely sexual. I've long known that it comes from a deep desire for intimacy. To be known fully as a man by other men.

I lost my sexual sobriety because I went in search of shortcuts to intimacy with other men. I knew it wouldn't satisfy. Just like all the other times.

I don't get wet dreams when I masturbate regularly; they only happen when I don't. Like when it happened last week.

I've been sexually sober for over 100 days now — not a lick of masturbation, pornography, or promiscuity — and I get a lot of questions like HOW I DO IT.

100 days later, my sexual sobriety still very much feels like a fantastical concept. But it’s easier now, I guess.

I am in recovery. And like the alcoholic with a beer or a drug addict with a joint, I cannot expect to masturbate every now and then and beat this addiction.