I’ve wanted to write this down for a long time, but it had to mature somehow. I had to grow up enough to do it.
Unfortunately, my problem started very early. At first it was only occasional, deliberate touching to get “that nice feeling”. Then, as time went on, more and more often (I wasn’t watching porn back then, but my imagination did the work). There were moments when a red light went on… this probably isn’t OK, I shouldn’t be doing this. But “that feeling” was nicer, and I never managed to break with it for more than a few months.
The worst moment for me was probably when I moved in with my boyfriend. We started having sex very late, and when we finally did, of course I couldn’t feel it the way I’d imagined, the way I’d dreamed of, the way I wanted. He was very understanding and patient, never pushed me into anything, and really understood that I might have trouble with it at first. Unfortunately, I noticed that when I watched some film and got a bit turned on, our lovemaking went better afterwards. One time I had the stupid idea of watching a porn clip, thinking maybe I’d pick something up (I’m so ashamed to write this!!!), that it would get better or whatever. At first it put me off; it seemed really vulgar and awful. But after a while I went back. I looked for clips, if you can even call them that, that were as close as possible to normal sex. At first it was a few times, then more and more often, and of course I wasn’t exactly well-behaved while I watched.
After a while the problems in bed started. It wasn’t nice or pleasant anymore. I started wriggling out of it, pretending I felt unwell, that something hurt: my head, my stomach and so on. Maybe somewhere in my head it was dawning on me that this was the reason, but I don’t think I let those thoughts in. In the end, after a few very honest conversations, I admitted to my fiancé (still the same boyfriend) that I was doing it on my own and that I felt bad about it. As you can imagine, he wasn’t jumping for joy. I was ashamed, I wanted the ground to swallow me up, and I resolved to change. I also decided I would always tell him, and maybe the shame would stop me (the stupid thinking of a silly woman). Unfortunately it only worked for a while… later I simply stopped telling him.
I hardly need to say that I had constant mood swings and fits of anger, I was listless and had depressive spells. I never felt like doing anything, I avoided people and let the most important things slide (like writing my master’s thesis; if my fiancé hadn’t cracked the whip, I’d never have finished it). I blamed everything on my hopeless job, on not growing, on being stuck. Maybe there was something in that, but I think the biggest problem was the masturbation.
One day my fiancé, supposedly completely by chance, sent me a link to some writing about porn and masturbation addiction. I started reading and matching some of the signs to myself. I don’t think I’m addicted to porn, but I think I’m struggling with an addiction to masturbation. That reading opened my eyes; it showed me this really is a huge problem that can ruin a life. Since then I’ve been fighting. Fighting. I’m not giving up, I’m fighting :)
Unfortunately, women can get hooked on this crap too. Most of the “symptoms” I read about matched, so I don’t think it depends on gender, age and so on. The same goes for fighting this rubbish. There’s no point feeling sorry for yourself because you’ve already lasted four days; you have to think about the future, look ahead!!! I also think organising your time is really important, so you don’t have time to think about it. And above all, a BIG kick up the backside, a huge one. No excuses. I’ve already wasted enough time on this, and I’m not going to waste more days, hours and minutes thinking about this shit.
P.S. I know this is very chaotic and all over the place, but I finally wanted to get it out of me. I don’t want to read it again and live through it a second time.
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