I suffer from a disease that a sizable portion of the world doesn't believe in. (Honestly I didn't believe in it myself until three years ago.) The difference between a man who claims he suffers from sex addiction and one who claims he saw Bigfoot is that the second has a better chance of being believed.
The "alibi" of sexaholism seems to make villains victims. No one wants to hear an unfaithful husband defending himself by saying, "If I cheated it's because I've been left untreated." It's fashionable to go to the Betty Ford Clinic; unfortunately, for sexaholics, there's no Bill Clinton Clinic.
It's tricky to raise awareness about sexaholism. I'm thinking it wouldn't work to have a five kilometer fun run to increase understanding of the issue. Or have an advertisement on the side of a bus saying, "Odds are, someone on this bus is a sex addict." Or stand on a street corner holding a sign saying "Honk if you're a sex addict."
The world may never understand sexaholism, but people in SA do.
When I say my problem is LUST, SA people understand. When I try to say that to other people, they metaphorically don a Tina Turner wig and sing,
What's Lust got to do, got to do with it?
What's Lust, but a secondhand e-mo-tion?
There's nothing like suffering from an "imaginary" disease. The pain isn't imaginary, no matter what other people may think. SA people help me to see that my problem is real and so is the solution. I'm still not sure I'll ever have a bumper sticker that says, "Some of my best friends are recovering sexaholics," but it's true anyway.