Burning New Pathways Into The Brain
TrooSelf diary entry five of seven
Dated: 21 June
Filed by: SPalm123
Dear TrooSelf, you won’t bloody well believe this, but I forgot to take the Viagra.
No, I don’t mean I forgot to swallow the tablet – I mean I forgot to take the WHOLE PACK with me to Leeds. I didn’t even remember until I left my hotel to go and meet Kate at the River-something-or-other Bar, and of course by then all the chemists were shut. Wouldn’t even have needed a prescription, if only I’d realised sooner.
Oh my good God, it felt so awkward when we were outside her house, and I had to make my excuses and leave, like some bloody shady tabloid reporter. The thing was, I actually started to get the impression that she might want more than a coffee, which blew my mind. And needless to say, I couldn’t have her attempting to blow some other part of me on her sofa, only for there to inevitably be no lead in the pencil. The very thought mortified me.
Still, our time together out on that riverside patio had been so very heavenly – or at least, it was from my perspective. Once again, I felt really guilty about having swotted up on True Romance in advance, even downloading the ringtone to really impress Kate, but I do now genuinely love the film. Along with my childhood love Labyrinth, this thing has practically become my all-time favourite movie, so does that make my deception any more forgivable?
I know that I shouldn’t be lying to Kate, but I also believe that doing so offers me my only hope of being with her. After all, it was lies, combined with me proactively making things happen, that caused us to meet in the first place.
Oh my God, oh my God! Kate and I have started sexting. This confirms she actually likes me IN THAT WAY, despite how worthless I am. It’s funny, I’ve always known that my actual face is okay, especially the cheekbones. I mean, at least my face isn’t fat. And I’ve known this on a weird kind of scientific level, because Ray obviously has the same face as me and yet he’s always had the girls flocking around him. So what has historically let me down is ME. The way I am. The way I carry myself. The lack of comfort I feel in my own skin.
The fact that I know I’m worthless, whereas Ray actually has this maddening self-esteem in his very bones.
For a long time growing up, I thought I felt worthless because Mum and Dad treated Ray as the priority twin. Over the years, though, I’ve come to believe that he was somehow born with all the confidence, as if having absorbed all of mine while we shared our one sac.
Note to TrooSelf: never, EVER introduce Kate to Ray. She’s so his type, too. This is painfully obvious, because he and I always had the same taste in that way, which is why he ended up stealing Mandy Fuller away from me at high school. He and I have never been the same since then. Which is probably why he’s really trying to make me feel bad for this whole debt thing. I swear, he only bailed me out with the loan companies to gain power over me, in order to make me feel bad. But what the hell has he got to feel resentful for? He has everything in life. Dad even left him the Chanctonbury house in his will! What a punch on the nose that was. It still smarts, and it only happened because I never forgave Dad for knocking us around as kids, supposedly to set us straight, whereas Ray took that abuse as the cue to become the devoted Daddy’s boy, even after our folks split.
If I could afford psychotherapy right now, I would most likely give it a go. But until my finances are back up and running, TrooSelf will have to do.
Anyway! Anyway! Sexting is afoot. And even more astonishingly, today Kate agreed to come down to Brighton. I am thrilled and terrified. For a start, this means I have one week in which to throw out all the clutter and junk in this shithole, not to mention clean the place! Really need to make the flat live up to its true potential, which I should have done before anyway. But when it was only for my benefit, why bother?
Another thing I need to deal with in this place is the Weird Crumbling Door.
A couple of times lately, I’ve found bits of splintered wood on the inner doormat. At first, I honestly thought one of my neighbours had randomly developed a grudge against me and pushed this stuff in through the letterbox! But no, the door does seem to be falling apart and I’ve no idea why. This is not a natural way for wood to behave. All I can do is buy a putty knife and some wood-filler.
Demon-wise, I’m not doing well. In fact, I’m doing badly. Sometimes I lose whole mornings, afternoons or whole days to demonic activity and it’s really screwing up my work. I’m bending deadlines like nobody’s business here and I’m having to start making excuses.
Really need to get a grip on my life! In an attempt to help myself, I’ve been reading up on demonic addiction.
Fuck it, you know what? From the stuff I’ve read, I’ve already gathered that denial about this stuff is no good. So calling this stuff The Demon, even in a super-secret diary, probably doesn’t help that cause.
TrooSelf hasn’t been hacked in all the months I’ve been using it, so let’s call a spade a spade.
My name is Scott Palmer and I am addicted to porn.
Yes, porn. Porn porn PORN.
Porn is my very own demon. I have been addicted to this stuff in varying degrees, ever since I found a single page from a porn mag, aged eleven.
You know… this diary really has made me think about my life and help me put things into perspective. More and more as I grew up, then crossed over into adulthood, smut became my shield. It provided me with my safe place away from the world, while all the time only making it harder to talk to real women.
All the educational stuff I’m reading now makes me realise how much online porn in particular has damaged me and transformed me into a dopamine slave. People don’t realise that porn literally burns new pathways into your brain! It makes brand-new connections, in a way that fucks up your physical response to actual naked human beings.
I have to work on my computer all day – or at least, I’m supposed to be working – and yet there’s a whole world of porn out there, yelling for me to watch. And when I’m not at my desk, the phone yells porn-notifications at me, too.
Bloody hell. Working with screens all day has to be the equivalent of an alcoholic owning a pub.
The only way out of the whole sorry mess, I’m fast learning, is to reboot yourself. You have to cut porn out of your life altogether, like a troublesome weed, and give your brain at least ninety days in which to rewire itself and return to its default settings.
I’m sceptical, but I’m also game.
And so the challenge begins here. No more porn. And the fact that the amazing Kate Collins, my sweet saviour, is travelling down here to see me in ONE WEEK surely will provide me with the ultimate motivation to do this right.
Come on! Sort yourself out, Scott. A whole new life beckons.