The PDFs on our recovery stories page are in English, so we’ve included the stories below so that you can read them in other languages using the translation feature on our website.

Becoming Fit to Dream
Stepping Stones
Recovery is Possible
The Only Thing That Worked
قياس إدمان الإنترنت والتكنولوجيا
Open Window

Stories

Becoming Fit to Dream

Before I came into ITAA I felt like I had fallen from a cliff, and was lying broken and alone at the bottom. I believed there was no way I would ever pull myself out of the dark hole of brokenness I felt. Something in me knew my survival depended on climbing that cliff and pulling myself out, but by my own willpower I did not believe I could even begin.

Overwhelmed and beaten by shame I would hide my eyes, dropping my head to the side. I would lock my gaze on the moving image on the screen, hypnotizing myself, dissociating from my state of fallenness.

I came into ITAA the night after a streaming binge that lasted until 4 AM. I woke up feeling that brokenness at the cliff bottom. I was depressed, anxious, frustrated, and desperate for a solution. I could not pull myself from the screen and I could not go on like this. I found the ITAA website, I saw a meeting was happening in 10 minutes, and I got on.

That day the faces of those in recovery began to pop out from the precipice of that cliff edge. I listened for the voices that resonated with my experience and I called for help. Ropes began to appear. People who would become familiar climbed down to meet me. One gave me a deep drink of connection, while another helped me check my injuries. Another sat me up, and then one more said, “Try standing.”

Shaky but on my own two feet I was able to stand. Those in recovery said, “There’s a way out of this place in 12 steps. You only need to take them one at a time.” They showed me the ropes and pulley systems. They said, “you aren’t going to have to climb out alone. Clip into this fellow; they’re a good climber. They know how to use the guide book.”

I still felt a weight pulling me down. I craved the dissociative state that technology would blanket me with. I felt pulled by the gravity of the easy out from difficult emotions and an unmanageable life. While I wanted to sink into the hypnotism of the screen, my eyes had their gaze raised to a much more powerful solution. This was key. I took one step. I climbed to one ledge and as I tried to lift myself, something lifted me.

Up to this point, I believed that I needed the willpower to pull myself up, but that belief was a fiction. I have Meetings and Fellowship. I have a program of Recovery. I have the Steps. I have a relationship with a Higher Power of my own understanding. I have a Sponsor. I have people all over the world I can call at any time of the day. The full force of these levers and ropes do for me what I could never do by myself alone.

I still have steps ahead, some that look scary and complex. Yet at some point in this journey I’ve started to experience a fitness. A fitness of heart and mind; a spiritual fitness that helps me climb. There are sheer walls, with few hand holds ahead, but I can’t fall far. My rope is securely fastened to the fellowship.

I am not the person who started this journey. My brokenness at the beginning prepared me to ask for help. That help arrived in spades when I entered ITAA and reached out consistently. Cooperating with this support has made me fit. I am now fit to dream.

Stepping Stones

When I envision my recovery, when I close my eyes and allow its evolution to surface, I envision a simple graph, disclosing a well recognizable angle. Starting from a central axis and continuing steadily at 45-degrees. Always rising.

The graph reveals a series of attempts to overcome obstacles. Documents a series of hard-won solutions. Some working for a while then weakening. Others providing an enduring insight, a wellbeing that would come to define my life. Whichever category they fell into, seen as a sequence, these trials have guided me on a purposeful path. A formation of steps I can count on.

Trauma and loneliness wove throughout my childhood, creating knots of confusion and distress. I was so young, I didn’t have the tools to communicate, to confront the fears and stress defining those years. The compulsive behaviors that followed were in reality an attempt to make things manageable, to survive an unbearable situation. They flourished in an atmosphere of isolation, thriving in obscure places as a misinterpreted source of light.

As a young child, I developed an overwhelming fear of the dark, spending many nights awake beside my unaware sibling. I surrounded myself with stuffed animals, creating a sheltering comradery.

I rotated my companions each night, guaranteeing each had their turn by my side. No one was left out. No one privileged. No one left wanting.

With time, I felt suffocated by their increasing number. My bed had become overcrowded. There was no room left for me. Their presence no longer provided solace but added to my discomfort. My solution worked until it no longer worked.

Another solution then surfaced. I started playing music at a very young age. Was recognized for my ability. Music has always been my most comfortable form of self-expression. Nonetheless, it could not replace my overwhelming need to develop an articulate voice. I craved unambiguous words capable of expressing my complex reality, my tangle of thoughts. Words that could voice adversity and my mission to overcome it.

As I progressed in my musical studies, it also became apparent that the prevailing criterion was perfection, triggering a compulsive approach regarding my practicing. No matter how much I rehearsed, it never seemed enough. It stopped working as a solution, no longer provided consolation.

In early adolescence, my compulsive behaviors found an alternative focus. I found myself increasingly apprehensive, fearful about the future, about becoming an adult. I felt I had no guide, no positive influence to shine a light on my path. I found myself preferring the world as I knew it, rather than venture into uncharted territory without a map. I developed an eating disorder in an attempt to arrest my physical development, to escape what appeared to be inevitable.

At that time, my particular eating disorder was not commonly discussed. I thought it was my personal solution to my specific predicament. A way to live outside the rules. Claiming some control, albeit fabricated, over what had continued to be unmanageable.

It took me more than ten years to recognize my disease as a problem. To realize that others had found the same distorted solution.

By a series of chance encounters, I discovered a fellowship for eating disorders. I found a community that shared my concerns. In the smallest of ways, I felt transformed, my path lightened. I began to shed the responsibility to take everything into my own hands, realizing that not everything was mine to fix. By sharing at the meetings, I initiated my journey to recover my voice.

I came to recognize a higher power, my first in an evolution of higher powers. Recognizing that unconditional acceptance from my higher power is a birthright not a privilege.

I chronicled my transformation, envisioning myself on a heroic journey. Traveling through travails in the hope of a brighter future. A protagonist within an epic tradition. My recovery was reflected in my writing of that time, writing that took the form of allegory. One story in particular portrayed my quest, The Forgetful Man.

There once was a man with a very bad memory.

One day, he went to the doctor and said, “Doctor, by now I’ve lived for many years yet never seem to learn from my mistakes. I run into the same problem without remembering past remedies.”

The doctor told him to buy a simple notebook and return the next week.

The next week, the forgetful man returned with his new notebook. The doctor suggested he write in detail his everyday experiences and return the next week. The forgetful man agreed and the session ended. What he didn’t tell the doctor was that he didn’t know how to write or, to be truthful, had forgotten.

It all started in late spring when the forgetful man found himself in the midst of a strangely beautiful moment. Flowers were blooming and donkeys were grazing in the tall swaying grass. The air filled him through and through. He couldn’t tell where his fingers ended and the afternoon began.

Fearing the loss of his newly gained lightness to his deeper darker dreads, he desperately took out his notebook. He ripped out a blank page, held it high above his head in the sky overlooking the valley, then quickly folded it until small enough to fit in his pocket. When he returned home, he placed the folded sheet in a shoe box beneath his bed. That night, he felt safer as he slept.

A few days later, his mother telephoned him. He had forgotten his grandmother’s birthday and was the only one absent from the party. The forgetful man immediately sent his grandmother eighty-five yellow roses. “How many times have these flowers been sent and I continue to forget!” he cried, covering his face with his hands.

Without thinking, he ripped out another page from his notebook and carefully exposed it to the dark closed air of his small room, folded it, first in halves, then quarters, then eighths, placed it in the shoe box, and fell asleep. In the morning, his head ached slightly yet he had forgotten the box beneath the bed.

The forgetful man continued to gather both joyful and disheartened events of his life, storing them all beneath his bed without noticing that he had become a collector of sorts. Finally, one day when he needed it most, he realized.

It was a short day in mid-February. The sun had already begun to set when the forgetful man found himself in a part of the city before then unknown to him. He tried to follow the street signs, but they appeared written in a foreign tongue with indecipherable letters, leading him in circles, deeper and deeper into confusion. The streets slithered like snakes under the light rain. He had forgotten his umbrella.

Hours later, after seemingly endless trials and tribulations, he arrived home. As he opened the door to his one room apartment, everything whirled in newness. He saw things as if never before seen: the delicate flower print of his faded curtain, the golden design of the picture frame, the curve of the faucet as it held the last drop of water in breathless suspension, and the grey cardboard box beneath his small unmade bed.

Pulling out the dusty box, he found it filled with folded sheets of paper. And then, he remembered.

He unfolded the yellowed pages and hung each one on the clothesline crossing his room. Slowly, surely, images began to appear: a donkey braying in the wind, eighty-five yellow roses, a plaid umbrella, yet as slowly as each memory revealed itself, it slowly fled, running down the paper and dripping, in vivid colors, onto the floor.

Once again, the pages hung blankly, but a shimmering lake remained, beautiful and blue, in the middle of his room. Every morning, the man took pleasure in wading through its waters, and often stood calmly at its center.

Eventually, after many meetings and outreach calls, after much meditation and reflection, I found abstinence. Or it found me. When I least expected it, still deep within my struggles, my compulsion was lifted.

I learned that my eating disorder was not a personal solution to my specific predicament, but a life-threatening addiction. While my awareness was expanded, I never attempted to methodically work the steps. I continued to work outside the box. Afraid of set rules or procedures. As a result, certain key elements that triggered my addiction were left unaddressed.

Soon after I found abstinence, beautiful things began to fill my life. I met my present partner, and we began a family. We moved to another country, to a remote village with no twelve-step programs, or at least, none I felt sufficiently anonymous. I focused on my Qigong and sitting meditation practice, both motionless and moving exercises. Read twelve step literature but also focused on literature suggested by my meditation teacher, finding many connections between my meditation practice and my evolving recovery.

Among the Qigong exercises I practiced, what surfaced as invaluable were the walking and standing meditations.

The walking meditations incorporate walking backwards and forwards with varied arm movements and conscious breathing patterns. The intention is to witness the stillness amidst movement.

The standing meditations assume specific stances, also with conscious breathing patterns. The intention is to observe the movement in stillness.

In my sitting meditation practice, what has been most revealing is a sense of becoming friends with myself. Observing the movement of my thoughts, initiating a familiar awareness of my inner narratives, I began to develop a more steadfast and tolerant self-appreciation when experiencing the assorted struggles of my life, amidst unpredictable, ordinary experience.

This awareness eventually lessened my inner chatter, created more space. I was able to incorporate meditation techniques throughout my day. Weaving through encounters and misencounters. Finding stillness within the activities which defined my life. Gradually recognizing habitual patterns of reaction and action.

Meditation proved to be a transformative process, sowing the seeds of a deep sense of self-loyalty and trust. I was able to begin to deconstruct my destructive narratives and observe what earlier blinded me. To begin to let go of the underlying fear.

My growing family further dispersed my compulsive behavior, rooted me in the present by the undeniable necessities of the moment.

I taught my children from elementary through high school. It was an exercise in perseverance. In patience. An exercise in recognizing what works, until it stops working. Is no longer productive. When one solution is relevant for one child yet falls short when addressing the needs of another.

Once again, this process was aided by the tools I had collected in recovery. Layers of lessons. An ability to slow down and listen to a guiding voice beyond my own. A process facilitated by a deep sense of appreciation and mutual trust.

The internet entered my life when I was nearly forty years old. It was a blessing as it released me from a growing estrangement from friends and family. From my city, my country.

Initially my use was limited by poor service and expensive hourly plans. It was defined primarily by emails to my ailing parents as my mother had fallen ill and the prognosis was not favorable. It allowed me to amend my absence. Making my presence felt, no matter the physical distance.

As time went on, my usage continued to be limited. It wasn’t until my eldest was applying for college that I witnessed my tech use escalate. The application and financial aid forms were endless. My mission to find the “perfect fit” occupied my day.

I would however not consider my tech use compulsive until my children left for school, to another country, to unforeseen circumstances.

I began to check my messages day and night in case they needed me. To make sure they were safe. I spent my days reading and listening to the news. This was for two main reasons, to connect me to a wider vision of the world, a world where my children had settled, and to fill the unfamiliar silence of my home. To keep me company.

After reading the daily news from various sources, I listened while I worked. I listened while I cooked. I listened while I cleaned. I listened while I slept. Until there was no room for me.

In recent years as the news evolved precariously, conflicts overwhelming the headlines, basic tenets of my life threatened, I searched for the truth online as if an oracle, as if it could provide me with that missing link where everything would be alright. Decoding the news as if a personal message. As if a long-awaited way out. As if a concrete solution for an existential and undefined mystery.

It simply proved to be a distraction. There was no simple resolution to my quest. What I searched for eluded me.

I reached my bottom when the news became increasingly intense. Reached its own undeniable climax. I felt glued to those sources and vocabulary, newscasters that I had grown to know, and I imagined, knew me. I was constantly searching the internet for a possible answer, a solution for the confusion of the state of things until I lost my eyesight.

I began to see double, vertically. I could not walk. Had trouble eating unless I closed my eyes. I panicked, thinking I had an incurable genetic condition, a condition that runs in my family.

Finally, I was given good advice from a traditional healer. Alternative treatments. Eye exercises. In doing the exercises, I realized how limited my range of movement had become. My eyes were limited to short distances, limited to frontal vision rather than peripheral.

It was incongruous that I was constantly focused on world events to the exclusion of those around me or my present reality, yet my vision was limited to the most immediate of ranges, a self-imposed confinement, a constraint imposed by my tech addiction.

While I didn’t suffer the genetic disease I feared, I did have a disease that needed attending to. I recognized that I was experiencing, after unnecessary and compulsive use of technology, the same slight nausea I had experienced with my earlier addiction. It was signaling a need. Forcing me to remember. To regather time-honored tools.

I knew my life was unmanageable. I knew what I had to do but it required some research. Some initial missteps before I found the ITAA rooms.

There are two major differences in my recovery this time around.

I work the steps daily.
I learned to pray.

Initially, I kept it simple. Attending 90 meetings in 90 days. Listening and sharing.

After the initial 90 days, I attended a step workshop and, soon after, attended another. Step work was extremely difficult for me. Less about abstinence, more about deep recovery. Tracing what led me to my addictions and seeing its repercussions in my everyday actions or lack of action.

I revisited the notion of amends. Addressing it with creativity and compassion. Creating safe spaces to stage reunions. When an encounter was not safely conceivable, I envisioned similar situations, future situations, and how I could choose to play them out in a benevolent manner. Searching a fertile ground where I could start anew without risking further harm to others or to myself. I also began working with ways to make amends to those no longer with us.

After a short time in the program, my compulsion to use my bottom line: listening, reading or watching the news was lifted.

My perception of my higher power also evolved. I now envision a team of higher powers much like the diverse members in the ITAA rooms. Each with a remarkable ability, a dedicated and unique gift. If I only remember. If I only find the humility to ask for help.

While my meditation practice had matured, I realized I had never actually gained confidence in prayer. I needed to focus on prayer with an approach that reflected my evolving spirituality. Addressing a kinder, more empathetic source of wisdom.

I wrote my own simple prayers, for those days where spontaneous words eluded me. The following prayer is one that I often turn to:

May I walk a peaceful path.
May compulsive thoughts lift from my mind
Like mist from still water.
May I connect to my surroundings
With those surrounding me.

May our family experience wellbeing
Whatever we choose to do
Wherever we choose to be
Whoever we choose to be with.
May our love endure distance. Misunderstanding.

May our gardens continue to prosper.
Our bodies continue to thrive.
May our suffering
Be transparent in its teaching
Recognizing your wisdom
With courage and serenity.

Sometimes I still need reminding.

I create altars in strategic locations, altars with no religious affiliation. Simply symbolic objects intended to keep me present. Keep me grounded.

I have an altar where I meditate. On my desk, accompanying my computer, where I write. On my kitchen table. In my music studio. In my garden. By my bed.

They are arranged with tokens of my children’s travels. A vase. A flower from my partner. Selected photographs. Candles and incense. A hot cup of tea.

They remind me what is important. What is not.
They remind me to settle into wisdom
wade deeper into acceptance
recognize what is needed
conjure humility to ask for help
from friends, family, the fellowship
my higher powers.

They remind me I am not alone
though I may still be afraid of the dark.
I am part of something immeasurable
boundless
far beyond
what hinders me.

الشفاء ممكن

كما هو الحال مع العديد من مدمني الإنترنت الآخرين ، بدأ إدماني في وقت مبكر من الحياة. لقد انبهرت بالشاشات الأولى التي تعرضت لها. في طفولتي ، كان لدي بالتأكيد مراحل من الهوس بوسائل إعلام معينة (بما في ذلك الكتب) ، لكن توجيهات والدي الصارمة حالت دون أن تصبح مشكلة للغاية. عندما حصلت على أول جهاز كمبيوتر في سنوات المراهقة وكان استخدامي مجانيًا لساعات طويلة دون أن يلاحظ أحد ، بدأ استخدامي في التصعيد. لم يكن لدي أصدقاء شعرت أنهم قريبون منهم ، وكنت أتعرض للتنمر في المدرسة ، ولم أتوافق جيدًا مع والدي ، ولم أشعر حقًا أن لدي أي هوايات مهمة. كان الإنترنت هو المكان الوحيد الذي شعرت فيه بالحرية والاسترخاء. قضيت وقتًا أطول في استهلاك المحتوى عبر الإنترنت حتى فكرت حرفيًا في مشاهدة مقاطع الفيديو على منصة معينة هوايتي. من خلال تبادل الطلاب وسنتين من الدراسة المكثفة لامتحاناتي النهائية ، أخذ إدماني مكانًا خلفيًا في حياتي لفترة من الوقت. فترات مثل هذه حيث يمكنني تقصير استخدامي للإنترنت من أجل فائدة أكبر في حياتي فيما بعد جعلتني أتساءل عما إذا كنت مدمنًا حقًا.

بعد أن أنهيت دراستي الثانوية بعلامات لا تشوبها شائبة ، وقعت في ثقب أسود. انتقلت إلى مدينة أخرى للدراسة الجامعية وتوقعت أن يكون كل شيء أفضل هناك. لكن كان لدي الكثير من وقت الفراغ والحرية ولم أستطع تحمل ذلك. كنت من الناحية الفنية بالغًا ، لكن المهام التي كنت أرغب في القيام بها كانت كبيرة جدًا بالنسبة لي. في شبابي ، تعلمت القليل من المهارات الحياتية لأنني كنت معتادًا على الهروب من مشاكلي.

لذا هربت مرة أخرى. بعد بضعة أشهر من محاولة تحقيق الأهداف الاجتماعية والأكاديمية في الجامعة والفشل ، غرقت أكثر في الاكتئاب. لقد تخليت عن نفسي دون وعي وبدلاً من ذلك ملأت فجوة الإحباط والغضب والفراغ بالإنترنت. لا أحد يستطيع أن يخبرني بعد الآن أنني كنت أستخدم وقتًا طويلاً أو أن الوقت قد حان للنوم ، لذلك بقيت مستيقظًا طوال الليالي أشاهد المحتوى عبر الإنترنت. لقد اعتدت على تخطي نصف فصولي الجامعية لأنني لم أشعر بأي دافع للذهاب ، أو أنني نمت لأنني كنت مستيقظًا لساعات طويلة في الليلة السابقة. أصبح الحرمان من النوم حالتي الافتراضية الجديدة. لم أعد أحاول تكوين صداقات حقيقية أو الانخراط حقًا في الأنشطة. لقد وجدت مجتمعاتي عبر الإنترنت التي شعرت أنني أشبع فيها حاجتي للتواصل الاجتماعي والمرح بشكل أفضل من أي اتصال في الحياة الواقعية.

في الغالب ، كنت أشاهد مقاطع الفيديو المنشورة على منصة معينة وأقرأ النصوص في المنتديات. لقد طورت نوعًا من الكمال الملتوي مع استخدامي. قضيت وقتًا طويلاً في إنشاء وإعادة تنظيم قوائم المراقبة والجدران المصورة عبر الإنترنت لأنني اعتقدت أنه "يومًا ما" ، سأقرأها جميعًا وأتأكد من معرفتي الكاملة. غالبًا ما أحببت أن أستهلك محتوى من أشخاص يقومون بأشياء أود القيام بها في الحياة الواقعية أيضًا ، وسأكون مندهشًا جدًا منهم. كان الجزء الأكثر إيلامًا هو رؤية هؤلاء الأشخاص يقومون بأشياء مذهلة خلال وقتهم بينما كنت أقضي كل وقتي في مشاهدتهم. كنت أرغب بشدة في أن أكون قادرًا على القيام بهذه الأشياء المدهشة أيضًا ، لكنني شعرت أنني لا أستطيع. كنت خائفًا من الفشل ولذا لجأت إلى مجرد استهلاك المعلومات حول النشاط ، وأخبر نفسي بفتور أنني كنت أفعل ذلك "استعدادًا" عندما كنت سأفعل كل هذه الأشياء في يوم من الأيام.

كان جمع المعلومات المحفز هذا هو الجزء الأكثر إيجابية من إدماني. أقضي أيضًا الكثير من الوقت في مشاهدة أشياء لم أشعر بالاهتمام بها لمجرد مشاهدة الأشياء. كنت أبحث دائمًا عن الجزء التالي المثير للاهتمام من الوسائط لإعطاء دفعة لمشاعري ، ولكن عندما أصبحت مخدرًا بالكمية الكبيرة التي استهلكتها بالفعل ، كان الأمر أكثر صعوبة. لقد فقدت التركيز لمشاهدة أي شيء أطول من مقطع فيديو قصير. كنت أشاهد بغرض المشاهدة ، وغالبًا ما أقوم بإنهاء مقاطع الفيديو في منتصف الطريق أو ممارسة الألعاب أثناء المشاهدة لأن مقطع فيديو واحدًا لم يعد يفعل ذلك بعد الآن.

كل هذا دفعني إلى عمق اكتئابي. لقد طورت قلقًا اجتماعيًا خفيفًا أيضًا ، وشعرت أن كل شيء مهمة صعبة للغاية بالنسبة لي. كانت "مشكلتي" طوال فترة استخدامي هي أن حياتي لم تسوء أبدًا لدرجة أنها بدت حقًا غير قابلة للإدارة من الخارج. واصلت دراستي الجامعية على المسار الصحيح ، على الرغم من درجاتي المتواضعة ، إلا أنني كنت أقوم أحيانًا بوظائف قصيرة الأمد وحافظت على بعض "الصداقات" السائبة دون أن أكون قريبًا من "أصدقائي" على الإطلاق. عندما دعاني الناس للتسكع ، قضيت أوقاتًا اجتماعية سعيدة بدون الإنترنت. تمكنت أحيانًا من إجبار نفسي على القيام بأنشطة هواية. كل هذا جعلني أفكر أن حياتي لم تكن سيئة للغاية بعد كل شيء ، ولم يهتم أحد على الإطلاق بأسلوب حياتي. واصلت الذهاب معها.

لم يكن لدي أدنى حد بخصوص استخدامي للإنترنت يمكن أن أتذكره ، لكنني أتذكر عطلة واحدة شعرت فيها بالسوء التام طوال الوقت. لقد اتخذت قرارًا بالتوقف عن الاستسلام بسبب حالة الاكتئاب التي شعرت بها حينها. عندما عدت إلى مدينتي الجامعية ، بذلت جهدًا للبقاء دائمًا مشغولًا ، وأتلقى التدريبات والوظائف حتى لا يكون لدي الكثير من وقت الفراغ ، وهو ما اعتقدت أنه مشكلتي. لكي أصبح أكثر إنتاجية ، قمت أيضًا بتثبيت مانع على جهاز الكمبيوتر الخاص بي وبدأت في حظر الصفحات على الإنترنت لعدد متزايد من الساعات في اليوم.

نظرًا لأنني كنت أقضي وقتًا أطول خارج الكمبيوتر الشخصي ، أصبحت حياتي أفضل كثيرًا وشعرت بقدر أقل من الرغبة في قضاء الوقت في ذلك. كنت أستخدم الإنترنت بحرية لنحو نصف ساعة يوميًا في هذه المرحلة ، وقد تحسنت أنشطة وقت فراغي بشكل كبير بالفعل ؛ كنت أذهب للخارج أكثر ، وأمارس هوايتي ولم أتوقف أبدًا عن الدهشة من مقدار الوقت المتوفر في اليوم الذي لا أقضيه أمام الشاشة. نظرًا لأنني كنت نشطًا في المنتديات عبر الإنترنت حول قضاء وقت أقل عبر الإنترنت ، فقد وجدت رابطًا لمجموعة ITAA محلية عن طريق الصدفة. ذهبت إلى هناك ، ولم أكن أعرف حقًا ما الذي يدور حوله. لقد بدأت في حضوره على الرغم من أنني لم أشعر حتى أنني مدمن على الإنترنت ، مجرد شخص يريد أن يصبح أكثر إنتاجية من خلال إضاعة وقت أقل على الإنترنت. لبضعة أشهر ، ذهبت للتو إلى الاجتماعات ، وشاركت قليلاً ، وما زلت أستخدم الإنترنت للترفيه لمدة 30 دقيقة في اليوم.

بعد فترة ، التقيت بزميلة عضوة وأخبرتني عن قصتها عن امتناعها التام عن ممارسة الجنس. على الرغم من أنني ما زلت لا أشعر بأنني مدمن على الإنترنت ، فقد قررت أن أمتنع تمامًا في اليوم التالي للقاءنا. قمت بتدوين جميع الصفحات والأنشطة عبر الإنترنت التي كانت تثيرني (صافي أرباحي) وظللت ممتنعًا عنها. لقد قطعت نصف ساعة في اليوم من الإنترنت المجاني ولكن التغيير كان لا يزال ملحوظًا. شعرت بمزيد من المشاعر بشكل أكثر كثافة لأنني كنت قد خدرتهم سابقًا باستخدام الإنترنت. كما واصلت الامتناع عن ممارسة الجنس ، تحسنت حياتي أكثر. لم يكن هناك تغيير سحري في غضون يوم واحد ولكن هناك تحسينات بطيئة وصغيرة.

مر عام. بعد حوالي 10 أشهر ، بدأت تساورني شكوك حول البرنامج والامتناع عن ممارسة الجنس. لم أشعر بالإدمان واستهلكت بعض وسائل الترفيه على الإنترنت لأثبت أنني لست مدمنًا. على الرغم من أنني لم أدخل في حفلة شراعية ، إلا أنني شعرت بالتحول العقلي. إن استهلاك الأشياء على الإنترنت يجعلني أشعر بالتوتر ، مثل أن جسدي غير منسجم مع العالم الخارجي. أصبح محمومًا ومشتتًا ، أحاول القيام بمهام متعددة وفشل ، كما هو الحال دائمًا. أوقفته مرة أخرى وتحولت إلى نموذج أكثر صرامة من الامتناع عن ممارسة الجنس.

لن يجعلني الإنترنت أفقد وظيفتي أو أخاطر بحياتي ، لكنني أشعر أنه سيء عقليًا. أستخدمه لتخدير مشاعري ، وتكثيف مشاعري ، وتجنب الاتصال بزملائي من البشر أو نفسي ، أو التعامل مع مخاوفي وشكوكي في نفسي. لم يقدم لي أي حل. من الصعب أن تطلب المساعدة من الناس في الحياة الواقعية ، وأن أواجه مشكلة ما بشكل مباشر ، وأن أعمل بدلاً من أن تستهلك ، لكن الأمر يستحق ذلك. أشعر بالتوازن. أستطيع أن أشعر بمشاعري ، التي اتضح أنها ليست موجودة لتجعلني أعاني ، ولكن لتوجيهني في كيفية عيش حياتي. أشعر بالألم وبعد ذلك أعرف أن هناك شيئًا أحتاج إلى تغييره. أنا أكثر نشاطًا ، أمارس هواياتي وأتفاعل اجتماعيًا. أركز على ما أحتاجه حقًا في اللحظة التي أريد فيها الاتصال بالإنترنت. الأهم من ذلك ، أشعر بأنني على قيد الحياة ، وحاضر ، هناك في جسدي وفي العالم عندما لا أكون ملتصقًا بالشاشة.

لا يزال استخدامي للإنترنت غير مثالي. لقد تحولت إلى الأقراص المضغوطة ولاحظت صعوبة العثور على الموسيقى التناظرية. ما زلت أتسوق عبر الإنترنت لأنه غالبًا ما يكون فعالًا جدًا ولم أجد طريقة أفضل بعد. لقد تحولت إلى هاتف فليب لفترة من الوقت ولكن انزعجت من الانزعاج والآن أستخدم هاتفي الذكي مرة أخرى. لكنني على دراية بكل استخداماتي للوسائط وأحاول استجواب نفسي في كل مرة أشغل فيها الشاشة. هل أنا حقا بحاجة للبحث عن هذا؟ ما هو الشيء الذي أحتاجه الآن عاطفيا؟ وبهذه الطريقة ، أعلم أنني سأكتشف الطوب الذي لا يزال فضفاضًا في امتناعي عن ممارسة الجنس.

الإنترنت أضر بي. أشعر وكأنني الآن فقط ، ما يقرب من عام ممتنع وعام ونصف تقريبًا ممتنع ، ألاحظ النطاق الحقيقي للتأثيرات السلبية التي أحدثها استخدامي علي. لا تزال جميع المعلومات والآراء والأفكار والاقتراحات وأنماط الحياة التي قرأت عنها على الإنترنت تؤثر على تفكيري. ما زلت أتساءل كيف يجب أن أتصرف وفقًا لما قاله بعض الأشخاص عبر الإنترنت بدلاً من الوثوق بصوتي الداخلي الذي لم يتم الاستماع إليه لفترة طويلة. ما زلت أحيانًا أجد صعوبة في التركيز على النصوص الطويلة أو مقاطع الفيديو. إن حياتي الجنسية ملتوية من استهلاكي للاباحية والمثل التي وضعتها في ذهني. أحيانًا لا أستطيع التفريق بين ما إذا كنت أرغب حقًا في فعل شيء ما أو أعتقد فقط أنني أريد القيام بذلك لأنني رأيته مرة واحدة عبر الإنترنت. ستستغرق هذه الأشياء وقتًا طويلاً للشفاء ، وربما أكثر من الوقت الذي قضيته على الإنترنت. لكني أعيش في الحياة الحقيقية الآن. والأفضل هنا.

في نهاية اجتماع ITAA ، لدينا دائمًا لحظة صمت لمستخدم الإنترنت والتكنولوجيا المدمن الذي لا يزال يعاني. أحيانًا أفكر في نفسي عندما كنت أصغر سنًا وأحتاج إلى القوة للتخلص من إدماني ، وأحيانًا أفكر في أعضاء آخرين ، ربما مثلك ممن تقرأ هذا. لا أعرفك ، لكن إذا كنت تعاني من استخدام الإنترنت والتكنولوجيا ، فأنا أدعو لك أن تتمكن من التخلص من براثن الإنترنت الملتوية كما فعلت أنا. أعدك ، سيكون الأمر يستحق ذلك.

The Only Thing That Worked

كان والداي متعلمين تعليماً عالياً ، وفي الثمانينيات كنا إحدى العائلات القليلة في الحي التي كان لديها تلفزيون وأجهزة كمبيوتر في المنزل. أتذكر أنه في عطلة نهاية الأسبوع كنت أشاهد عرض الرسوم المتحركة الصباحية لمدة أربع ساعات للأطفال. لقد كنت مفتونًا أيضًا بأجهزة الكمبيوتر. عندما كنت طفلاً كنت مهووسًا بالكمبيوتر ، أكتب رموز الألعاب من مجلات الكمبيوتر ، وأصحح البرامج ، ثم ألعب ألعاب الكمبيوتر. أعطتني أجهزة الكمبيوتر أيضًا حالة وطريقة للاتصال بأطفال الحي ، حيث يمكنني دعوتهم للعب على جهاز الكمبيوتر الخاص بنا الذي لم يكن لديهم.

عندما كان عمري 12 عامًا ، انفصل والداي وانتقلت مع والدتي وأختي إلى مدينة جديدة. هناك لم أتمكن من الاتصال بأقراني وأصبحت معزولة بشكل متزايد. كان ذلك عندما أصبحت ألعاب التلفزيون والكمبيوتر ذات أهمية متزايدة لملء الشعور بالوحدة. في وقت ما عندما كان عمري حوالي 15 عامًا ، أعطاني والداي جهاز تلفزيون وجهاز كمبيوتر في غرفتي كهدية. منذ ذلك الحين ، عزلت نفسي تمامًا في غرفتي ، وأمضي وقت فراغي في مشاهدة الأخبار الرياضية والأخبار على التلفزيون وألعب ألعاب الكمبيوتر. كانت تلك أيضًا المرة الأولى التي أردت فيها تقليل استخدامي للتلفاز والكمبيوتر ، لكنني اكتشفت أنني لا أستطيع التوقف عن المشاهدة واللعب. لقد كنت ملتصقًا بطريقة ما بتلك الآلات. من الواضح أن واجبي المنزلي عانى منه وأحيانًا أفشل في الاختبارات بسببه ، لكن بشكل عام حصلت على درجات جيدة في المدرسة الثانوية.

في الجامعة ، تحسنت الحياة. حصلت أخيرًا على حياة اجتماعية نشطة. خلال السنوات الثلاث الأولى لم يكن لدي جهاز كمبيوتر في المنزل. كان لدي تلفزيون في المنزل وأتذكر إجباريًا قويًا على مشاهدة الفيلم الإباحي الأسبوعي ، بالإضافة إلى الأحداث الرياضية السنوية ، ولكن بالنسبة للباقي ، تم احتواء إجباري إلى حد كبير. كنت مهووسًا جدًا بالتكنولوجيا رغم ذلك. ما زلت أعرّف نفسي على أنني الطالب الذي يذاكر كثيرا في مجال التكنولوجيا وتأكدت من أنني المرشح الأوفر حظًا في المجال التكنولوجي. على سبيل المثال ، كنت أول من اشترى هاتفًا خلويًا من بين أصدقائي (نحن نتحدث هنا عن أواخر التسعينيات).

بدأ إجباري حقًا عندما اشتريت جهاز الكمبيوتر الخاص بي مع الإنترنت في المنزل. على وجه الخصوص ، أصبحت الإباحية على الإنترنت مدمنة للغاية بالنسبة لي ، وهذا ما دفعني حقًا إلى تدمير الذات. هذا عندما بدأت أعتبر نفسي مدمنًا ، وعندما حاولت حقًا التحكم في إدماني على الإباحية على الإنترنت. لقد بدأ بحذف الملفات والاشتراكات في الخدمات الإخبارية بعد العمل على رفع الحاجز للبدء من جديد. لم تنجح. على نفس المنوال ، حاولت إخفاء المودم عن نفسي عن طريق فصل جميع الأسلاك ، وإعادة المودم إلى علبته ، ووضعه في الخزانة. لم تنجح. كان عقلي لا يزال يعرف مكان المودم. (بالنظر إلى الأمر الآن ، من المذهل أنني اعتقدت أن هذه الأشياء تعمل.)

لقد وقعت في الحب ودخلت في علاقة رومانسية. لم يوقف الإدمان. أنا ببساطة أبقيت مشكلتي الإباحية على الإنترنت سرية تمامًا واستمرت في العمل من وراء ظهرها. بعد ثلاث سنوات كشفت لها عن مشكلتي الإباحية على الإنترنت. في تلك اللحظة كانت داعمة ومحبة للغاية ، مما منحني الأمل في التغلب على مشكلتي. ذهبت أيضًا إلى معالج جنسي لمشكلتي. لم تنجح. بعد فترة ، كنت سأبدأ في التمثيل على الإنترنت الإباحية ، وأبقي الأمر سراً عن صديقتي ، حتى اكتشفت ، شعرت أنني مضطر للاعتراف ، واتخذت قرارات جديدة للتوقف هذه المرة بشكل حقيقي. حتى الموجة التالية من العمل السري ، الاكتشاف ، الوعود ، إلخ ، إلى ما لا نهاية.

أشياء جديدة جربتها: كمبيوتر محمول نظيف وجديد تمامًا. من المؤكد أنني لن ألوث مثل هذه الآلة الشبيهة بالعذراء - فهذا سينقذني. لم تفعل. ثم جربت ضوابط الوالدين. لقد قمت بحظر بعض المواقع ، والمواقع التي تحتوي على كلمات رئيسية معينة ، والوصول إليها في المساء والليل. احتفظت بكلمة المرور في مكان مختلف. كان ذلك غير مريح للغاية. أتذكر أنني كنت أعمل في وقت ما على الكمبيوتر مع زميل وكنا بحاجة إلى إلقاء نظرة على شيء ما على الإنترانت. ومع ذلك ، كانت رقابة الوالدين تحظر موقع الويب ، لذلك ظهر تحذير التحكم الأبوي الغبي هذا. كان علي أن أوضح لزملائي أنني لا أستطيع الوصول إلى الموقع الآن. بالطبع كانت كل هذه الأشياء المتعلقة بالسيطرة على الوالدين هي خطتي الخاصة ، وأبقيتها سرية تمامًا عن بقية العالم. شعرت بالحرج والخجل الشديد حيال ذلك. علاوة على ذلك ، في بعض الأحيان كنت بحاجة إلى إجراء استثناء والبحث عن كلمة المرور - في اللحظات التي قررت فيها بالطبع. كانت النتيجة أنني ما زلت أعود إلى الانتكاس مع نوبات الشراهة على الإنترنت ، لأنني في مرحلة ما بدأت في تذكر كلمة المرور عن ظهر قلب. تمكنت أيضًا من إيجاد طرق لتجاوز مرشح الإنترنت. الكل في الكل ، لم ينجح الأمر ، وخلق التوتر فقط. في الوقت الحاضر ، أرى عوامل تصفية الإنترنت التي يتحكم بها الآباء على أنها مجرد طريقة أخرى للتحكم في إدماني ، إنها مجرد طريقة أخرى للقيام بذلك على طريقي. الآن في فترة التعافي ، لم أعد أستخدم أدوات التحكم الخاصة بالوالدين أو عوامل تصفية الإنترنت. أشعر بمزيد من الأمان والاسترخاء بدونهم.

هنا يجب أن أذكر أن محاولاتي للسيطرة على الإنترنت لم تكن مرتبطة فقط بإيقاف مشاهدة المواد الإباحية. في العمل ، لم أشاهد المواد الإباحية على جهاز الكمبيوتر الخاص بي ، لكنني ما زلت أنظر إلى الكثير من المدونات ومقاطع الفيديو والقصص الإخبارية. غالبًا ما أمضيت ساعات عمل في تصفح الإنترنت أكثر من ساعات العمل الفعلية.

في النهاية ، بعد عشر سنوات من إدمان الإنترنت والإباحية ، انهارت حياتي. كنت انتحارًا ، وكانت علاقتي كابوسًا حتى أنني تواصلت مع الشرطة. أدركت أنني كنت متجهًا نحو أحد المراكز الثلاثة: المرافق الإصلاحية ، أو عيادة الطب النفسي ، أو المقبرة.

لحسن الحظ ، تمكنت من خلال خط المساعدة من التعافي من اثنتي عشرة خطوة من إدمان الجنس وألقيت بنفسي بالكامل فيه. لقد تخليت عن وظيفتي وانتقلت للعيش مع أمي فقط للتركيز بشكل كامل على التعافي. في أول عامين من التعافي لم يكن لدي جهاز الكمبيوتر الخاص بي. في النصف الأول من العام ، كنت أحيانًا أستخدم جهاز الكمبيوتر الخاص بأمي الذي لديها كلمة المرور الخاصة به ، كما أنني استخدمت أجهزة الكمبيوتر في المكتبة العامة. أعتقد أن هذه الفترة ساعدتني في الانسحاب بشكل كبير من إدماني للاباحية.

بعد نصف عام ، حصلت على وظيفة مرة أخرى وانتقلت إلى مكاني الخاص ، ما زلت بدون جهاز كمبيوتر أو إنترنت في المنزل. لكن الآن يمكنني أيضًا استخدام الإنترنت في العمل. نجح هذا في البداية بشكل جيد ، وحاولت استخدام الإنترنت في العمل لأغراض العمل ، ولكن ببطء قضيت المزيد والمزيد من الوقت لأغراض غير متعلقة بالعمل أيضًا. وفي بعض الأحيان كان لدي نوبات في العمل ، حيث توقفت عن العمل وبدأت في تصفح الإنترنت لبقية يوم العمل.

لقد ناقشت هذا الأمر مع كفيلي ، واقترح أن آخذ جهاز كمبيوتر وإنترنت في المنزل مرة أخرى. أنا فعلت ذلك. كان ذلك مخيفًا في البداية ، لكنه نجح بشكل جيد. الأهم من ذلك ، اختفت رغبتي الشديدة في مشاهدة المواد الإباحية على جهاز الكمبيوتر الخاص بي. ما زلت أعتبر ذلك أحد معجزات الشفاء. أنا ممتن للراعي لأنه أصر على عدم استخدام أي مرشحات إنترنت أو تطبيقات للتحكم في الوقت على جهاز الكمبيوتر الخاص بي. إن الله هو مرشح الإنترنت الخاص بي والتحكم في الوقت ، وإذا كنت أرغب في التحكم في استخدام الإنترنت الخاص بي ، فسيتعين علي الاعتماد على قوتي العليا بدلاً من عوامل تصفية الإنترنت أو عناصر تحكم الوالدين. بعد قولي هذا ، أثناء التعافي من إدمان الجنس ، ظل استخدامي للإنترنت غير قابل للإدارة في بعض الأحيان ، حيث وقع في نوبات نهم على الإنترنت سواء في المنزل أو في العمل. بعد أن عملت من خلال عيوب أخرى في الشخصية أولاً ، أصبح هذا الشيء على الإنترنت أكثر عنادًا في حله بالخطوتين السادسة والسابعة وحدهما.

مع ذلك ، زادت رغبتي في التوقف. شعرت أن شفائي كان مزيفًا. كنت أعاني من نوبات من الانغماس في الإنترنت حتى وقت متأخر من الليل ، ولكني عاجز تمامًا عن التوقف تمامًا. كان الأمر هو نفسه تمامًا كما كان قبل أن أصل إلى عملية التعافي من اثنتي عشرة خطوة ، وكان الاختلاف الوحيد هو أنه لم يكن هناك أي محتوى إباحي. اقترح راعي أن أبحث عن برنامج من اثنتي عشرة خطوة لإدمان الإنترنت. لقد فعلت ذلك ، وأخبرني زميل أخيرًا عن ITAA.

ومع ذلك ، لم أرغب في الذهاب إلى ITAA. لم يكن لدي أي ثقة على الإطلاق في أن الذهاب إلى ITAA سيساعدني. أخيرًا ، أقنعتني حفلة إنترنت أخرى في ديسمبر 2018 بالدعوة إلى اجتماع ITAA الأول لي.

هل ساعدت؟ أنت تراهن على ذلك.

لقد فوجئت حقًا ، ولكن اتضح أنني بحاجة حقًا إلى ITAA - كنت بحاجة إلى الاعتراف بأنني مدمن للإنترنت والتكنولوجيا من خلال الاتصال والتحدث بصوت عالٍ لمدمني الإنترنت والتكنولوجيا الآخرين. وكنت بحاجة لسماع أصوات ومعاناة وقصص التعافي الناجحة لمدمني الإنترنت والتكنولوجيا الآخرين. نعم ، أنا مدمن للإنترنت والتكنولوجيا. لا أستطيع السيطرة عليها وحياتي لا يمكن السيطرة عليها. أحتاج إلى قوة أعلى لإدارة حياتي ، وأحتاج إلى زملاء ITAA للابتعاد عن نهمات الإنترنت.

والمعجزة هي أنه منذ أن انضممت إلى ITAA لم أعاني من نهم شديد على الإنترنت (على الرغم من أنني عبرت لفترة وجيزة خطوطي الأساسية عدة مرات). أشعر بالشفاء وحياتي وصلت إلى مستوى جديد. أنا ممتن جدًا لذلك.

قياس إدمان الإنترنت والتكنولوجيا

كدليل على العواقب المدمرة المحتملة لإدمان الإنترنت والتكنولوجيا ، هذه هي الطريقة التي حدد بها أحد الأعضاء الخسارة الناتجة عن إدمانهم. بغض النظر عن تجاربنا السابقة ، فقد وجدنا أن ممارسة القياس الكمي لعواقب إدماننا مفيدة وقوية.

ما كلفني 25 عامًا من إدمان الإنترنت:

25 عامًا من العيش في غرف نوم وشقق شديدة الفوضى.
20 عاما من الإصابات المزمنة والمشاكل الصحية.
19 عامًا منذ آخر علاقة جدية.
17 عامًا منذ آخر صداقة حميمة لي قضيت الكثير من الوقت معها شخصيًا.
11 عامًا منذ آخر مرة ذهبت فيها إلى أكثر من موعد مع نفس الشخص.
10 سنوات منذ أن تمكنت من التعامل مع عبء العمل الكامل في وظيفة مدفوعة الأجر أو في المدرسة.
7 سنوات منذ آخر مرة ذهبت فيها في أي تاريخ.
6 سنوات منذ آخر وظيفة مدفوعة الأجر.
5 سنوات منذ آخر موعد تم إلغاؤه.
5 سنوات منذ محاولتي الأخيرة في الحصول على حياة اجتماعية.
2 سنوات من العيش / السفر إلى الخارج مع القليل من الوقت الذي تقضيه في مشاهدة المعالم السياحية.
تأخر أكثر من عام في الالتحاق بالدراسات العليا مرتين مختلفتين.
ما يقرب من إجمالي الوقت الذي قضيته في العمالة الناقصة في العمل لمدة عام كان من الممكن أن أقضيه في تعلم مهارات جديدة لكنني لم أفعل.
2 من مدارس الدراسات العليا التي لم تكن مناسبة لي ، جزئيًا بسبب الخوف من أخذ دروس عبر الإنترنت.
2 تخرجت من المدارس العليا.
10 فصول محذوفة أو فاشلة.
الدرجات النهائية من B أو C أو F في فصولي الأخيرة في المدرسة كنتيجة مباشرة لنغمات الإنترنت التي كان لها تداعيات كبيرة على مستقبلي.
لم يتم تسليم ورقة بحثية واحدة أبدًا والتي منحني الأستاذ الفضل فيها.
أضيع فرصتي في إنجاب الأطفال.
العلاقات المدمرة مع رفقاء السكن.
مرض السكري المبكر الذي أصبح شديدًا لأنني لم أتناول سوى الأشياء التي يمكن تناولها بيد واحدة أثناء استخدام الكمبيوتر.
عدة حركات عابثة.
تأخر 8 أشهر في برنامج تدريب وظيفي من المفترض أن يستغرق 6 أشهر فقط.
عدم إنهاء برنامج تدريب وظيفي مختلف لم يتطلب سوى 32 ساعة عمل وكان لدي 5 أسابيع لأقوم بها عندما كنت عاطلاً عن العمل.
الابتعاد عن خطة كانت تجعلني عندما كنت في أواخر الثلاثينيات من عمري أتقاعد بشكل مريح في أواخر الأربعينيات من عمري.
وتقريباً بتكلفة مليون دولار.

Open Window

When I was five years old, the only television in our house was in my mother’s bedroom at the top of the stairs. While I watched, I would move closer and closer so that the screen progressively filled up more and more of my field of vision. Sometimes, I’d lay my face right against the glass and let the colors flood my eyes while I slowly rolled my forehead back and forth to feel the static prickle on my skin and taste the acrid electricity in my teeth. I felt a deep and hypnotic sense of calm in these moments, and my chest would fill with a pleasantly cool numbness.

I couldn’t have known it then, but this sensation was to grow into one of the defining features of my life. It became my greatest companion and source of refuge, until it weaved itself so tightly into my being that it nearly killed me.

The sight of screens filled me with a secret joy that it seemed only I could recognize, as though they were beyond and outside of the world—a glimpse of magic. The internet arrived when I was ten, and soon I was waiting until everyone else had fallen asleep so that I could slip downstairs to play games and watch videos on the family computer until early in the morning. Crawling back into bed just before dawn, I’d complain of a terrible stomach ache when my mother came to wake me up, and I missed so many days of school that I nearly had to repeat the seventh grade.

As I grew older, it became increasingly common for the whole day to disappear into the screen, with occasional, panic-filled breaks for studying. I managed to scrape by in classes by preparing at the last minute, comforting myself with the thought that I was above school. In some moments of murky self-awareness, I wondered why, if I felt I was above school, I was choosing to spend my extra time not on more fulfilling activities but on an endless stream of pointless videos and games. I pushed these thoughts away.

These were years of loneliness and melancholy. I felt as though I were on one side of a window and life was on the other: visible, but out of reach. The thought that these were supposed to be some of the most important years of my life filled me with great sadness. My days passed by in the moments between glances at the clock on the top right of my screen.

I was fortunate enough to be admitted to my top choice for a university to study what I was most passionate about, where I soon found myself using more seriously than I ever had before. In the days leading up to my first round of finals, I fell into a tremendous bender in which I didn’t sleep for three consecutive nights. I showed up four hours late and delirious to my final presentation, and then felt indignant when my professor nearly failed me. What did it matter if I was late? I’d pulled together a spectacular presentation in those last four hours. The problem, I thought, was that my teacher had it in for me.

Unfortunately, it was me who had it in for myself. Over the coming years, I began to act out a nearly clockwork pattern of falling into intense, days-long binges at the worst possible moments. Right before important deadlines, social gatherings, and trips, I’d tell myself that I could relax my nerves with a short, ten minute break online. Ten minutes would turn into thirty, which would turn into an hour, then two hours, then four, and then all night. I’d wrap myself up in a heady whirlwind of games, videos, television shows, movies, social media, pornography, online research, shopping, memes, forums, podcasts, health articles, news, and anything and everything I could get my hands on. When one activity’s hold over me began to wane I’d switch to another to keep myself going. I’d keep telling myself that I’d stop after the next video, the next article, the next game, but of course by then a new set of possibilities had presented themselves, so it was only reasonable to extend just a little longer. By the time the sky was turning gray and the birds began singing, I was passing out on my laptop, too tired to move my hands or keep my eyes open, going in and out of consciousness while the last movements and sounds played themselves out on my screen.

A few hours later, I’d wake up to a potent mixture of harsh sunlight and unbearable shame. My mind was foggy and my emotions were dead. I knew I had to do better today—and there was so much to do. But after a long period of lying in paralyzed misery, I’d think that perhaps watching just one video would help jolt me awake. So would begin another endless deluge, until some impending appointment would spark my self-loathing and fear to a breaking point and I would manage to pull myself out of my stupor with a wave of violent threats, demanding that I would never, ever, ever do this again. Sometimes I’d manage to go several weeks without succumbing. Just as often, I’d be back in the same dark oblivion within a few days.

Whenever I began using, it felt like I was wrapping a large blanket around myself. I experienced an indescribable sense of comfort and safety, as though I were a child being held in my mother’s arms. What I wanted most was to disappear, to become invisible, for time to stop. For a few hours or days, the world would become still and my body would become numb, and I was able to feel peace.

But my peace never lasted long, and a growing current of pain was widening inside me. I was becoming more capable and mature in every other area of my life, but in this arena I was progressively losing all control. Why couldn’t I stop watching pointless online videos? I could no longer explain away my behavior by claiming I was above school—I was studying what I was most passionate about. My self-sabotage had now become a truly senseless mystery. I felt incredibly embarrassed that despite my best efforts to the contrary, my life was disappearing into the void that I carried around in my pocket.

I managed to keep my problem well-hidden and scrape enough work together to achieve academic distinction, and one summer I was awarded a scholarship to pursue an independent project in a major city—an incredible opportunity that I’d dreamed of since I was young. However, several weeks into the summer found me in a perplexing state of affairs. I was sitting on the hard, wooden floor of a small apartment with no furniture except a mattress, a single poorly fitted sheet, and a used air conditioner that I hadn’t gotten around to installing, despite the oppressive heat wave. Thin plastic convenience store bags lay strewn about me filled with empty ice cream containers and junk food packaging. I was sitting against the wall I shared with a neighbor who had offered to let me use their internet until I set up my own service, and my body was sore because I’d been sitting there continuously for the past ten hours. Hunched over my phone, I was watching hundreds and hundreds of videos I didn’t find even remotely interesting or enjoyable. In the early hours of the morning, overcome by physical pain and mental exhaustion, I pleaded with myself in my head: “Please stop. Please stop now. Just stop.” Against my straining will, my hands moved with a life of their own to click on the next video while I looked on helplessly, feeling like a prisoner behind my eyes. For six and a half minutes longer I would forget that I didn’t want to be doing this. Then another wave of exhaustion and pain would hit me and I’d try to convince myself to stop, over and over again until I finally passed out. With no professors and no parents, no assignments or deadlines, the days stretched out ominously before me, extending this gruesome scene without limit, day after day, week after week. I felt deeply scared. Here was an opportunity I’d been dreaming of most of my life, and I was throwing it all away in the most pointless and humiliating manner I could have possibly imagined. What was wrong with me? Why was this happening?

I wondered whether this was anything like what alcoholics experienced when they had a drink of alcohol, and the thought filled me with a dim sense of hope—I’d heard of Alcoholics Anonymous, and I was certain that there must be a few people in my city who thought they were internet addicts. I resolved to look up a meeting and force myself to go to one. But when I searched online, not only did I find nothing in my city, I found nothing in my country, or anywhere at all in the world. In that moment I felt indescribably hopeless, confused, and alone.

The summer dragged on, and in the final days before I was due to return to school I strained to pull together something which I could show for the past months. My work garnered praise, but it was a hollow victory. Despite my external facade, I was haunted by the thought that I was wasting my life and not living up to my potential.

I returned to university and the next several years continued in similar fashion, with painful, exhausting, secret binges punctuating my weeks. I tried blockers, self-help books, exercise, supplements, positive self-talk, negative self-talk, therapy, meditation, and any and every other strategy I could think of to stop my acting out behaviors. Nothing worked. Upon graduating I was awarded another scholarship which afforded me three months to work independently, during which I did little more than obsessively scroll social media and read the news. After my scholarship money ran out I got an excellent job from which I was promptly fired after showing up to work six hours late, having stayed up until dawn the night before watching television. A relationship fell apart because I wasn’t able to give enough time or intimacy to my partner. The next several relationships fell apart in much the same manner. My bank account became a revolving door and I started sleeping in my car because I couldn’t afford to pay rent. Between it all my using grew even more unregulated and excessive. My fantasies began vacillating between visions of abandoning all ambitions to live out the rest of my life playing games and watching television, and mental illustrations of cruel and gruesome ways in which I could take my own life. I rarely enjoyed using anymore. I began pressing the points of knives to my chest to quiet my anxiety and would travel out to bridges in the middle of the night to stand at the edge.

In a moment of desperation after a particularly bad binge, I again tried looking for some kind of support group for my problem. This time I miraculously stumbled across a Twelve-Step fellowship for gaming addiction with daily phone meetings. It’d been years since I’d started looking for a group like this, and I’d finally found an answer.

But after surveying the website, I decided that it wasn’t for me. It was helpful to read about some of the tools they used, but it had now been nearly a week since I’d stopped binging, and I was truly serious about stopping this time. My last binge had been incredibly painful and I’d firmly decided that I must stop at all costs. I was confident that I was finished now.

Several months later, early on the morning of my birthday, I passed out after 70 hours of continuous gaming. I had traveled to my hometown for a few days to go through my childhood possessions before my mom sold our house, and I’d made plans to celebrate my birthday with the rest of my family while I was in town. By the time I woke up from my blackout, I’d missed my own birthday party and had less than an hour left before I had to leave for the airport. My phone was filled with missed calls and my room with piles of unorganized things. An unbearable weight of shame and panic settled over me. After sitting for some time in stunned paralysis, I started going through my room in a crazed frenzy, throwing my lifelong possessions into the trash with little more than a cursory glance. In the last few minutes before I had to leave, I kneeled down on the floor of the room I’d grown up in and tried to say goodbye. I wanted to cry or feel gratitude for my childhood home, but I felt nothing. After several fruitless minutes, I sat down at my desk, closed my eyes, and promised myself that if I ever played another video game again I would kill myself.

The next night I called into my first meeting for the gaming fellowship. I got the time wrong and showed up just as the meeting was ending, and I was so nervous that I was whispering. Two members kindly offered to stick around and talk with me, and I shyly explained to them, in abstract generalities, that I was playing too many games. After listening to me compassionately, they shared their own stories, encouraged me to keep coming back, and suggested I attend a meeting every day. I listened to their suggestions. Sharing honestly and vulnerably with a group of strangers who came from all walks of life felt uncomfortable, messy, and awkward. There was also a lot of talk about a Higher Power, which made me uneasy. But after years of secrecy, hearing other people share experiences that mirrored my own was like drinking water in the desert, and everyone’s kindness, sincerity, and goodwill kept me coming back.

Unlike everything else I’d tried over so many years, these meetings proved to be the only thing that worked. I haven’t played a single game since my first meeting. Abstinence didn’t come because I’d threatened myself—I’d been doing that in one way or another my whole life. It came because I was finally able to start speaking honestly with people who understood me, and who in the light of their understanding, offered me unconditional love.

While abstinence from gaming was a vital beginning, the rest of my online behaviors continued unabated, and several weeks into my nascent sobriety I found myself settling into long sessions of watching videos of other people playing games. I saw I was headed towards trouble if I continued down that path. I connected with two other members who were also looking to address their problematic internet and technology use, and in June of 2017 we held the first meeting of Internet and Technology Addicts Anonymous. We agreed on a weekly meeting time and I felt hopeful that the same freedom I’d been granted from gaming would soon extend to all my other problematic internet and technology behaviors.

The process wasn’t as straightforward as I would have liked, to say the least. For my first five months in ITAA, I relapsed constantly. My sobriety felt like a tenuous ledge on an icy mountain slope. I’d begin checking my bank account, and 16 hours later I’d find myself in the middle of another terrible relapse wondering how it had happened.

But I didn’t give up—I decided that I would go to any lengths to find recovery. I started a second weekly meeting, began calling other members regularly, read literature from other Twelve-Step fellowships, and started keeping a time log of all my internet and technology use. It was a noble outpouring of dedication. Then in late November of that year I decided to watch a movie one evening and fell into another terrible three-day binge.

Mercifully, this was to be my last serious binge. I’d apparently done enough footwork that the depths of this particular bottom were enough to propel me into my first period of sustained sobriety. In the initial months of my newfound freedom, I went through withdrawals. I felt foggy-headed, angry, apathetic, and numb. My hands filled with pain whenever I tried to handle objects, and my legs felt like sacks of wet sand whenever I tried to walk. I slept too much or couldn’t sleep at all. Endless stretches of unbearable boredom were punctuated by painful extremes of elation and depression, as well as intense urges to turn to my addiction. I became willing to release myself of all expectations of what I should do or be and to put my recovery before everything else. When I couldn’t muster any strength to face the day, I allowed myself to lay on my bed and cry. When I experienced emotional highs, I guarded against the temptation to stop going to meetings. Eventually the withdrawals passed and I stopped feeling the constant urges to use. I kept my head down and continued trying to further my recovery work.

For a long period, it was important to change out my smartphone for a flip phone and to remove my home internet connection so that I could only connect online when I was in public. I deleted all my social media accounts and stopped reading the news, which had never helped any of the people I’d been reading about anyways. I began treating risky and triggering technology behaviors as things to avoid at all costs. I helped start more meetings. And perhaps most importantly of all, I began developing a relationship with a Higher Power.

I finally understood that the Steps refer to a Higher Power of my own understanding. Even though the words were there, in my heart I’d still thought this phrase referred to a Higher Power of someone else’s understanding. I made up a straw man in my head of what that Higher Power was and decided I wanted nothing to do with it. My fellow members never said a word to discourage me—on the contrary, they listened to me with curiosity, compassion, and acceptance. Eventually I realized that I was only fighting myself. I had to come to terms with the simple fact that there is an immense universe of things that are fundamentally beyond my control and understanding. I slowly began to let go of my controlling grip on the world, trusting things to take their natural course while listening open-mindedly to the experiences of others. Today, my spiritual practices are the cornerstone of my entire recovery program: I pray and meditate each morning and evening, and I practice an ongoing surrender and trust in something greater than myself which I don’t fully understand.

Over the next two years I had a handful of slips. Each time I slipped, I sat down and wrote about what happened, why and where it had started, and what changes I needed to make to my recovery program moving forward. Then I called other members and spoke with them about it, putting into place their suggestions. My last slip was at the end of 2019, and by the grace of my Higher Power, I’ve had continuous sobriety since January 1, 2020. This last slip was to be the foundation for three new major pillars in my recovery.

First, I had to totally admit my powerlessness. Nearly every slip I’d had occurred when I’d tried to take a break from the program. Having experienced long, solid periods of sobriety without any urges to use, I secretly wondered whether I might be able to step back from the program and get back to living my life without the extra commitment of meetings, calls, and service. Over the course of all my experiments during those two years, I again and again received the answer to my question: I was never able to go more than two weeks away from the program before relapsing. My last slip painfully hammered this truth home to me. Just like the hundreds of thousands of oldtimers in AA who have decades of sobriety and still show up to meetings every day, I had to profoundly admit that I am an addict, that there is no cure for addiction, and that I will need ITAA for the rest of my life. I am not the exception to the rule—and if I am, I no longer want to keep trying to find out.

The second major pillar that I established in my recovery was to get a sponsor and start working the Steps. I’d previously viewed the Steps as an optional, additional resource I could draw on when I wanted to. Others had been asking me to sponsor them because of my own beginnings of sobriety, but I didn’t even have a sponsor myself. Again I had to cast away the idea that I could be the exception to the rule. I found an experienced sponsor and at their direction began working the Steps using the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. After having initially viewed the core of our program with suspicion, resentment, uneasiness, and disinterest, I’m so grateful I got to a place in my recovery where I became willing to work the Steps—it’s difficult to describe just how transformative and profound they’ve been for me. They provided a safe container through which I was able to work through a great deal of pain and suffering that I’d been carrying throughout my life from childhood sexual abuse, dysfunctional family dynamics, and a string of toxic relationships. I understood my self-hatred in a new light and was able to gently let it go, along with my desire to take my own life. My work in therapy has been essential to this process, and I’ve needed to rely on trained professionals to help me with my healing. I also needed the directness, humility, and vulnerability that the Steps provided. They have been critical to my long-term, sustained abstinence.

The third pillar was a new approach to sobriety. At times in my recovery, I’d navigated a byzantine web of top, middle, and bottom lines that crossed in a hundred directions, with action plans, time logs, and bookends balanced precariously on top. While these tools are deeply useful to my recovery, after my last slip I adopted a much simpler attitude: I only use technology when I have to. I try to keep my usage minimal and purposeful, and I generally avoid using for entertainment, curiosity, or to numb my emotions. If I find myself straying from this principle, I call my sponsor and talk about it. This simple approach has placed me far away from the rocky crags of relapse and on the wide and rolling plains of serenity. I’d feared this would be the more difficult route, but the opposite has proven true in abundance. Today I meet my needs for pleasure, relaxation, curiosity, and connection in non-compulsive, offline ways. In the process, my life has grown unimaginably richer.

It’s been a very long time since I had the thought “I’m not living up to my potential.” Today I feel fully alive. My capacity to spend my time working towards meaningful ambitions that align with my values has been restored and expanded. I’ve developed rich, fulfilling relationships in which I’m able to be present and vulnerable. The precarity in my career and finances has fallen away. I’m able to take care of my body with appropriate rest, a healthy diet, good hygiene, and regular exercise. I have access to my emotions and can feel happiness, gratitude, and peace without repression or compartmentalization. I can also feel sadness, fear, and anger. I use my devices responsibly when necessary, and afterwards I’m able to stop. I no longer need to hide or lie, and I can keep the commitments I set with myself and others. I’m not consumed with fear, pride, or shame as I used to be. Instead I find myself acting with serenity and clarity.

Recently, I was in the ocean during a light spell of rain. The air was still and soft, and gray light filtered from the sky. The taste of saltwater and freshwater mixed on my tongue, and cool air filled my chest. I stayed still for a long time, standing in the water, in the embrace of a wide and quiet world that had always been here. It had been waiting on the other side of a window that had once separated me from life.

Recovery Stories (Translation-Friendly)

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