If there is no inherent problem with porn, then why do I feel such shame and loneliness afterward?

To quit porn, I realized I need to cultivate a sense of urgency—something close to the feeling of being on the edge of death, but not too extreme. I’ve observed something in myself: when something important needs to be done, every cell in me focuses entirely on resolving that task. But when I don’t see any progress, when nothing seems to be moving forward, I tend to overwhelm myself to the point of misery. And in those moments, something inside me urges me to reproduce, almost like a primal instinct.

Also when life feels too easy, my body interprets that as a sign that conditions are good enough for reproduction. However, when the conditions are harsh—especially when it comes to unaddressed stress—my body reacts as if the world is falling apart. If porn is around, my body seems to view it as the only way to escape the stress. It’s as though my cells are telling me that, if I were to die, at least my genes would live on—even if it’s just an illusion.

When life presents problems too overwhelming to bear, my instinct often drives me into a flight response. This was especially true when my visa expired, and the government refused to renew it. The stress was so suffocating that I found myself utterly lost, unable to cope. How should I even begin to ask a lawyer for help? Where would I find the money to pay for one? I couldn’t see a path forward. The problem loomed before me like an insurmountable wall, and rather than confront it, I ran.

It felt as if my very existence was under threat—like death was crouching just around the corner. In moments like these, every cell in my body screamed at me to escape, to find refuge. But where could I run? The truth is, the places I sought solace were mere distractions, never solutions.

I turned to small comforts—watching the news that aligned with my beliefs, hoping it would soothe my mind. When that no longer worked, I’d escape into movies, eating sandwiches until I was uncomfortably full, trying to smother the gnawing anxiety. But the problem remained, lurking in the shadows. Eventually, my flight would lead me to porn—a deceptive escape. At that moment, every part of me would convince itself that I was doing the right thing, that this fleeting indulgence was somehow a solution.

But it’s not. The body rewards you for what it perceives as an act of survival—an attempt to pass on your genes. It doesn’t understand that it’s all an illusion. And so, the illusion rewards you, but only temporarily. Then, like clockwork, you return to reality. The problem is still there, untouched and unresolved. You’ve wasted time, and the stress doubles down, tightening its grip. And so, the cycle begins anew.

As I’ve written in one of my blogs, addictions are self-feeding problems. One form of escape often leads to another, each dragging you deeper into an endless abyss. A video game addiction might spiral into an anime binge, which leads to yet another form of distraction. You keep searching for the bottom of the abyss, but there isn’t one. The descent is infinite.

One action begets another. The escape grows, consuming your time, your energy, and your clarity. It’s a desperate attempt to avoid the unbearable weight of life’s problems, but it never truly lifts that weight. Instead, it compounds it.

I also came to see the hypocrisy in myself. I used to despise this man for having many women in his life, or this other for cheating on his partner. But am I any different? All those naked women I saw—what makes me different from them? I was casting stones at these men when, in fact, I was doing the same thing, just in a different form.