Ask Pan About It

Things are going as well as can be expected. Quite good, actually. I’ve not heard any voices whatsoever for a couple of days, which is great and unusual. I usually get the same old nagging ones from a presence I call Jim Wheelbarrow every day when I am walking home from Pathways. Every time I leave a group, and lose my distraction, he comes in with a sure and steady dose of vitriol. Mostly he is echoing my own thoughts. He finds it hard to think for himself, Jim Wheelbarrow does, without impersonating me. My enemies always do that, use my own ammo against me. They hardly have any ammo for themselves.

What’s most surprising about this relapse recovery is the fact that I am not getting any urges. Usually, about this time, I’m like a horny goat on heat, like that God figure Pan. Pan ran on desire, pursuing intimacy. All the triggers are still there, like the two birds in tight leggings in Maccies earlier, but all the porn memories aren’t haunting me like they have always done. All that interracial torrent-y mind-blur from files downloaded years ago normally keep ringing on in the background like an old Nokia phone, but lately I’ve not been thinking of them much. Mostly because they are unattainable. If all of my substantial back-list of interracial porn was available to buy in the boutique shop, instead of the usual predictable bollocks they sell, then it might be a different story, and this might be a different blog. But they’ve all gone, having slid away into history to be downloaded by another new sucker who is up and coming in this porn game. I’ve been waging war with it for over two and a half decades, and it’s taken me this long to get somewhere with it. God help those young pups who are only just getting into it, and have it on instant standby access mode via their mobile phone. They don’t realize how many battles are coming their way.

Before I destroyed my first collection, because I fell in love with Bennie at first sight, I’d had that amount of filth for around 13 years. There was no war on then, it was merely an annihilation of character. I didn’t even know I was being oppressed. I was just enjoying every aspect of it as I matured through my twenties. It wasn’t until my thirties hit that I started to even so much as question it. The thirties was a long old struggle with it, oh boy. By the time I reached my forties, I knew for certain that it wasn’t what I should be doing with my life. Now, it’s just plain wrong, especially with the drugs, and causes bedlam and mayhem in my life. I wish I could still enjoy it, but I can’t. I’m not saying I won’t ever go back to it, but I don’t want to. And that’s the thing: You watch porn against your will. And the addict takes drugs against his or her will. That’s its power. In the fellowship, we call it cunning, baffling, and insidious. There’s no driving force like it. Just ask Pan.