Journal
Reflections on faith, Scripture, and the deeper life.
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Day 2. Let’s be real, brother: pleasure is addictive. Porn, masturbation, casual sex—it feels good in the moment. Nobody denies that. That’s why so many men are hooked. But here’s the problem: pleasure fades, purity lasts.
Day 1. It’s November 1st. The world calls this month “No Nut November.” For some guys, it’s a joke. For others, it’s just a test of willpower. But for us—the men who follow Christ—this is a battle for our souls.
I used to think drugs were my escape hatch. Whether it was weed, pills, or something stronger, I thought getting high would silence the noise in my head. I thought it would make life easier, more fun, more bearable.
For years, alcohol was my best friend. At least, that’s what I told myself. It was always there—at parties, after a bad day, when I wanted to loosen up, when I wanted to forget.
I used to throw the word “love” around like it was nothing. “I love her.” “I’m in love.” Truth? Most of the time, it wasn’t love at all—it was lust dressed up in nice clothes.
Our culture tells us being a “player” is the dream. Hookups, casual sex, endless dating apps—it’s painted as freedom. Movies, music, even social media glamorize the guy with “options.” And for a while, I bought into it.
Scroll through social media today, and it feels like temptation is everywhere. Skimpy TikToks. Thirst traps on Instagram. Then comes the DM: “Check out my page .”
Let’s be real… nobody wants to talk about this. Masturbation is the elephant in the room. For years, I thought I was the only guy stuck in this cycle. I convinced myself, “It’s natural. It’s not hurting anyone. Every guy does it.” But behind closed doors, I was enslaved.
Porn is the silent killer of our generation. It’s the hidden addiction that nobody wants to admit, the skeleton in the closet of millions of young men—including me. I never thought I’d get hooked. I told myself I was just curious, that “every guy does it,” and that I could quit whenever I wanted. But what started as curiosity in my early teens grew into chains I dragged well into my twenties.
I never thought I’d say it out loud, but here it is: I’ve doubted God. Not in the casual, fleeting way of wondering if He’s listening, but in the deep, unsettling way of questioning if He’s even there. For a long time, I kept those thoughts locked up. I was ashamed. After all, aren’t Christians supposed to be certain, unwavering, strong in faith?
I remember kneeling by my bed one night, whispering words that felt like they were bouncing off the ceiling. My lips moved, but my heart felt numb.
I would lie awake at night rehearsing scenarios in my head, like a director planning every possible outcome of a movie that hadn’t even started filming. My prayers often sounded more like anxious bargaining than trust: “Lord, please let it work out this way. Please don’t let that happen. Please give me a sign.”
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