I was 11 when my porn addiction started

I don’t even remember the first video, but I knew I liked it – and wanted more (Picture: Gray Brame/ Michael Abijade)

As I watched a tape I’d discovered in my parent’s VCR selection at home, I was fascinated. I couldn’t look away from a man and woman having sex.

Aged 11, I was enthralled by the moving of the bodies and the joy they seemed to be experiencing.

Suddenly, I heard a noise outside and quickly realised it was my mum on her way back home. I panicked and tried to eject the tape, but it jammed.

Terrified of being caught, I threw the entire player out and ended up lying to her that it’d stopped working. She didn’t believe me, but – thankfully – nothing came of it.

I hadn’t even turned 12, but porn had already sunk its claws into me. It would be years later before I even realised that I was addicted to it.

I began watching adult material around this time after a school friend of mine introduced me to it. I don’t even remember the first video, but I knew I liked it – and wanted more.

From that moment on, it quickly became an integral part of my life. It was the first thing I watched in the morning, and the last thing at night – it became just as normal to me as brushing my teeth.

I initially accessed it via my computer at home, then it was constantly at my fingertips when I got my phone a few years later.

Throughout my teens and early adult years, I used it to the point where I was absolutely exhausted some days. I couldn’t go to the gym or concentrate on work. Sometimes, if I wasn’t doing anything during the day, I would resort to porn out of boredom.

I am starving the monster that crept into my life (Picture: Sophie Pyke)

I was intoxicated by it and the way it made me feel. The rush on the way up until the climax, I wanted more and more of it. Seeing the different types of women made me feel like a kid at a candy store.

Unfortunately, discussions about the birds and bees were absent at home because – in my experience – Caribbean culture is conservative, and does not involve such taboo conversations. Sex education at school was pretty much non-existent, too.

All of this is to say that pornography was my illegitimate sexual education tool. It’s where I learned about sex, women’s bodies and my own.

As a result, it disturbed my understanding of real-life sex, as the things you see people do in these videos are not what average people do.

This had a profound effect on my sex life. I would think about the porn stars I enjoyed watching and what they used to do – and what I wanted to do to them – instead of my sexual partner. My brain was used to the screen, and not always the real-life interaction. 

I was over-sexualising women, and as a result, I viewed sex as simply conquest. How many women could I sleep with?

I wanted everything I could have. I had a skewed view of intimacy, connection and sex.

Slowly but surely – by the age of about 25 – my reliance on these videos became worse and a vicious cycle. I found myself viewing video categories that I would never have gone near when I first started or even acted out in real life. That’s when I knew something was really changing in me.

So I stopped at around 26. The catalyst was simply that my friend and I had a competition and I wanted to beat him. 

As a result, I denied myself these videos for a year and I surprised myself that it was the greatest relief. Many times I wanted to fold though, as it was part of my routine. 

The positive results of giving it up spoke for themselves. In the gym, I was more engaged and productive – and I found myself more in touch with the world. I wasn’t over-sexualising women as much, and I felt more present at the moment.

Unfortunately, after a year of giving it up, I fell back into destructive habits. I just wanted to be reminded of the feeling of euphoria. Watching it felt good – until I hit the climax, when I’d feel shame, guilt and loneliness.

Thankfully, this time I was more aware of what was happening.

In order to put myself off it for good, aged 28, I started researching the porn industry. Sure enough, the further I studied what was happening behind the scenes, arousal became apathy, and denial became disgust.

It’s an industry proliferated with child trafficking, rape and human rights violations. It’s also a multi-billion pound complex that preys on the human need for connection and sexual release. 

I know first-hand that it can distort your sense of self and image, make you compare yourself to reality stars who have sex on camera, and forget that it’s not reflective of real life.

Pornography was my illegitimate sexual education tool (Picture: Hany Photography)

Once this discovery settled in, I knew I couldn’t click another link again. Now, it has been a couple of months since then.

Deciding to stop watching adult material has been one of the best decisions that I’ve ever made. I feel clear-headed, and have the ability to sit with boredom. 

I want those who can relate to realise that porn has more negative effects than positive ones. It’s essential for us as humans to connect with others in a healthy way.

Looking back now, I was unaware of the impact it had on my life. It became a constant that I could rely on through everything, as well as a pacifier. It was almost comforting.  

But by staying away from it, I am starving the monster that crept into my life.

We must encourage more conversations about porn – I don’t want any young people going down the same sticky path I did.

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I don’t even remember the first video, but I knew I liked it – and wanted more.