This shit creeps up on you, you know? The little bad habits; comfort habits. Stress eating. Taking a load off masturbating in the evening. It gets worse in increments, and soon you’re the frog in the boiling water; the dog in the burning house.
This is fine, you say.
I was suffering from severe erectile dysfunction due to what I thought was a harmless porn addiction. Seriously fucking up my sex life and my relationship. I had also put on a ton of weight and had adopted a lot of other piss poor habits heading into middle age. It made me a finger pointer (ain’t no I in team but there’s always a ME in blame); bitter lazy asshole shying away from social contact while patting myself on the back for being AN INDIVIDUAL THAT SUCCUMBS TO NO ONE even though life was pretty much a tale of caving in, going under, giving up.
I wish I could tell you I pulled the sword out of the stone, or had a stunning realization on an empty downtown street in the middle of a thunderstorm. It happened more like this: March 1, I was opening up an incognito browser window to dig into some tubes. I stopped. Said out loud; ‘What the fuck is this shit.’ Closed it. Went and watched Star Trek Deep Space Nine on some network channel. Don’t remember the episode or the commercials, just remembered I was in some haze sitting there on the couch. Thinking about all these little bad habits and fuckups, and how they had accumulated.
Started abstinence the next day, though I didn’t run into a name for it until later.
Today is day 89. Right now is 89 days to damn near the minute, and instead of opening up an incognito browser window, I’m writing this.
Are things better? Yeah. A couple weeks later, I got into the gym. (GET YOUR ASS TO THE GYM, they say) Local one, by the house, that I had been a member at years ago. Nice, small. I didn’t hear that voice telling me ‘hey fat fuck, what the hell are you even trying for, go get some Chik Fil A’. Alright, I did, but I equated that voice with the whiny sorry sweaty puddle of fuck that had to plant down in front of a computer every night to get his jollies. I laughed at him and worked myself sore.
Diet improved, I got consistent. Work improved, people act different when you got a little shine inside, an ace up the sleeve. Energy got better. Sleep got a lot better. And I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but I think I’ve got my relationship back on track. Taking that one real slow. I’ve been out, I’ve been less angry. And I’m getting better every day. Undoing the damage.
I will now say I’ve been completely flatline. No urges whatsoever. Almost thought at one point I should try out a session, just to make sure everything was biologically OK. I didn’t. When the mere ghost of the impression comes up, I think of that sorry sack of shit; then I remember the kid needs help. That first step was tough and he had to do it all alone.
I wish you guys success. Even if you fail a hundred times (I failed, by count, around a thousand times, trying to “start over” and I think it’s a conservative estimate). I think you wear in a groove with every attempt, and then one day, you fall right in the motherfucker and start to grind.
To get good.
I’m 40 years old. I’ve noticed that “morning wood” has returned, so i’m counting that as the process fixing itself up.