I'm Hannah. 29. Arizona. Christian. Church every Sunday.
Which makes this feel extra shameful, you know?
I pray. I have accountability partners. I know better.
But most nights started innocent.
Scrolling Instagram.
Answering texts.
Just trying to fall asleep.
Then my chest would tighten. My hands would move without thinking. Just five minutes, I'd tell myself.
Thirty minutes later I'd be staring at the ceiling feeling disgusted and numb.
The worst part? How automatic it felt.
Like my body just... went there. No real choice involved.
One night after another relapse, I googled: "Why do I watch porn when I hate it?"
Reddit was full of the same confessions:
"I don't even enjoy it anymore."
"It's like I'm on autopilot."
"Nighttime is impossible."
That's when I realized this wasn't just me.