Family life is fulfilling—I couldn’t ask for more. I have two daughters: the eldest is in first grade, and the youngest is two years old. Our family is healthy. Waiting at the school gate for my older daughter, watching her skip out happily, fills me with indescribable joy. The little one has started talking lately, mimicking chickens and dogs, which is both hilarious and heartwarming. This Saturday, my wife and I will accompany our eldest to her dance competition to cheer her on. These moments of warmth far surpass fleeting pleasures—true happiness, unlike the sugar-coated poison of instant gratification that leads only to tragedy.

Physically, I’ve recovered significantly since quitting masturbation, though I’m still weaker than peers my age. Daily life is manageable, and my body generally feels relaxed. When tired, a short rest restores me. My stamina remains limited: walking 2-3 kilometers is fine, but beyond that, fatigue sets in. Basketball, once a college passion, is now impossible—10 minutes exhaust me. Prolonged sitting (over 1.5 hours) causes back pain and dizziness, though driving in a reclined position lets me last 3-4 hours. Floaters and premature gray hair persist, but other symptoms have improved or vanished.

Health shapes personality. In school, I was introverted but sociable, with close friends and natural interactions. As my addiction deepened, so did my character flaws. By 2013, after my body collapsed, I hit rock bottom: timid, indecisive, paranoid. Socializing became torture—hesitating over dinner invitations, avoiding spicy food and alcohol, struggling to laugh freely. Friends noticed my unease; I’d rush home, fearing disrupted sleep. Masturbation eroded my confidence, social skills, and luck.

Now, as my health rebounds, so does my personality. My “energy field” grows stronger—I’m less affected by others’ negativity. Some people drain me; others uplift. Recovery is tangible.

A Decade of Recovery (pron/pronsex/pronhub/prone bone​/giantess pron​/91 pron/giantess pron​/sex) Rewind to summer 2013: I sat sobbing in bed, drenched in cold sweat, clueless about my failing body. Years of masturbation had left me with floaters, allergic conjunctivitis, cervical spine issues, insomnia, and depression. By fall, my body finally collapsed—constant dizziness, crippling fatigue, and unrelenting pain made life unbearable. Death seemed merciful. I haunted hospitals, but no cure emerged.

In January 2014, I stumbled upon an anti-masturbation article online. It struck like lightning: my suffering stemmed from addiction. Devouring recovery content, I found others like me. Quitting gave me a second life. Progress was slow—relapses, setbacks—but improvement came. By six months, my cervical pain vanished. A year later, insomnia and anxiety eased. For the first time, I dared envision marriage and fatherhood.

At my worst, even walking exhausted me. No woman would’ve trusted a ghostlike partner. Today, rebuilt through discipline, I’ve reclaimed my life. This journey taught me: the body heals when respected, and true joy lies not in fleeting highs, but in the quiet strength to nurture what matters.

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