Guyanese American Doctor. We all have a story to tell.

Discussion in 'New to NoFap' started by Anandamide, May 16, 2021.

  1. Anandamide

    Anandamide Fapstronaut

    ***Warning: if you’re feeling suicidal or have issues with reading about it, or if reading about sexual abuse bothers you, please don’t read any further. And please, please seek help***

    My parents emigrated from Guyana when they were teenagers and met in the US. My dad didn't go to college and worked as a machinist; my mom stayed at home with us. My brother (4 years older than me), my sister (2 years older than me), and I were born and raised in the US.

    Children are so innocent. As a child, I loved absolutely everything. Boys, girls, animals, trees; it didn't matter. If it had been socially acceptable to run up to strangers and hug them tightly, I would have. But I knew that it was socially acceptable to hug family, so no matter who they were or when the last time I saw them was, if they were family, I ran into them and hugged them tightly. And of course, they would love it and hug back tightly. We had a large family in NYC, and they all loved me. I didn't identify as a boy or girl. What was the need to do such things? Everything was a toy to be played with, whether it was a matchbox car or a Barbie doll. I played Barbie dolls with my sister all the time. I would make them fly like superman. I wore my bath towel under my armpits like mom. I knew dad wore it around his waist, but I liked the way mom wore it better. I would play tricks on my siblings and crack up, and then they would crack up. Because that's just what you do when you love them. You mess with them and then laugh about it. We laughed so much as children. We were all very talented. I learned how to play the harmonium around 4 or 5 and used to sing Ram and Krishna songs in mandir (Hindu church). We only spoke English, but sang in Hindi. I used to have to sit in mom or dad's lap in order to reach. Mom said tears would flow down the cheeks of the nanis and nanas (grandparents) in mandir to see such a young child singing bhajans. After a few years, I was able to play for other people if I knew how to play the song already. Then a little later, I was able to play for anyone, even if I never heard the song before. They would start singing and I would figure out how to play in real time. It was a skill I got good at. So, they would just pass the mic around singing song after song while I played for them. Life was beautiful in those moments. We were the family that sang. We all sang and played harmonium (except for mom, she sang but didn't play). We sang just about every night at home. To an outsider, we were the perfect family. What I wouldn't give to be that little boy again. :(

    This is my story.

    My father raped my sister while my brother watched when she was approximately 3 years old. My father said to my brother, “this is what it means to be a man.” Who knows what else my brother had to innocently witness. So much damage to an innocent young boy. My brother sexually abused my sister and me, but mostly my sister, for quite some time. He would make her do things to me. My only memory that I really have is of my sister licking the tip of my penis and it really tickling. I was probably around 4? I liked it, but it was a bit too much sensation for me to handle, and so she stopped. Then I remember she and my brother went into a small tent that was on the bed and they were giggling while I assume she was doing the same to him. I remember feeling such a sense of inadequacy in that moment, as if I had done something wrong that made her stop doing it to me, because they seemed to be having a great time in the tent. I felt like I was missing out and it was my fault.

    I was never formally tested, but I’m sure my IQ was quite high. I was bored in school often because it was so easy. In the fourth grade, they had wanted me to take an exam to see if I could be moved to the 8th grade math class. My mom didn’t let me take the exam; she was afraid I would be bullied even more if I jumped ahead in grades. In second grade, one kid used to sit next to me and kick me under the desk while another student would tease, “Little Indian boy!” I couldn’t understand why he kept kicking me when I did absolutely nothing to him. That really hurt. My family was the only brown family in the school district at that time and so I was targeted for being different. Back then, the area was predominately white. I hated being brown.

    My uncles would constantly make fun of me for being childish. I was a child! That's what children are supposed to be. One day I took a shower in my uncles house and walked out with my towel under my armpits. He grabbed the towel and pulled it down to my waist and said, "you're a boy, boys wear it like this." After that moment, I identified as a boy and lost touch with my femininity forever.

    My brother would put me down all the time when I was young. I had wanted to commit suicide at a young age. He introduced me to P while I was prepubescent. I don’t remember the exact age, could be somewhere between ages 8-10 years old. I couldn’t O yet of course, but I loved it. My innocent mind loved everything; I had no idea how dangerous P was. I loved those women as if they were real human beings in front of me. For the next few years, I mostly relied on sports illustrated magazines or Victoria secret catalogues. Then I found my brother's P stash in his bottom drawer and had to figure out how to borrow his magazines and DVDs and return them without him ever finding out. That wasn't exactly easy to do, but I did it. But then we got a computer when I was a teenager, and that’s when things really took off. It quickly took over my life, becoming a daily or near-daily habit. It was normalized amongst my friends. We all grew up with computers in our homes; among the first generation to do so, and we all watched P. It felt really good to scroll through images of naked beautiful women, it felt amazing to O, it didn’t cost anything, it didn’t hurt anyone, and we all did it, so it didn’t seem strange by any means. It became a normal part of life. I shudder to think how common it is among young boys and girls these days, especially since everyone seems to be born with an iPad in their hands now.

    As I mentioned, I grew up very religious. I loved Hindu Gods and Goddesses with all my heart. Navratri is a 9 day holiday celebrating the Goddesses. A fundamental part of Hindu holidays is fasting. To me, abstaining from PMO was a part of fasting. But as a teenager, I was never able to make it all 9 days without giving in. I think the most I made it was around 7 days. It was already such an addiction that despite the enormous amount of shame I felt at myself for PMO'ing during a holy time of year worshipping Goddesses, I still couldn’t help but give in.

    How did it get so bad so quickly? When I hit puberty, I was a very horny teenage boy. Hormones will do that to you. And there were lots of beautiful girls at school. And people started to date. And I really wanted to as well, but I was also incredibly shy and lacked self-confidence. I couldn’t talk to girls and never had a girlfriend as a teenager and so I found comfort in porn. I knew it wasn’t the real thing, but it seemed to be an adequate replacement. So it really took over. I'm sure many reading this can relate entirely.

    My dad was abusive to my mom, and they separated and then divorced when I was an early teen. My mom was single with three kids and a high school education. She had to find work. By US standards, we lived in poverty for at least a few years and were on Welfare. We took showers with buckets to save water, we slept in the same bedroom to save electricity, received free lunch at school, used food stamps to buy groceries. A few times my dad would send un-cashable child support checks when he was angry, for instance after my sister called him an ass. We really relied on those checks, so it hurt when he did that.

    At the end of sophomore year, I learned how to play chess. By senior year, I was captain of our chess team and competed in lots of tournaments. I had beaten some really strong players and ended a game in a draw with a national master, someone who had played chess longer than I had been alive. It didn't matter that I didn't win, it was still my best played game of chess that lasted 6 hours. Chess was a real passion of mine that let me use my intelligence to have fun and out-think my opponents. I loved it. I'd like to think that I might be a grandmaster today if I kept playing with that level of passion and enthusiasm, but college happened.

    I really didn't want to go to college. I wanted to live at home and find a simple job and live a simple life. But too many people said I should; so I did. I graduated high school in the top 2% of my class with lots of AP credits. I went to a major public university and majored in engineering science, which is a multidisciplinary major where you take courses in different engineering disciplines with a focus of your choice wherein you need to design a project and write and defend a thesis; mine was in neurological engineering and brain computer interfacing. And the major was an honors major, which means you had to take the honors version of already difficult engineering courses. I took up to 22 credits per semester and took graduate level courses as a senior. Needless to say, it was really hard. And it was made harder by the fact that my PMO addiction just kept getting worse and worse.

    In high school, one of my friends said, “if you go to **** and don’t have sex, you’re a loser.” He wasn’t talking directly to me, just generally in a group. Well, I went to **** and didn’t have sex. And so I honesty felt like I was a loser. All of my friends were in relationships in college except for me. I was away from home, no relationships, no intimacy. I felt so much loneliness. I would cry so often. I just wanted someone in my life to love, to hug. The only thing to comfort me was PMO. Class was every day from morning to late afternoon, sometimes evening labs, and usually at least 3 hours of homework per night. I didn’t have time for much else. When given the choice between spending whatever little free time I had between PMO or going out with friends, PMO would often win. PMO vs exercise? PMO would win. PMO vs chess? PMO would win. PMO would unapologetically make everything else seem less desirable over time. I stopped playing chess entirely; I just lost interest. The reward pathway for PMO was just too strong for anything else to compete. Nothing else would give me that O that I craved. I started playing acoustic and electric guitar when I was 21. I fell in love with it and taught myself how to play; I think I was able to play and sing about 20 songs within the first year of playing. Now they just collect dust. Gradually over time, I just lost interest. I lost interest in engineering and wanted desperately to change majors because it was so damn hard to continue on knowing that I didn’t want to be an engineer anymore. But my advisor convinced me to finish, so I did. Everything worsened in college: depression, anxiety, social isolation, lack of self-confidence.

    I forgave my brother for such a rough childhood and lived with him for some time in college. He was a software engineer. I didn't throw myself into everyone like I did as a child, but I did still throw myself lovingly into my brother and hug him every now and then even at age 20. But one day, as I lunged toward him, I tripped on the power cord to his external hard drive that he kept everything on: all of his computer programming. And it fell, and broke, and nothing was retrievable. And I felt such extreme guilt that I never threw myself into anyone ever again. My love was harmful, I thought to myself.

    As I'm sure you guys know, PMO wasn’t a quick thing. Even if I planned on a “quick session,” it would often go on for 3-5 hours. It was too addicting, too pleasurable, to stay at “near-orgasm” for hours at a time while looking at more and more porn. I wouldn’t want to O and end the session, I would want it to drag on for as long as I could. And I would hate myself for it every time. While I was doing it, I couldn’t stop, I would let it drag on for hours, but immediately after finishing, I would be filled to the brim with regret, shame, guilt, disgust with how much precious time I had just wasted. Because once it’s over, the pleasure is gone completely. I would feel so drained afterward, no energy, depressed. Oftentimes, I would go to bed tired, at say 10 pm, and while laying in bed I would have the urge to PMO. I would hate myself for doing so, but I would get out of bed and watch P for the next 4 hours, finally go back to bed around 2-3 am (sometimes later), then wake up early for class. It was incredibly normal for PMO to cause serious sleep deprivation throughout college. I absolutely hated my addiction. I tried countless times to quit. I usually was only able to make it about 4 days before the urges were so strong that I would give in. I’ve saved thousands and thousands of pictures and videos over the years onto my computer in a folder. I would constantly delete the folder declaring that I would never watch porn again (like throwing out all the ashtrays and cigarettes once and for all), only to make a new folder and start saving again 4 days later. This cycle happened at least a dozen times over the years. And I always felt like a complete and utter failure when I gave in. Two or three times I was able to abstain for a couple weeks, but I would become so horny and have to deal with a full erection in public. It was very embarrassing to have to hide an erection in public. It would happen sporadically, usually lasting 20-30 minutes, but at times it could last for at least a couple hours. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t quit PMO. The more stressful things became, the more I went to PMO for solace. I was enslaved. And each year of college was more stressful than the prior one. So what did I do after I graduated? Something less stressful I hope? Nope. I went to med school of course.

    Why med school? I grew up with intermittent abdominal pain for as long as I can remember as a child. I would go to the pediatricians and they would say it was a stomach bug or something and that I was fine. It didn’t seem like they really cared much. Eventually I stopped seeing doctors for it when I was a teenager because they never did anything anyway. It would get so bad that I would have to stay home from school from time to time. Then I had to get a physical for college and happened to have pain that day. My mom mentioned it to the doctor, and I remember giving her that look of, “why bother bring that up?” because I wasn’t planning to. He said there was a gastroenterologist in the clinic, if I was interested in seeing him. I agreed and so we stayed in the exam room and waited for him. Dr. K came into the room, introduced himself, shook my hand, and sat down below me. No doctor ever shook my hand before him. He then talked to me like I was his own son. I couldn’t believe it. No doctor ever treated me with respect before him. He was determined to figure out what was going on. I had blood work done, EGD, colonoscopy, capsule endoscopy, barium swallow, maybe more though I can’t remember now. It took a couple weeks but he figured out that I had an unusual parasitic infection that caused erosions in my large intestines, close to perforation. He prescribed some pills for a month or so and I never had that pain again. There was a need for more doctors like Dr. K in this world. I was 18 at the time. In college I volunteered in the emergency department. I felt silly because I knew nothing about medicine so I couldn’t help answer any questions for the patients. I just passed out warm blankets and got them juice and crackers. But I got to talk to them and hear their stories. I got to make them feel more at ease. I got to make them smile. I knew then that I needed to become a physician. Because I knew how to connect with people. It was effortless for me. And even though I knew nothing of medicine, I knew that I was intelligent enough to do it. I used to love the show House. If you haven’t seen it, it’s based on Sherlock Holmes. House is a brilliant doctor who can figure out what’s wrong with people; he’s just quite arrogant and doesn’t care much for human relationships. I saw myself as being brilliant like House, but compassionate like Dr. K. And there is a real need for physicians like that in this world. I felt a calling, no matter how hard the journey would be.

    I was disappointed in my score the first time I took the MCAT because I didn’t study much. But the second time I scored in the 97th percentile, and I got into a top-tier med school. Serious imposter syndrome took over, because I really didn’t feel like I belonged. About half of my classmates went to Ivy League schools for undergrad. I’ve always had low self-esteem, no matter what I accomplish. Possibly as a result of PMO addiction as well as past traumas, but I don’t know. But I was on a mission and really tried hard. First class was gross anatomy. I attended lecture and studied almost every night. I did well; my final grade was a 97%. But it was really hard to keep up my PMO addiction and be a good medical student. I was still PMO’ing multiple times a day, every day. Eventually, I stopped going to lecture, because I’d rather stay home and PMO. I would just read the syllabus instead or watch the lectures online. Eventually just the syllabus. And then nothing at all. I would spend my days watching P or video game play-throughs or movies or rock climb instead of going to class or studying. Biochemistry was the second course and was 2 or 3 weeks long. Most people in med school go to lecture all day, study the syllabus after class while taking notes and highlighting, study in small groups, attend office hours. I didn't do any of that. I didn’t study anything at all until the night before the exam and crammed it all pulling an all-nighter. I would start studying at, say, 6pm. By 10pm i was tired and ready to go to sleep. By 2 am I was craving sleep more than anything. By 4 am I was debating with myself whether I knew enough and could get a few hours of sleep before the exam. But I pushed through until morning, and then took that f****** exam at 8 am on no sleep and mentally exhausted. I somehow managed to pass the exam. But I told myself that I would NEVER do that again, that that was not at all worth it, and that I could have easily failed that exam. But I did do it again. And again. And again. Because PMO vs go to lecture? PMO. PMO vs study? PMO. Every day PMO would win. Class after class, I barely ever went to lectures, I barely ever studied except for the night before the exam, pulled STRENUOUS all-nighters, and passed each exam by a slim margin. I did that for every single course after gross anatomy for the rest of the first two pre-clinical years. PMO just had such a vice grip on me that I couldn’t escape. And to make things worse, my interest in medicine was dwindling, just like every other interest I had had previously.

    As a side note, I did a preceptorship in a rural area between my first and second year. I didn’t have any clinical experience at that point which is why I did it. I was in the OR once observing a C-section. I was just trying to stay out of the way of everyone else and observe what was going on, because it was all new to me. The surgeon asked across the room if I had read the H&P (the admission note that contains the patient's medical history and lots of other information). I didn’t know what an H&P even was nor did I have any computer access. I had no idea it was expected of me to do so. So I said no. Silent for a few moments, he then says, “Everyone else in this room has read the H&P, except for you.” The patient was awake, and everyone looked at me. I felt like such an imposter in that moment, like I truly didn’t belong. I desperately wanted to run out of that OR and bury my face in shame.

    (end of part 1/2)
    Last edited: May 21, 2021
    modern milarepa likes this.
  2. Anandamide

    Anandamide Fapstronaut

    (part 2/2)

    Clinical years were tough (years 3 and 4 of medical school), because I had to apply the medical knowledge that I really didn’t have. I scored well below average on step 1 and admitting patients on medicine was extremely difficult. I remember one H&P had taken me over 6 hours to write, because they had so many chronic conditions with which I was unfamiliar. Probably basic stuff like diabetes, heart failure, hypertension; but my medical knowledge was so poor. It was a real struggle and I cried walking home. I hated medicine. I wasn’t interested in it anymore and it was incredibly difficult. During surgery, I would be in at 4am and wouldn’t leave until 6-9pm. That didn’t leave much time for sleep, let alone PMO. But I still PMO’d every day, for hours. I craved that O even more during those stressful rotations, even if it meant severely sacrificing my sleep. Studying was out of the question; there was no time for it. PMO vs study? PMO. PMO vs PRECIOUS sleep??? PMO. F*** me.

    I took my first leave of absence during 3rd year. I really wanted to quit. I saw a therapist and psychiatrist. They never asked about P and I never brought it up. I'm not exactly sure why. I imagine that a conversation took place in my subconscious that went something like:

    Me: I should mention the PMO

    Porn-brain/Lucifer: No, you shouldn't. If you do, they'll say you need to quit PMO. And you don't really want to do that, do you? It's the only thing in your life that gives you happiness. It's the only thing that gives you that O. So, don't bring it up, okay?

    Me: yeah, you're right. I won't.

    Antidepressants didn't really do anything. I took a couple months off then decided to push on. I told my psychiatrist that I was fine to go back and he believed me. He wrote a letter to the school saying that I was ready to return.

    I lost my brother to suicide during 4th year. He shot himself in the head. I gave my brother's eulogy at his funeral and broke down crying. It was during that funeral that I saw my dad for the first time in 10 years. I didn't really want to hug him, but I did. I haven't seen him since.

    I started to rock climb during first year of med school. By fourth year, I was a really strong climber (V8/V9 grade for those who climb). I was able to do 30 something pull-ups in 5 minutes, 3 one-arm pull-ups in a row, I could do that batman push up (the one in Batman Begins where he falls from a standing position into pushup position without smacking his face on the floor). L used to love that. I got strong. And L was a strong climber too. We also ran for like 9 miles at a time around **** and through the parks. That’s how we became close and became best friends before we started to date in third year. She asked me out; I didn’t have the self-confidence to ask her out. She was my first girlfriend. My first kiss. She was athletic, strong, brilliant, compassionate, gorgeous. I could go on and on. She was perfect to me. It was like I had won the lottery. But I was broken. Right before we started dating, I was having 15-20 or more Os per day (maybe even 30? I don't know). Totally normal for me. It had been that way for a while. I don't know how common it is, but I figured out a way to have 10 or more Os at the end of one session, one after another, by intensifying just enough to O and ejaculate a little but not all the way, so that I can O again just a few seconds after, and repeat over and over again until I finally O'd all the way. Loved doing that. With such a strong addiction, there was no way for our relationship to last. But I didn’t know that at the time. And I never told her about my addiction. When our sexual relationship started, I couldn’t O, for at least 2 or 3 days, if I remember correctly. Real life just wasn’t as exciting and stimulating as my fantasy life. I couldn’t maintain an erection with her. It was so frustrating and confusing. I figured out that I had to think about P while I was with her in order to maintain an erection and ejaculate. How messed up is that? Next level shame. I couldn’t find the courage to open up to her. I had damaged myself so much that I couldn’t just be with her and her alone. I had to think about P when I was with her in order to even have sex. It was so confusing. I desperately wanted to just be with her and not think about P, but then I couldn’t get or maintain an erection. And then I would have to try really hard to maintain an erection when I was inside her by thinking about P that I would ejaculate really quickly. If I didn’t think about P, I would lose my erection; if I thought about P, I would ejaculate quickly. That’s what went through my mind every time. And I struggled to find the middle ground. It was like walking a tightrope. It was terrible. I wasn’t able to satisfy her. Gradually, we had less and less sex over the years until it basically just stopped happening altogether. And because I always thought about P while we were intimate, I kept becoming more and more detached from her emotionally. Like everything else, I lost interest in her. And she did nothing to deserve that. There are multiple factors to why we broke up after almost 6 years together, but this is the main one. Throughout our 6 years, I was still PMO’ing just about every day. It was easy because she’s an emergency physician; her schedule was all over the place. So there was often time alone. As soon as I would kiss her goodbye as she would go to work, I would PMO immediately after. Even after having sex sometimes, I would wait for her to fall asleep, roll out of bed trying not to wake her, and go into the living room and PMO. Because real sex just wasn’t as good as PMO. And I craved a better O. I only recently learned that she knew when I would get out of bed and go into the living room, but she just thought I had trouble sleeping.

    Now, residency was easily the most stressful time of my life and I can write pages and pages about it. Someday I might, but for now, here's an overview of the most important events:

    -intern year (1st year of residency) is brutal with sleep deprivation, long days, endless notes

    -feeling like an imposter constantly, worsening depression, anxiety

    -an ICU resident told me not to wake him up for anything when it was my first night float rotation and hadn’t done ICU yet (basically, had to manage ICU patients on my own overnight)

    -told by my senior resident to lie on my duty hours since I was violating it constantly writing H&Ps at 1 am. Would have to be in at 4-5 am the next morning.

    -crying in my car in the hospital parking lot or on my way to work on several occasions because I really didn’t want to go in; I’ve had enough, medicine isn’t for me I’d say to myself. It's too hard and isn't worth it.

    -tomorrow is clinic then night float, which means an 18+ hour day on sleep deprivation, I’d rather just end things here, go to the top of the 100 m cliff at **** state park after overdosing on **** just to make sure I bleed out if for some reason I survive the fall, pouring rain as I’m sitting on the very edge with a knife in my hand ready to slice open key arteries before jumping. I was really ready to end things that night, but ultimately decide it’s not worth the hurt to my loved ones and managed to come down safely. My mom already lost one son to suicide. Two?? Couldn't do that to her. I was still with L at that point. I couldn’t do that to her either.

    -second leave of absence, get treated for depression again with medications, enroll in an intensive outpatient program, see another therapist. Again, doesn't really help but decide to return and push though intern year

    -become a second year resident and have one my cases be the topic of an M&M (morbidity and mortality conference where we look into cases that had a bad outcome in order to learn from our mistakes), overhear two interns talking after the M&M, “I can’t believe the resident didn’t check a lactic acid!”, “I know, right?!”, cry in the bathroom immediately after.

    -have crippling self-doubt the night before my first ICU call as a second year wanting to commit suicide again, convinced that someone would die because of me, but honestly that first ICU call is when I first felt like a real doctor, handled 4 admissions in one hour and made a very sick patient code C (comfort care only) after having a heart-to-heart discussion her very devoted husband that it’s just not worth all the recurring hospitalizations and painful treatments anymore; held his hand as we decided to let her go. 28 hour call with no sleep, every third night for a month while in the ICU.

    -pushed through a tough second year where I was widely considered a "black cloud" (someone who just gets slammed with admissions)

    -all of my evaluations were wonderful. Not one negative comment on an evaluation in three years, which speaking as a chief resident now, is not common. But those never helped boost my self-confidence one bit.

    -offered chief resident but didn’t want it, I was convinced I wouldn’t be a good enough chief and people would finally find out then that I don’t belong in medicine, but my mentors believed in me, so I accepted. In our program, two residents are selected each year to stay on after graduation as chief residents who are in charge of resident scheduling, didactics, have administrative responsibilities, etc. We act as the liaison between the residents and the faculty.

    -third year decided for sure medicine isn’t for me, that I’m not cut out for it, that I’m not good enough.

    -L and I had a young cat, C, whom we loved with all our heart. He was diagnosed with cancer after L noticed a bump in his gums

    -no longer talking to my sister

    -too much to handle all at once and took my third leave of absence, was convinced by Dr. S that I have depression and that it’s a treatable disease; really thought I was going to quit this time but decide to finish what I started and return again

    -pandemic begins, extra ICU shifts

    -We lost patients our age to COVID-19 who only had obesity and asthma. We didn't know if we were going to die ourselves. Had lots of issues with PPE shortage.

    -graduate and start chief year

    -Dr. S’ suicide by hanging a few weeks in, completely unexpected as he was everyone's favorite attending. The loss of a mentor, having to be strong for a resident class in mourning when I want to fall apart myself

    -a couple weeks later C dies the day before we were going to euthanize him after a long fight with oral and IV chemotherapy and recurring mouth infections. He became so weak and so light. I never "lost interest" in C like I did everything else. I always loved him dearly. He got L and I through really tough times throughout our respective residencies.

    -four weeks later L and I break up days before our 6 year anniversary

    -a couple weeks later she moves out


    -adopt A from a shelter. She was a 2 and a half year old cat at the time. Very shy, but she warmed up to me after a few days.

    -because of Dr. S's passing, a faculty position opened up that was very much desired. 5 people were interviewed. I was hired to join the faculty as a teaching attending and primary care doctor. I get to train residents and medical students as my career.

    -second wave put such a strain on the residents. I had to call in residents for backup coverage so often. I hated every phone call. They were so tired at that point but had to work extra ICU shifts. We had so many patients in our icu (many single rooms had two patients) that we needed to create a second icu team of residents, and both teams were strained. It was a terrible situation and lasted for months.

    -etc. It's just too much to write right now.

    Except for a few fleeting moments of happiness, I’ve been living in a darkness of depression for the past 20+ years that literally had led me to the edge of a cliff once. I have lost interest in just about everything at this point. I lost interest in meditation and yoga. I’m out of shape; I almost never climb anymore and can do maybe 2 or 3 pull-ups. Can’t run half a mile, let alone 9. I order takeout just about every meal. I don’t cook at all. I’ve lost interest in seeing patients, I’ve lost interest in teaching, in doing morning report. I isolate myself and don’t really talk to anyone. Even when I go to work, I spend most of the time in my office and don’t really talk to the residents anymore. I would re-wear the same clothes multiple times before washing them. I had gone months without vacuuming. Every room in my three-story town house is a pig-sty. I just have no interest in putting things away. My sink is usually filled with dirty dishes. Sometimes I don’t shower or brush my teeth for days. I stopped taking my meds since December. I just stopped caring. The meds didn’t fix my depression by any means. They just helped keep me afloat, if anything. So I stopped taking them and watched myself sink. By February, I lost interest in life itself. I would go to bed not caring whatsoever if I woke up. I wasn’t suicidal; just didn’t care that I was alive. Didn’t feel like I have a purpose in this world. Didn’t feel like all the pain I’ve had to endure my entire life is actually worth it anymore. It’s been such an effort to get out of bed and go to work and be a chief during a pandemic. It’s beyond exhausting. I’ve thought about quitting so many times, but I couldn’t do that to my co-chief. It’s too much for two people to handle; I couldn’t abandon him. I held on as long as I could, but I’ve finally reached my limit. It’s only three weeks until the new chiefs take over, and I told him I can’t do this anymore, even for three more weeks. I’m done. Thankfully, things aren't nearly as bad as they were during the second wave.

    This addiction has poisoned me for 20 years. And enough is enough. Poisoned my mind, my body, my soul. It has stolen so much from me. I’m filled to the brim with regret over the countless number of hours I spent watching P. If only that time was spent studying medicine or bettering myself or doing good for mankind in some way. I’ve lived my life with a serious handicap yet managed to accomplish a lot. I’m ready to recover. I only recently read about the success stories on these websites. For the past 20 years there has been no light at the end of my tunnel. People said there was, but I didn’t believe them. Now I can see it. I finally see it.

    I started about 2 months ago. Deleted all my P and bookmarks and said I’m not going back to it. I relapsed three times, each after about 3-4 days. Then I made it three weeks. I was determined. I’m three weeks in and on the right path. Then, it was like having an angel on one shoulder and the Devil on the other, arguing back and forth whether it would be okay to just watch a video or two and not MO. The Devil won, and I relapsed. Then I confided in three colleagues at work whom I trust; all of them mothers whom I knew would understand and not judge me. They were very supportive. I went on vacation in Central America from April 22-May 5. It was a much needed vacation. I did a lot of scuba diving, and there was a young woman in her 20s from Croatia who was very attractive who dove with us. The Devil said, "if you look up Croatian women, it's not P, so it's fine." So I did, and of course one thing led to another and I relapsed on April 28. Since then, I’m day 18 today. Over the past 2 months, I’ve dealt with nausea for three straight days, many days of fatigue. Last week, days 1-7, I was fine. I had a long conversation with my mom (who knows everything) and feel like I’ve FINALLY, TRULY accepted the journey I have to go on. No more relapses, this is it, I’m ready to take on whatever it is I need to take on. I commit to healing whatever it is that needs to be healed within me; no matter what. The next morning (day 8), I woke up feeling like my brain was just so taxed, so stressed. The best that I could describe it was like taking the board exam for 6 hours straight without a moment of break between questions. That level of mental fatigue. And I was doing absolutely nothing. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. And it lasted most of the day. Around 2-3 pm, it eased up somewhat, then by about 6pm it eased up a lot and I was left with a headache that went away with ibuprofen. That day was so debilitating that I couldn’t do much all day besides listen to music to try to calm my mind down. I knew I couldn’t get into my car and drive otherwise I would get into an accident. Then I woke up with the headache the next day that finally went away around 5pm or so, again with ibuprofen. Since day 10, it's hard to explain how I've felt. There is no word in my vocabulary that explains how I felt in my brain, my mind, my body. I can just say that it's not comfortable, not normal, and I'm not okay. Remarkably, I've had no sexual urges these past 18 days.

    I’m determined not to relapse anymore. I want this to be it. A few moments of pleasure isn’t worth resetting this process of healing. I’m incredibly fortunate to not officially start back up until August 1. Arbitrarily, that was the start date on my contract. For now, I have no clinical responsibilities until then. I have to make the most of these almost three precious months and just go through whatever it is I need to go through and get the help I need. Because if I can't give up this addiction, then what's going to happen to my career? to my home? to my car? to everything that I've worked so f****** hard for? I can't afford to have this addiction any longer. I have to take on my Enemy once and for all.

    P.S. One thing that I am eternally thankful for is that, for me, the doctor-patient relationship was held so sacred in my heart, that my porn-brain had no jurisdiction there. I took a Hippocratic oath in medical school and meant it. I've done pelvic exams on patients of all ages throughout my training, and never once felt any sexuality in those encounters. 24/7 my porn-brain was on, undressing women in public, having sexual fantasies with every woman I came across even while I was with L. The one and only place where my porn-brain was turned off completely was when I was with a patient. Even young women. For example, I rotated through an abortion clinic in medical school. Almost all the patients were high school or college-aged women. Never had to worry about an embarrassing erection or anything, because it was always completely professional. There are doctors who video-record their patients. It's not common but it happens. I'm so very thankful that I never did. I'm so very thankful that I never accessed illegal content. I couldn't risk my career on that. I would have lost my license if child porn was found on my computer. So I never crossed that line. And I'm so thankful for that. Why was the doctor-patient relationship so sacred to me? Because it's very human. What does it matter what gender you identify as, or what the color of your skin is, whether you're rich or poor, whether you're this type of Muslim vs that type of Muslim, whether you're republican or democrat? None of that matters. You're a human being, I'm a human being. And as your doctor, I'm going to do everything I can to understand your pain and help you get better. That's all that should matter.

    Stay strong brothers and sisters. Let's each rid ourselves of this vicious disease once and for all.
    Last edited: Jun 26, 2021
    modern milarepa likes this.
  3. modern milarepa

    modern milarepa Fapstronaut

    @Anandamide I'm a physician too, I'm starting my medical residency next year.

    It's amazing how you could keep up such a strong porn addiction and still do medical school and a medical residency and you are a teacher you are really smart. I could only imagine who would you be without porn addiction, a renowned physician or a chess grandmaster for sure.

    I'm wondering what happened to the porn addiction in your medical residency, were you still doing it so often?

    I've done 3 years streak of no PMO, semen retention, no sex in the past and now I'm on a streak of 180 days no PMO and semen retention.

    If you want you can private message me and I can be your accountability partner and help you if you want.

    I have written many threads here in NoFap you can check them out too.
    Anandamide likes this.
  4. Anandamide

    Anandamide Fapstronaut

    Thank you for asking that question. I feel like everything in my past is so hazy that I didn't think about this until you asked. Most of what I've shared is stuff I've just started to remember over the past few weeks.

    My addiction was at its worst right before L and I started to date. We moved in together pretty quickly and continued to live together for the rest of the 6 years we were together. I wasn't PMO'ing nearly as much while I was with her; just didn't have the opportunity to do so. So being with her for the last two years of med school helped to ease the addiction a little. Residency as I'm sure you know, is brutal in terms of working hours. It's comparable to two full-time jobs. So, I really wasn't able to PMO every day while being a resident and living with L. And I'm sure there were stretches of several days where I just couldn't PMO at all, and it wasn't so bad, because my mind was so occupied on other things. So, I feel like the withdrawal I'm going through right now is somewhat different (as in less intense) than that withdrawal I went through while trying to quit in med school, if that makes sense. But, I'm no expert on this topic.

    I would love to be your accountability partner!! :emoji_punch:

    I've been spending a lot of time outdoors, and meditating outdoors, the past few days and it's really been helping. Just looking closely at the leaves, the flowers, the grass. I have to keep spending more time in nature, I think.
    modern milarepa likes this.
  5. modern milarepa

    modern milarepa Fapstronaut

    Anandamide likes this.
  6. modern milarepa

    modern milarepa Fapstronaut

    That's very good. Did you start working out, climbing again?
    Anandamide likes this.
  7. modern milarepa

    modern milarepa Fapstronaut

    What about L couldn't you get her back?
    Anandamide likes this.
  8. Anandamide

    Anandamide Fapstronaut

    I haven't yet. Just have had such low energy. I wonder if this is the flatline. But I hope to start soon.

    L and I are still close, but we aren't ready to get back together. We both have some healing/growing to do first I think. And for some people, it's better to be alone for that. She also got a faculty appointment, but in a neighboring state. So she'll be moving soon.
    modern milarepa likes this.
  9. Fascinating story. I'm sorry for your pains, but grateful for your share. Thank you!
    Anandamide likes this.
  10. Anandamide

    Anandamide Fapstronaut

    Thank you for your comment. You are very welcome.

Share This Page