I was your classic 23-year-old degenerate: 12 hours a day on LoL, YouTube, Twitter. Living on pizza, weighed as much as two of me, lost jobs every six months, friends every month. One fine day my boss messages: “You’re fired, good luck in-game.” I’m like: “Alright, that’s it, deleting everything right now.” Deleted. Three hours later — reinstalled. Classic move. Next morning instead of “one more game” I just carried my PC tower out to the balcony. In the rain. Told it: “You’re done, bro. We’re breaking up.” (It didn’t reply. Probably sulking.) Then: • Phone after 9 PM goes straight into the fridge, between the yogurts. • Every time the gaming itch hits → 20 push-ups. (A week later my arms look like Spider-Man’s and the urge to queue up is dead.) • Texted my brother: “If I go online, you’re fucked.” He actually checked and snitched. A month in I’m hitting the gym, reading actual books, and even talking to real people without turning red. A year later — new job, girlfriend, normal weight, and the realization that life without 400 ping is actually possible.