I did something I’ve been putting off for years. I finally deleted a five-year-old folder on my desktop that was basically my personal stash. It was full of stuff I’d collected since 2018, and I got rid of all of it out of guilt and regret. It might sound small, but to me, it feels like progress.

I’ve been battling a heavy pornography addiction for a long time. It started quietly but got worse around the pandemic. I was lonely, stuck working night shifts, and I started buying content from friends and random people online just to feel something. I’d get a little dopamine rush, do my thing, and then repeat the same cycle. It became a routine that ate away at me.

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Over time, I started deleting things here and there. Stuff from Messenger, old chats on Instagram, pictures from people who have long since moved on with their lives. Some of them are married now, have kids, and here I was still holding on to those moments like a ghost of who I used to be. The thought of someone stealing my computer or hacking me and putting that stuff online made me sick.

For the past year, I’ve gone back and forth with myself about deleting it all. Every time I got close, guilt would pull me back. But something changed this past Thursday. On my way to work, out of nowhere, I felt this deep sense of disgust with myself. The next morning, before leaving for work, I opened the folder one last time, took one final look, and deleted everything permanently. I even whispered “Game over” to myself before hitting the button. Watching those files disappear felt strange, but also freeing.

Now that it’s gone, I’ve been having these weird withdrawal feelings, like part of me is missing. But I know that’s just my mind trying to adjust. I didn’t just delete files I deleted a version of myself I don’t want to be anymore.

Another reason I did it was fear. If anything ever happened—if someone stole my computer, broke in, or went through my stuff—I’d never forgive myself. Not just because of the legal trouble, but because those pictures belonged to real people, some of whom trusted me once. I’d hate myself forever if something like that ever got out.

When I think about it, the biggest loss isn’t even the files. It’s the money. I’ve spent over $3,000 since 2018 on this addiction. That’s money I’ll never get back. But I see it now as a lesson.

People can call me whatever they want—weak, pathetic, addicted, whatever. But today I actually feel proud of myself. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’m still not completely free, but I’m getting there. One day at a time.

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