Story of Physical Depletion

Mark used to be a runner. In college, he felt the rhythm of his breath, the burn in his legs, the clear-headed high that followed a five-mile loop around campus. That felt like a lifetime ago. Now, at twenty-eight, the only rhythm he knew was the click of his mouse, and the only burn was the strain in his eyes from the relentless glow of the screen.

His body was no longer a source of strength; it was a vessel running on empty.

The Engine of Stress

It began subtly. A long, stressful day at his coding job would leave his mind buzzing with unresolved problems. To quiet the noise, he’d turn to porn. It was a reliable circuit-breaker, a way to force a dopamine surge that could temporarily override his anxiety.

But his body didn't know the difference between this digital stressor and a real-life threat. The intense, repeated stimulation triggered a constant, low-grade fight-or-flight response. His adrenal glands, designed for occasional sprints from predators, were now being forced into a daily marathon. The constant cortisol drip left him in a permanent state of wired exhaustion—too tired to go to the gym, but too agitated to sleep. He was parked in a garage with the engine screaming in neutral.

The Broken Reward System

The most insidious change was the theft of simple pleasures. The food his girlfriend lovingly cooked tasted like cardboard. The plot of the movie they watched failed to capture his interest. A beautiful sunset on their weekend drive barely registered.

His brain’s reward center had been hijacked. The nuclear blast of dopamine from hours of novelty-seeking online had desensitized his neural pathways. The gentle, natural rewards of a good meal, a shared laugh, or physical exercise no longer registered. His body had adapted to a chemical tsunami, making the gentle waves of everyday life feel like nothing at all. He was physically present, but neurologically absent, trapped in a gray, unresponsive world.

The Body's Rebellion

The physical symptoms began to mount, a quiet rebellion from a neglected form.

First came the headaches—a dull, persistent throb behind his eyes that no painkiller could fully erase. Then, the chronic lower back pain from hours spent slouched in his desk chair, a posture of consumption and retreat. His sleep schedule shattered. He’d lie in bed, his mind racing with flickering images, unable to find the off-switch. When he did sleep, it was fitful and shallow, offering no restoration. He started relying on energy drinks just to make it through the workday, creating a vicious cycle of artificial energy and crashing fatigue.

His sex life with his girlfriend, Lena, became the ultimate casualty. It wasn't just a lack of interest; it was a physical inability. His body, so responsive to the exaggerated stimuli on his screen, had nothing left for the soft, real woman beside him. The anxiety of potential failure created a feedback loop of fear, making the problem worse. The very system the habit was meant to celebrate was now shutting down.

The Breaking Point

The breaking point came on a Saturday morning. Lena had planned a hike, something they used to love. As she stood by the door, backpack ready, her face fell. Mark was still in his bathrobe, staring into an empty coffee mug, his hand trembling slightly.

"Mark," she said, her voice soft but firm, cutting through his fog. "Your body is giving up. You need to listen to it."

He looked down at his own hands. The tremors were new. He felt a profound ache in his bones, a deep-seated fatigue that sleep couldn't touch. He thought of the runner he used to be—the feeling of his heart pumping strong, his lungs filling with clean air, his muscles working in harmony.

Now, his heart often fluttered with anxiety. His lungs felt tight. His muscles were weak and stiff. He had traded the vibrant, physical reality of his own life for a pale simulation, and his body was presenting him with the bill.

He wasn't just tired. He was depleted. The energy he had spent in that dark, private world was energy he had stolen from his career, his relationships, and his own physical health. The screen had taken more than his time; it was taking his very vitality, one click at a time.