Watch Insight “Sex and Subscribers” on SBS Tuesday 8.30pm and On Demand.
A few years ago, I was a heavy user of internet pornography. I used it as an escape from the realities of life. It was a form of stress relief, a way to disconnect at the end of a day and my “me” time.
I don’t drink to excess, I don’t take drugs or drive cars too fast. I don’t gamble and I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. I stayed away from these things when I was young, not because I thought I wouldn’t like them, but because I knew instinctively I might like them too much.
But I like sex, so I allowed myself one vice – pornography.
It was practically free, conveniently accessible and completely harmless, or so I thought.
I was wrong.
What I didn’t know is I had used so much over a long period of time and become dependent on it. It was my go-to whenever life got too hard. I’d moved cities a few times and lost touch with friends and let go of other more sociable and healthy ways to cope with the stresses and strains of life.
I knew instinctively I might like them too much.
On some level, I recognised I needed to stop or at least try to reduce my porn consumption as I was in a committed relationship, but I didn’t want to face reality. I didn’t want to stop using. Deep down I probably realised I would have trouble stopping if I tried.
I’d been following the work of an adult model for some years, and I learned she had started a subscription account where you could pay for exclusive content. It seemed like a good idea perhaps to contribute something - up until then I’d seen everything of hers without paying a cent. We used to call this piracy, but the idea seems to have been lost in the vast ocean of free content.
So I bought a subscription. A monthly fee of $5 at first, the lowest tier. I was allowed to see some of the “locked” content, but I wanted more. My addiction to pornography was so strong I kept upgrading to the next subscription tier. Within ten minutes, I had subscribed to the top tier, which costs $100 per month.
The online trawling we pornography addicts do in a dopamine-drenched haze is something we often forget after the fact. But when we see it in print on our credit card statement, we’re brought back to reality. And our partners can see it then too.
I’d had an experience of losing control like this before, playing a Fortnite-style game with in-app purchases, and I’d been drawn in to spending way more than I set out to. I think I was even getting a high from that “ping” sound that iPhones make when you authorize a purchase with your thumb print. The sound of anticipation you’re about to unwrap a present just for you.
I didn’t truly try to seek help until after I’d hit rock bottom. My relationship had broken down partly due to my addiction, and I had to admit I’d become powerless over it. I had to find a new place to live and start over.
My addiction to pornography was so strong I kept upgrading to the next subscription tier.
In desperation I went cold-turkey on pornography and all internet devices. I experienced something resembling withdrawal symptoms. I had heard of people going to Alcoholics Anonymous groups and identifying as an “addict of another kind”, so I tried this, and before long I was told there were 12 step groups specialising in this sort of thing.
There are several 12 step groups with a presence here in Australia. We can attend in person in a small room in a community centre, or online via Zoom. We each take a turn to say how we are going, and express the things we hide from the world and ourselves because we are too ashamed to admit it.
There is great power in having a safe space to own up to our issues without fear of being judged. We gain some degree of acceptance, and we face what we’ve done and take responsibility for it. We commit in front of our fellows to doing better than this in future, drawing a bottom line and turning our backs on whatever behaviour it is that’s hurting us and the people around us.
I don’t know if addiction is scientifically the right word to describe what happens with overuse of sex or pornography, but I do know treating it as an addiction and using the tools of recovery have helped me more than anything.
My views on the work of adult content creators or the sex industry haven’t changed. If they can make a living doing this safely I say all power to them. If people can buy content on sites then good luck to them. What I know is I can’t. Like an alcoholic that can’t have even one drink. And I know now what I wish I knew before. For those out there who have a problem like I did, there is help to be found.
*not his real name.
