Part 1|| Tales of a Love-Addicted Tinderella

My name is Maryam Henein, and I’m a Recovering “Love Addict."

Apr 02, 2024

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“If you love a flower, don’t pick it up. Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be. Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation.” ― Osho

I first wrote the story below in 2016. Greg Reese of The Reese Report inspired me to share it again. Let me explain.

I recently started reading his book Sex Drugs and Om: An Autobiography of an American Yogi, and something woke up in me. The writing and the story got me all nostalgic. I am loving the book; the writing is irreverent, raw, and personal. I used to write like this pre-2017 before I started wrestling with Big Ag, Big Pharma, and Big Tech. I was a young journalist living in El Lay, injecting myself into stories a la Hunter S. Thompson.

I was a modern rendition of Marla Singer in Fight Club. For instance, journal in hand, I attended Al-Anon and SLA (sex and love addiction) meetings for material. I was surprised no one booted me out for taking notes.

The Hollywood Hills, parties and premieres, fame and fortune. You can check out any time you like, but you can just never leave. I resonated with the lyrics until the day I became a second-class citizen because I am an unvaccinated vermin. I was living in horrendous San Francisco with Google Whistleblower Zach Vorhies, and suddenly, I needed a vax card to exercise. The same day they instituted these communist ways — on August 12, 2021 — I bought a one-way ticket to Miami, Florida, and I escaped California.

In the good ol’ days in El Lay circa 2006, I used to visit the now defunct metaphysical bookstore The Bodhi Tree for solace and incense, stopping by Urth Cafe, where I’d regularly see Jeremy Piven and one of his many Broncos.

After quitting my job producing the news for MSNBC, I became a hustling freelancer. I was always looking for something novel to write about, and I often found my way into the story.

One summer, I infiltrated the underbelly of Los Angeles. It was all part of my job. I was a researcher for a British production company called September Films. They called me their ‘Secret Weapon.’ I didn’t have tattoos, and half my head wasn’t shaved back then. I was unassuming. Innocent with a clever mind.

Imagine a female British voice saying: “Maryam, can you find us a Madam? A Pimp. A drug Dealer. A Porn Director”

I ended up finding everything they asked me for, even if it involved staying up into the wee hours of the night in strip joints, clubs, and EasySpeaks to hang with Hollywood vampires. I would then take the fodder and pitch my ideas to mainstream rags. For instance, I wrote a handful of stories for Penthouse’s column, The Unrepentant Voyeur.

I spent a day with a madam and her girls in the valley, and to garner their trust, I snorted crystal meth for the first and last time. I also spent time on several porn sets and spent hours late at night talking to RoseBudd, the pimp who appeared in the documentary American Pimp.

Back then, I could write a piece and make two grand. Not anymore. Now, I am happy to get a five-dollar subscription on Substack when I used to get paid $1 to $2 a word. I am not a recreational writer, and this is my degree. And after 25 years as a journalist and filmmaker, reporting should not be a side hustle.

I would go on to co-direct an award-winning documentary about a crucial creature—bees—narrated by a Hollywood celebrity. Vanishing of the Bees was the number-one movie on Netflix for a while and was viewed by many celebs, including Bill Maher, Russell Brand, and Zach Galifianakis. It won several awards and was translated into 13 languages. For an Egyptian Greek Montrealer, I had come a long way.

Later, I traveled the world as a digital nomad, building HoneyColony into a million-dollar operation. But then, in 2017, my company and I started getting attacked for literally being one of the first in the online space to sell CBD.

And to be honest, the attacks didn’t stop.

We were then affected by Google’s Medic Update, and overnight, we lost 30 of our organic traffic and were no longer getting half a million unique visitors a month. Then there was the Plandemic, and the FDA came after us under Operation Quack Hack, which I also reported on.

How did it come to this? Since the Rona Regime, I’ve spent considerable time fighting off the system. I’ve spent thousands of hours researching all things COVID-19 and the Rona Regime/NWO Agenda, only to be hella censored and to have my ways of exchanging money dismantled. I’m banned from Paypal, GoFundMe, and Venmo, and JP Morgan Chase-Vanguard-Rothschild debanked me.

So here is a bittersweet, raw, irreverent tale that went down in a chapter pre-Rona.

~~~~~~~

The guy on the elephant?

Dude, you have to be kidding me. You’re an adult. Do you have any idea the abuse inflicted on elephants for our dumb pleasure?

Swipe Left.

The guy holding a beer bottle?

A Boozing Partying Joker? No thank you. I don’t drink a lick of alchohol. Hell, I apparently don’t even know how to spell the word.

Swipe Left

The chubby guy sitting naked on a toilet tatted up with his penis blurred out?

I am coming right over Baba. Really? What the Eff, homeboy?

Swipe Left

The guy holding his son’s hand?

Okay, we get it. You’re a dad, and he’s important in your life. Great. But why does it have to be your first picture? Don’t be so fucking eager.

Swipe Left.

The profile picture of a gun. It's just a gun on a cheap patio table.

Uh, no.

Swipe Left

The Mexican bearded version of George Clooney… and his third picture is a kid?

Swipe Right.

There was something initially pacifying about “Tinder.” You sit there swiping pictures, many of which are absolutely hilarious. Tinder has the allure of trying to find a needle in a haystack if you are into that type of thing. However, the online dating app can also be like gasoline tossed on a small but steady flame.

For a recovering love addict, a failed relationship can spur severe withdrawal akin to weaning off heroin. “Love is the hardest addiction to quit,” says specialist Stanton Peele, Ph.D. Peele unwittingly opened the door to this discussion with his 1975 book Love and Addiction.

For those who are not addressing their love addiction behavior, the app is actually fertile ground for acting out, says marriage and family therapist Lisa Bahar. “The impulsive and availability that the app provides can accentuate the addiction. Resources are readily available.”

I discovered Tinder, which has been judged as “superficial” and “just based on looks,” two years after its debut. I was late to the game. Ironically, I found out about Tinder during a Landmark seminar on “achieving excellence.” Dedicated to personal development, I had subjected myself to an icy, air-conditioned room under life-sucking fluorescent lights in Culver City for two hours to learn how to be “excellent.”

It was March 2014. There was the Ebola outbreak that year in West Africa, along with the deaths of Eric Garner and Michael Brown. I was covering vaccine dangers and focused on health solutions and growing my company, HoneyColony.

“I downloaded Tinder on my phone this week,” a 20-something Iranian woman from Westwood proudly proclaimed to the crowd, trying to prove that she was “open to the possibility” of changing her ways and reinvesting in the notion of good men. The coach, who was a bit of a wet noodle, was asking her to transform her many complaints about males into opportunities.

Everyone laughed. I didn’t. I looked around the room, clueless to the reference. I pictured a lumberjack in the woods yelling, “Tiiiiiiinder.” Of course, I hadn’t heard about Tinder. I had been committed to a relationship.

I needed to forget about my ex, so that evening, I downloaded the dating app myself, created a profile, and started lurking.

Would “Tindering” be the best thing to happen to my dating life, or would it be my ultimate downfall? Would Tinder influence my addictive process? Would it spur me to act out and veer off, or would I get my act together and look in?

I decided I’d write about it. Tinder would become not only an interesting love/hate diversion but an international sociological research project spanning more than one year and five countries. At least, that’s how the addict in me pitched it to my recovering self.

Love Addict 101

“My name is Maryam Henein, and I’m a Recovering “Love Addict.”

Part 1|| Tales of a Love-Addicted Tinderella

My name is Maryam Henein, and I’m a Recovering “Love Addict."

Love Addict 101

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