Three Personal Insights, Two Addiction Analogies, and One Drawing

I've been struggling with my self-esteem recently. At times when I normally would withdraw and isolate myself I've been trying to reach out and be a part of things, and it's kind of been making me feel vulnerable and anxious. For example, making comments in church yesterday and them not coming out the way they should. Still, I believe being active and working to accept myself is the best thing I could do right now, so I'm going to write a blog post and try not to be so self conscious about it.

So I shared my addiction inventory with my wife and my bishop last week. Both were positive experiences...which isn't too hard when I was expecting that meeting with my wife to cause her to be paralyzed for the next three days. Luckily, she took it much better than that...I probably should have suspected since she already knew almost all of it, but it's still a relief. Additionally, my wife and I had a constructive meeting with our counsellor. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I've gotten a lot of feedback and interesting ideas recently, and I want to share in kind of a hodgepodge way. So here are three insights about myself, two analogies, and one visual representation:

Insight #1: I Actually Did Crave Attention as a Kid

One of the things I prided myself on growing up was how independent I was. My mom would always praise me that I was so little trouble: "I could leave him in his room playing legos, and forget he was there for hours at a time." I believed that was just a part of who I was. Looking back now, though, I realize that I had older siblings who were tough acts to follow. I would hear my parents complain about the trouble and difficulty they were getting from my siblings, and each complaint and praise of me made me want to not let them down or give them reason to complain about me. So I isolated myself rather than admit I had problems. But deep down, I had insecurities and struggles that I needed to deal with, despite outward appearances which I actually believed.

Insight #2: I Do Have Emotions Somewhere

The last few weeks have been helpful for me to feel honest, legitimate love for my wife. I've been emotionally numb for a long time, to the point where I have trouble recognizing what it actually means to love (and thanks to Tim for his recent post on the topic). My mom would always say "I love you" when she would drop me off for school, and I would often just mumble "...you too..." or even worse, "thanks." The last few weeks I've made some realizations about my relationship with my wife.  The first came after we reviewed our journals and the accounts of when we dated. I remember how I wanted to spend every waking hour with her, whether we had something planned or not. I didn't recognize that clearly at the time, but as we've spent more time together talking the last week, I can honestly say "I love you" to my wife at night. It's not that I didn't before, but I'm coming to recognize it more clearly now. I actually have emotions in here!

Insight #3: I Can Trust Real Recovery

Apparently, I'm impatient. And even knowing that about myself doesn't change my impatience! My wife and I have been working at communicating and physical connection for the last few weeks, and we're making fantastic progress. I've been working on recovery, and can honestly say that I feel like I'm in recovery and not just white-knuckling. But sometimes I get worried and anxious about some things my wife does. Does a silence mean she's angry at me, or that she doesn't love me? Does her lack of expression of appreciation mean I'm not actually making the kind of progress I feel like I am? As I write these, I feel dramatic. I need to trust in the real recovery I'm accomplishing and not worry so much about how my wife reacts. She's a good person and will reciprocate when she feels safe. My job is to create an atmosphere of safety and honesty for her and not worry where it goes from there.

Analogy #1: Sexual Feelings as a Locked Door (but Who is Turning the Key?)

Our counselor expressed this analogy a few weeks ago, and it's been really helpful as I try to improve my resistance to lusting during the day. The basic idea is that sexual feelings are locked away inside each of us, and the only person authorized to open that lock is our spouse. Whenever we lust after someone, we're taking the key into our own hands (or breaking the lock, as my wife imagines it) and unlocking those feelings. It changed the way I look at it to realize that a lust hit isn't just a lust hit--it's me breaking into feelings that my wife is the only one who has the right to access.

Analogy #2: Funnel Perspective

My bishop has an analogy that really helps me realize the relationship of perspective and addiction. The basic idea is that addiction and addiction recovery is like a funnel--when we're actively acting out, we're at the bottom of the funnel, unable to see anything except the sides of the tunnel around us. At this point our perspective is so limited that we can't see that our actions are hurting those we love and causing pain. On the other hand, when we have some recovery in us we're at the upper slopes of the funnel, able to look around and see the big picture. The funnel is always headed towards the center, so we need to be sensitive enough in our recovery to see when we're slipping towards to steeper slopes and catch ourselves before we've slipped in.

And One Drawing: 

Sex Ceases to be a Demon Only When it Ceases to be a God

The title of my post is an adaptation from a line in C.S. Lewis' The Four Loves, which he applies to love. Like love, sex can be an appropriate binding power in a marriage, carrying partners past behavior and feelings born simply of duty or good intentions. Over the last week I feel like I've made progress in my understanding of the role sex can have in a marriage and recovery. I thought I'd share.

I've been sleeping on the couch for the past week. My wife and I are about a month through a two-ish month period of in-marriage celibacy, so at first it may seem strange that I would sleep on the couch since we weren't having sex anyways. Still, I think there's a crucial difference. Firstly, is that I chose to sleep on the couch. Additionally, I'm still committed to recovery. If anything, I've been working harder than ever--doing my same recovery work, yes, but also writing love notes to my wife every day, making time to talk with her for a few hours at night, and staying in touch with support people when I need it. I think that's kind of the point. I'm not settling for a little nearness with my wife and a mostly sober existence...I'm showing her (and me) that I'm unwilling to settle for anything less than complete sobriety and a completely loving and appropriate relation within marriage.

Because we haven't had a fulfilling relationship in a lot of ways. It's easy to pretend like things are fine. I've been craving affirming communication and signs of affection (physical but non-sexual touch), and since our celibacy began I wasn't really getting them. I can't really blame my wife. There's a lot of baggage: my desire to connect physically and even emotionally have been partly motivated by addict me.  In the past I've admitted to wanting sex because of lusting during the day. So even though the biggest part of me honestly wants to connect with her, how is she supposed to judge between the honest and the manipulative? On top of all this, she doesn't want to risk triggering me and leading me to acting out. So not only is sex complicated, but even during celibacy dealing with signs of affection and communication feels overwhelming. It's easier for us to avoid our problems rather than work on them.

For example, she would let me cuddle with her if she could warm up her cold feet on me...but that led to a conflict within me. Part of me would say "I don't want her to tolerate physical (non-sexual) touch with me, I want her to want it." Then, the addicted part of me was saying, "I'm willing to take whatever she's willing to give, and maybe I can push the boundary a little." So in a way, she was rewarding my addict self by allowing physical touch without emotional connection. By deciding to sleep on the couch and calmly telling her how I felt, I sent her a message that I'm willing to wait for her--being worthy of her trust--until she's willing to forgive and we're both able to connect with genuine love.

Sleeping on the couch has been uncomfortable for both of us. My discomfort is the easy one--it's a futon. Hers is the emotional. "Isn't that what couples that are on the verge of breaking up do?" or "What if the kids find out, or the neighbors?" or "Is this a sign that he is mad at me or trying to manipulate me?" Maybe it also felt more severe for both of us since I haven't slept anywhere but our bed in our entire nine years of marriage (outside of travel). However, I feel like this discomfort is a positive thing--my wife wasn't very happy about it until she understood my reasoning, but now she knows how much I value her positive communication and her initiating signs of affection. She feels safe that I'm not going to pounce on her if she even pats me on the shoulder. She also knows I'm not going to give in to a little bit of fulfillment. She knows I'm not ok with our habits of poor communication and unreciprocated physical touch, but I still love her and want to work on it.

From my perspective, I know I won't die without sex. I feel more comfortable knowing I can't give into temptations to pounce on her if she even pats me on the shoulder. I now know I can trust my wife to initiate signs of affection and loving communication--I believe I was stifling her by not allowing her the chance. Most importantly, my wife and I have been getting to sleep much later than usual because we love talking and being with each other and connecting in non-sexual ways. Sleeping in separate rooms makes us realize that we don't want to be separated. Although I hope she doesn't come to like having so much room in the bed. :)

We are working on our own recoveries so things can go back to normal. A new normal where we communicate our needs, equally express our love in ways that the other person craves, and where I have ceased to worship sex as the only thing that can make me feel valued or satisfied.

An Emotional Post (Not Really)

So much for "third times a charm." This will be my fourth blog post attempt in a little over a month.

Sometimes I wonder whether I have emotions at all. For example, at a recent ARP meeting there were a number of the other guys shared very heartfelt experiences and testimonies, including getting teared up about the atonement. It's not that I don't feel anything, but a lot of times I find myself sitting in silence, thinking that I should probably be feeling some sort of strong emotion, but nothing really happening. After the most recent confession of relapse to my wife, my guilt and shame registered mentally...but not as much powerfully emotionally as I would have expected. Am I just an inhuman monster that doesn't have feelings, or is there some other explanation?

A week or two ago I met with my counsellor, despite kind of dreading it. I was struggling with hard feelings against him (anger I can manage ok, apparently). As I met with him I told him about what he said that had bothered me and why. I told about how the way he met with my wife and discussed ideas about what might be contributing to my problems made me feel ganged up on and attacked. I told him how last time we met I felt like he was a bit dismissive of my plans for the summer. This sounds like I let him have it, but it was a really uplifting, two-sided, mature sharing of point of views. It was a type of pure conversation that I found very enlightening and hopeful (that maybe I do have emotions that I can connect with). He helped validate my perspective and made me feel listened to.

After the last relapse, my wife and I set a goal to avoid TV as much as possible and talk each night. In a recent conversation we talked about how we react to each other. When I don't add to the discussion, my wife tends to talk about herself and recent thoughts and experiences she has had that might shed light on the topic at hand--she feels like she doesn't want to be prying or force me into sharing anything I don't want to. On the other hand, I feel like she doesn't care about me or my feelings. I don't want to have to prompt her to ask about my feelings, since that won't show that she cares. We reached a conclusion that I need to talk more about what I'm feeling and she needs to show more interest in what I'm thinking and feeling (risking saying something insensitive, which she acknowledges doing and fearing to do again).

I'm seventh out of eight children in my family. Directly ahead of me are three very strong personalities, especially during their teenage years. My wife and I talked about how I coped with following three such powerful personalities, whose problems were often much more visible and pressing than mine seemed to be. I always prided myself on not being needy and wanting attention; however, I'm not so sure that was what was actually going on. I think I felt a deep need to connect with my family, and (especially when pornography came into the picture) I also felt a deep barrier between us. I pushed my feeling and needs down so I wouldn't be a burden...in fact, I still have a strong aversion to feeling like I'm inconveniencing people. My addiction was in part a manifestation of my desire to feel some emotional connection--even if it was through the fake, poisoned outlet pornography offered.

I don't lack emotions. I simply am in the habit of pushing them down so they don't embarrass or inconvenience me or those around me. Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that--I have emotional needs that have to be met if I'm going to live a happy and productive life. Rather than taking the easy way out and relying on pornography to feel good about myself--or expecting others to read my mind about how to meet my needs--I need to learn how to stand up for my desire to be understood and emotionally validated if I'm going to have long-lasting recovery.

Book Review: We Will End the Conflict Now

One of the benefits that have come from telling my dad about my addiction has been a book he gave to me about recovering from pornography addiction called We Will End the Conflict Now: Victory Over Pornography From the Perspective of a Recovered Addict and His Wife, by William A and Mae Donne. I finished it recently and thought others here might like to hear about it.

One of my biggest concerns I had when I first looked at the book is evident in the title: "end" the conflict, "victory over pornography," and a "recovered" addict. This definitive phrasing--that pornography is something that has a clear end, that can be conquered, and that can be definitively recovered from--made me very uncomfortable. However, as I read the book, I found that the authors are sufficiently cautious in the way they address addiction and talk about recovery. In fact, near the end of the book, William writes, "The reality is both of you, husband and wife, will spend the rest of your lives recovering and rebuilding trust." On the other hand, he continues by critiquing the saying once an addict, always an addict: "personally, I do not subscribe to this philosophy. I believe hearts can change" (252-253). Though initially skeptical, I'm satisfied that this book represents a realistic, though optimistic, take on recovery. Of the eleven 5-star ratings on Amazon.com (and there are only 5-star ratings), the one by N. Daniel puts it well: "What struck me about this book right away was that it didn't bring back any darkness for me -- quite the opposite -- It felt hopeful and freeing. There was genuine love and understanding in this book. It was not analytical or scientific, it focused on genuine honest communication and truly made me feel more hope for my future." I don't know that I agree about it not being analytical--I think it does analyze experiences and ideas--but I agree its optimistic content isn't focused on science.

Another thing about this book that threw me off at first was the audience. The book is written for a married audience that not only isn't Mormon, but also isn't even necessarily christian...or doesn't believe in God at all. Having read from the Alcoholics Anonymous big book, which is written for this kind of audience, I can see where they're coming from, though it bugged me at first. I also had to reassess my critique based on comments they made about people they had talked to: for example, Mae writes "On the heels of sharing my personal experience before, I have heard people say to some extent: 'that's wonderful for you, but what about for someone like me who doesn't believe in Jesus Christ? I can't just hand my anger and hurt over to him like you did.' My answer: " (244)... and I'm going to make you read the book to find out what her answer is. The fact that they address such questions makes the book appealing to a broad range of audience members (unlike my blog, which is written for a Mormon audience...sorry non-mormons, if there are any reading this). I suppose this makes it work for Mormons who are doubting their faith, which makes it valuable.

I especially appreciated the dual authorship. Around two-thirds of the book is written by William Donne, but both his section and Mae's are written to appeal to both husband and wife. Some of the things in the wife-to-wife section was very helpful for me to read--and likewise, I think some of the things written in the husband-to-husband section would be very good for my wife to read (and I'm planning on having her read it). A sampling of some of the sections include "Part 1: What Is Addiction?," "Is Pornography Adulterous?," "The Real Cause of Addiction," "When Desire is Lacking," "How Long Will It Take?," "Filling the Voids," and "Control Your Surroundings" in William's section and "You Are Not Alone," "Seven Steps of Grieving," "Moving Forward," and "Hope and Healing" from Mae's section.

In short, this book successfully balances optimism with a realistic understanding of addiction and recovery. It relies on practical, real-life examples and literary quotes (especially the bible) without delving into science to explain addiction or recovery. It draws on perspectives from husband and wife while not alienating people who aren't christian or don't believe in God. It is practical and helpful, and I recommend it to anyone who's interested.


Another book I recommend that I should have written a review of is What Can I Do About Him Me? by Rhyll Croshaw. Up next on my list of books to read is He Restoreth My Soul. Let me know any other books about (recovery from) pornography addiction I should read.

On Counseling

(Note: This post originates from my own experience--it's written as advice I wish someone had given me before I started counseling. I fully acknowledge there are other ways counselors can be helpful, especially considering how different every situation is. In other words, take what you can and feel free to disagree.)

I've tried counseling through LDS Family Services twice--once after I first confessed to my wife four years ago, and the second time starting almost a month ago. The first time lasted about a month and a half, and didn't really end with me having a burning desire to start up again any time soon. Hence the over-three-and-a-half-year hiatus. Now I'm much more enthusiastic about it and think I'm getting much more out of it. Still, I wish I would have known what I know now about counseling when I first started (plus I want to do some thinking about the difference between the two times), so that's usually enough reason to do a blog post about it. Here are some things I would tell myself:

"Work to find the right counselor."

The first thing I wish I knew was that not all counselors are created equal. Or rather, not all counselors are right for me--the training, the personality, and the situation all need to be right. My thinking for the first go around was I'm messed up and I need counseling--it doesn't matter who they assign me. This time I approached it having heard about a specific counselor from four or five separate sources, all telling me he was fantastic at working with recovering sex addicts and their wives. When I set up the appointment and they told me he wasn't available, this time I thought I don't care if it takes two months for his schedule to open up--counseling is only as good as the counselor. 

My first version of this advice was "wait until you find the right counselor," but I don't think that's quite right--rather than just waiting, I wish I had talked with recovering addicts, searched websites, made phone calls until I found out more. Not only did I miss the opportunity to get a better counselor, but I also missed the opportunity to connect with recovered addicts in the process. There are enough problems with recovery--worrying about whether or not your counselor knows what he/she is talking about shouldn't be one of them.

"Prepare before starting counseling."

Similarly, the original version of this advice was simply "wait until the time is right," but that provides justification for NEVER doing counseling. Something my counselor asked me this time made me confident I was doing it better this time (and that he's the right guy): he asked what I expected to get out of counseling with him. I don't think I could have answered that the first time--The first time I did counseling I think I was pretty much just hoping to be cured. Somehow. A plumber fixes broken pipes, right? So isn't a counselor just a fixer of broken people? Ah...no. When my current counselor asked me that question I was able to be pretty specific about my recent relapses and my desire to understand addiction, myself, and recovery better. I had studied enough to know what I didn't know.

This piece of advice isn't just because I was strapped for cash. I feel like counseling isn't most helpful as a means of motivation when first starting recovery...it's more helpful as a second-opinion, course-correction type of thing. If I could do it again, I would tell myself, "throw yourself into the twelve step programs and reading recovery material (especially the Sexaholics Anonymous white book and other material), then do counseling when things aren't working out and you can't figure out why." I'm afraid simply going to the counselor is a comfortable way to not really work on recovery but to tell yourself you are. Unfortunately that's how it worked for me, and it allowed me to set myself back 3 years in my recovery.

"Don't think of counseling as a silver bullet."

Counseling shouldn't be the only tool--or even the main tool--in your recovery utility belt. Your goal through counseling isn't to become recovered...your goal is to become your own counselor. That includes being able to diagnose weaknesses, connect with recovery resources, and know the right questions to ask. Not only is your counselor not going to be able to be a long-term solution (do you really want to pay $75-100 per week for the rest of your life?), but your counselor isn't going to be helpful more than once a week. He/she relies on YOU to follow through the rest of the time.When you need help during the week, the counselor isn't going to be there in the same way a diverse support network is going to be.

That said, if it's worth going to a counselor, it's worth following his/her advice...even if it doesn't make sense to you. I remember when I went to my first counselor, he told me about ARP group meetings. He told me something like "it helps some people to go; you should consider it if you want to." I wish he would have put it in stronger terms (like, "I strongly encourage you to go--there are those who believe recovery isn't possible without participating in a 12-step support group.") Still, if I had been more obedient and willing to work all available resources, I'd probably be years ahead in my recovery. I treated counseling as the only thing I needed to do...so much so that I didn't bother even doing it. 

All this I believe in theory, but I still have some trouble making the most out of my visits with my counselor. Now that I know so much more about addiction and recovery I have a bit of a hard time following through...mainly because I'm already kind of doing the things he asks. He gave me a calendar with things to do every day, and I've struggled keeping up with marking it. However, I've been pretty good at doing the things it mentions that I hadn't been doing before (like my goal to grade something every day, which has been a struggle for me in the past). This week he assigned me to rewrite my personal inventory, which I'm struggling with a bit. I've already rewritten it a few times already, and (I'm sure a lot of you know) it's a tough document to motivate oneself to work on anyway.

I look forward to finding and becoming more efficient in my use of recovery tools. I wish I had known years ago what I know now, but I hope that means that years from now I'll look back with gratitude that I kept working on my approach to recovery.

Good in Parts

I wanted to write a post about something my counselor told me and my wife this week. He calls it "viewing ourselves in parts."

The basic idea is that Satan loves it when we think in black and whites. It's either "I'm worthless. No one is as messed up as I am. I'm unfixable" or it's "I'm fine. We could easily fill the conference center with people who struggle with this issue. No problems here."

The truth is that we each are made of countless parts, some of which are contradictory. There's a part of me that's humble. There's a part of me that's prideful. There's a part of me that's addicted to pornography. A part of me that loves my wife and children. A part that is service oriented. Part that's selfish. Wise. Guilty. Confident. And on and on.

The story of the old cherokee grandfather telling his grandson about two wolves battling inside him is applicable here. Except instead of just two wolves, there are dozens, of every color, shape, and disposition. We sometimes feel like our addiction erases (or at least trumps) every positive aspect of our past. The truth is that there are parts of us that are still worthy, valorous, and spiritual. But they've grown comparatively smaller because we've been more preoccupied feeding the selfish, the dirty, and the corrupt.

One final thought. Sometimes I don't work on feeding the best parts of me because I fall into all-or-nothing thinking. I think, "if I can't read more than five minutes in the scriptures every day, it's not worth it." I got to thinking, though, how much is five minutes a day? Let's say in five minutes I can read one page in the scriptures. If I would have spent that five minutes over the 17 years of my addiction, I would have read the standard works two and a half times (The Bible--1590 pgs + The Book of Mormon--531 + The Doctrine and Covenants--294 + Pearl of Great Price--61 = 2,476 pages; 6,205 days). 

Or, if I would have spent five minutes a day reading general conference talks (assuming I can get through two a week), I would have been able to read every single general conference talk since 1971--including from the women's meetings/Welfare sessions...with a few hundred left over (I didn't count every one, but I randomly sampled this many--41/36/32/35/38/36/38/38/37 with an average adding to about 1,540. 1,768 bi-weekly talks over 17 years). Imagine if I'd spent ten minutes a day and done both the scriptures and the general conference talks! How would my life look if I had read the scriptures two and a half times and studied every conference talk available on the church's website? I suspect if each day I could make a slight, even imperceptibly minuscule effort to improve any part of me, over the long term there would be monumental changes.

It's easier to give up trying to improve ourselves because Satan tells us we don't need it (cuz we're so awesome) or it won't help (cuz we're so messed up). But we need to trust that God--who knows us perfectly, including our  messed up parts and our amazing parts--loves us and sent his son to atone for us because we can change and are inherently of great worth.

Is Pornography Addiction a Disease?

I think we can all agree that Ebola is a disease. It has a variety of violent symptoms, it is clearly communicable, it's universally recognized as one, etc. A disease is something that spreads by sneezing in someone's face, right? Is calling pornography addiction a disease a way to minimize it? As if we're saying, "Satan coughed in my face and I contracted a pornography addiction." Or is calling it a disease a helpful way of thinking about this widely misunderstood topic, including by addicts and their loved ones? Let's look at the definition, so see if we can get a better sense of what a disease is:

a disordered or incorrectly functioning organ, part, structure, or system of the body resulting from the effect of genetic or developmental errors, infection, poisons, nutritional deficiency or imbalance, toxicity, or unfavorable environmental factors

So "infection" is only a small part of what causes a disease. "Poisons" and "toxicity"--according to this definition--both can be factors causing the "disordered or incorrectly functioning" body part. Another definition is more general: "Illness or sickness in general." In this extremely lenient definition, almost any unfavorable, abnormal body function could be considered a disease.

So there's no help in the definition of "disease" that would disqualify addiction. Those who recognize pornography as the driving component of their addiction would probably call it a poison or a toxin. They would certainly conclude their inability to stop was a sign of incorrect function. However, there are many people who don't view addiction this way. As I talked about in a previous post, there is a sizable part of the population who view sexual deviants as those who merely possess a high sex drive and a few unreasonable behavioral expectations. The only thing they would say is abnormal about "pornography addiction" are those who want to fight it.

Back to the dictionary: more interesting than its current use is the root origins. In 14th Century Old French, "disease" was "dis" (without, away) + "aise" (ease). It was used to mean "discomfort, inconvenience." Other words associated with it include  "lack,want; discomfort, distress; trouble, misfortune." I find this so fascinating not because I consider addiction to be a discomfort and an inconvenience, but because I find that discomfort, lacking, trouble, etc to be the root cause of it. It's because of my inability to cope with discomforts and wants that I self-medicate.

The problem I have with calling addiction a disease is that it sounds like we're throwing up our hands--"It's totally not my fault that I contracted it, and there's nothing I can do about it." I think this attitude comes because almost always someone who contracts a disease isn't really at fault. Still, a lot of the Ebola news going on recently (whether or not you think it's ridiculous hype) focuses on people who have put themselves at risk and how those decisions affect them and everyone they come in contact with. There's a focus on agency and choice there that I think is very applicable to this discussion.

If we say that pornography addiction is a disease, I think we need to be very clear what brought this disease on--choices to repeatedly put oneself at risk--and what causes it to continue--more choices to not seek treatment or to not follow the "doctor's orders."

One more factor. There is a growing body of research that indicates that pornography addiction is a real thing that manifests itself physically...in changes in the addict's brain. So regardless of where it came from or what it will take to overcome it, the impairment is real and will not just go away. Andrew from rowboat and marbles compares it to diabetes--asking someone "why don't you just stop looking at pornography already?" is like asking someone with diabetes "why don't you just stop having diabetes already?" That's about as helpful as this psychiatrist (Bob Newhart):


I'm going to say yes, pornography addiction is a disease. It's NOT a disease like the Ebola that a person unknowingly contracts who's next to a person with a fever on an airplane. It IS a disease like the Ebola that a person contracts who intentionally travels to an area, choosing to put themselves at risk (though the reasoning for the analogy--selflessly helping Ebola patients--is clearly different than for pornography addiction--selfishly pursuing pleasure). It's a disease that the sufferer contracted and repeatedly aggravated while putting themselves at risk, whether or not they knew the extent of the danger. It's a disease that is extremely difficult to treat, and has a physical component that won't go away just through will power and positive thinking. But pornography addiction is a disease that can be treated--through following the example of those who have already beaten it into remission, taking advantage of the tools provided through organizations like the Addiction Recovery Program/Sexaholics Anonymous, and by turning to the Master Physician.