I was 14 when curiosity first led me to jerk off. Little did I know it would become a path to self-destruction. Initially, I indulged every 4-5 days—manageable, or so I thought. Then I stumbled upon online claims that jerking off was harmless. With no immediate physical consequences, my habit escalated: every other day, sometimes multiple times daily. This continued unchecked for four years.

Gradually, my body began signaling distress: weak erections, cloudy urine with persistent foam, crippling brain fog, chronic dizziness, cold intolerance, and nagging kidney discomfort. I dismissed these as unrelated issues until I connected the dots—the crushing fatigue following each session became undeniable proof of causation.

Armed with newfound awareness, I vowed to quit. I researched addiction patterns, made solemn pledges, and declared bold resolutions. Yet within days, I'd relapse. The compulsive jerking had rewired my brain through years of obsessive thoughts, making abstinence feel impossible.

As I slipped back into old patterns, my health deteriorated further—my pallid complexion told the story. The shame of disappointing my parents and wasting my academic potential finally pushed me to act. Self-pity wouldn't fix this; action would. Today, after yet another relapse, I recommit to breaking free—not just from the habit, but from the shadow it casts over my mind and body.