: Confessions

I fear the past, and with fear in my eyes and a trembling heart, I turn the pages of my diary. Memories ache, scratching open unhealed wounds, revealing scars on my skin. The worst is the passing of time, the awareness of evil and mistakes made, the judgment of my own conscience. Sins that affect the future, purification and penance that are only a momentary relief, an escape from the struggle. I fall to my knees, regret, and often shed a tear for my weakness. I question and seek answers. Every day I drink from the cup of bitterness I myself filled. I look with contempt at the past, the valley and the swamp in which I lived.

I write to cleanse myself and come to terms with the past, to bear witness and speak, to confess and receive absolution. I return to those times with reluctance, yet I cannot forget them. They linger like a sore on my body, reminding me, in sometimes painful detail, of all my mistakes, sorrows, and resolutions.

***

I remember the beginning clearly. I was thirteen, maybe fourteen. I went to my uncle's in the countryside to work on a farm for the summer. A perfect balance of practicality and usefulness. Money was never easy here, but here we always had a few pennies, plus picturesque landscapes, friendly and open people—in short, the perfect getaway. The first few days were a bit of a struggle. I wasn't particularly athletic or strong, nor was I used to working all day—after all, I lived in the city, with everything at my fingertips. I also met a bunch of nice people, both my peers, whom I could always chat with after work, and old, experienced farmers who kept the workdays interesting with their countless stories. The prospects for the rest of the summer seemed perfect; everything exceeded my expectations, and I felt truly... happy.

***

On that fateful day, the sun was exceptionally bright, and the air was stuffy. Everyone was looking for shade to rest for a moment and wipe the sweat from their brows. During lunch, my uncle asked me to run to the shed and fetch a few more bottles of water, as everyone was dying of thirst. I immediately got up and headed to the designated spot. The shed was situated somewhat out of the way, at the edge of a grove. Only a few rays of sunlight filtered through the spreading branches of the trees. On days like that, it's the perfect place for shelter. I went inside. It was quite damp inside, with bundles of hay stacked everywhere. Bottles were piled against the opposite wall. I went over and grabbed a few—as many as I could carry. I was heading for the exit when a chest, partially covered with hay, caught my eye. I approached and pushed back the lid. It turned out to be a fairly large, solidly constructed trunk. I wanted to open it, see what was inside, but I needed to get some water, and anyway, I'd been sitting here too long. I promised myself I'd come back that evening, after work. That's when I was supposed to conduct a detailed inspection of the trunk. I was consumed with curiosity about its contents, what secret it held. I had a strange, childish feeling that this would change my life, that there was something extraordinary inside. After all, it was vacation, imaginations were fired, everyone had the right to dream of treasure or a chest of gold.

***

We finished work early because everyone was exhausted. After dinner, everyone went their separate ways, immersed in their own activities. I went outside. As evening approached, a light breeze appeared. The first stars were appearing in the sky. I had nothing in particular to do, and curiosity drew me to the shed where I was today. So, without much thought, I went ahead. I entered the shed, turned on the light, and headed for the most appealing place – the trunk. It lay just as I'd left it, with the hay slightly removed from the lid. At the time, I didn't know what was inside, but the thought crossed my mind that maybe I shouldn't look inside. After all, it wasn't mine, no one had told me to, I didn't have permission, and someone would see. These and other doubts caused something of an internal struggle. However, curiosity overcame ethics, and I began to open it. To my surprise, it was remarkably easy. The trunk wasn't locked or nailed shut, so I opened it easily. I peered inside and gasped. A sight I hadn't expected at all met my eyes. The trunk was full of newspapers, but not ordinary ones; they were pornographic magazines. I pulled out one, two, three, and so on. It was a whole archive. I picked one up and started leafing through it. I'd never encountered it before. Although my friends occasionally mentioned it, I saw individual photos in newspapers or covers in newsstand displays, it was always something in between, something on the fringes; I'd never really connected with it. But now—why not give it a try? After all, there has to be a first time; no one sees, they'll never know. I flipped through the pages of the magazine. I paled a bit, feeling my blood pumping faster, feeling myself slipping into some strange state, something between fear and excitement. This was the beginning. That first time would later prove disastrous, bringing with it much bitterness and regret. That first step would lead me into an abyss, down a path from which there would never be a return. And yet it all began so innocently, out of curiosity and excitement about the world around me.

***

The next few days passed working and spending time in the shed. I stopped talking and meeting friends, I no longer admired the charms of the countryside, and I no longer drew positive energy from the people living there. I made a nest in the shed, to which I returned every evening. Under the cover of darkness, I felt safe, and the aura of mystery deepened my curiosity. There was my hideaway from the world. In the landscape of partial shade, among the sheaves of hay and the scent of grain, I experienced a mythical exaltation, detaching myself from reality and flying through the endless firmament of desire, wandering through the labyrinth of dreams. After a while, I knew every magazine by heart, had a mental image of every photo, knew every single detail. I felt it all slowly becoming an indispensable part of my life, germinating and developing.

***

The holidays ended, and I returned home. The same, yet completely different. I had completely changed my life. I treated pornography as a remedy for my sorrows and failures, a cure for the ailments the day brought me. Eventually, it grew into a ceremony, a ritual, a cult to which I devoted myself. I had my own deities, I devised a rich, silent and bloodless liturgy.

***

At first, I was ashamed, I hid my sins and pleasures, treated them as private property, a part of myself, and closed the door to the world. Secretly, with my head down, I bought obscene magazines. I hid it, locked myself away in my room, in myself. No one knew about the dark side of my life, the black mark on my conscience, the mistake of growing up. But over time, that changed. I opened myself to the world thanks to my friends. Again, by accident, by a twist of fate. I was at a friend's birthday party, just an ordinary party: some champagne, pizza, and top-tier songs playing in the background. But then, towards the very end, when only a few of us remained and there was nothing left to do, my friend decided to reveal his secrets to us. By then, nothing was new to me anymore—a few magazines, a film. Something else mattered. A bond of brotherhood and solidarity had developed between us. We quickly reaped the first fruits. Joint film screenings, exchanges of archives and galleries began. Each of us contributed something new, yet while we were all immersed in it, no one in the group took it seriously. We thought one thing and said another; we considered our unwritten codes to be fun, to childishly outsmart the law and adults, to convince ourselves we were discovering new horizons, that if not today, then tomorrow, and better sooner rather than later

.

Then I got the internet. Beneath the guise of learning and entertainment, of contact with the world, lurked another, dark side, the grim face of the web. For here, the gates to the kingdom of dreams had opened before me, where princesses, besides their shoes, lost other articles of clothing. It was an infinite universe, a boundless resource, an inexhaustible source of new experiences and ecstasies. Initially, I limited myself, having set time and financial limits. Later, I acted in defiance of prohibitions and responsibilities. I didn't care about high bills or warnings from my parents. I spent nights in front of a computer screen, woke up in the mornings sleepless, with no will to live. My academic performance declined, and school ceased to matter to me. I lived in a different world.

***

Over time, I reached another stage of initiation. I ceased to be a subject, a passive observer of events. I began to weave visions, writing dreamlike stories with famous women as the main characters. The strangest scenes were born in my mind, my imagination filled with a magical aura. I cast lascivious glances at every woman I encountered, defined her figure, and then placed her in her proper place in the hierarchy. I gave myself over to my dreams and floated with the current of pleasure. I was a god, an all-powerful lord, possessing all the women I desired. Thus passed another period of my blind fascination. I had built a wall I could no longer surmount. All that remained was to push on and wait for what time would bring. Besides, it didn't matter to me at the time; I didn't think about it. I could do anything, yet I always wanted more.

***

Spring had arrived. Warm rays of sunshine, green meadows, and blooming flowers. The season of lovers, at my age, the time of first loves. I had already experienced all that; I was incapable of true love. The gust of spring wind only changed this: instead of looking at older women, I turned my attention to my female friends. I began to see them not as people, but as potential material for my experiments. On the other hand, a desire for physical contact arose within me. Mental games no longer fulfilled me; I craved more, and I expected those demands to be met. Then I met a certain girl. She matched my hypocritical ideals. We began to spend more time together; we even managed to talk for quite some time, though she mostly did the talking and I pretended to listen. I waited for the right moment. I don't know what I wanted to achieve. It was supposed to be something unknown, a new world of experiences. I finally had the opportunity to tread untraveled paths and, like the travelers of old, fulfill my dreams. I was well prepared, too well prepared. But I didn't insist; I was patient. My older friends told me how to treat girls. I paid no attention to her feelings, to what was hidden in her heart. Now I know she cared about me, and I can't get over it. Lust is the most selfish of passions. She was dating, and I—a degenerate male—was hunting, waiting for that deer to stumble. When she was near, I lost my mind. I couldn't love her; my heart was barren; I treated her like flesh, living meat I could satiate.

Once, we went to a friend's party. I drank a little too much, lost control, couldn't control my passions. In that moment, a plan formed in my head. It was now or never. One goat's death. I asked her to go to a separate room with me so we could be alone. I'd wanted to do this for a long time; we'd been together for a while, but the relationship still wasn't bearing fruit. I closed the door behind me. I sat down next to her, looked her straight in the eye, and she seemed to pale, terrified by that devilish gaze. I started groping her, kissing her, and trying to pull off her blouse. I couldn't control myself because it wasn't me. She pushed me away and ran out of the room crying. That was the end; we never saw each other or spoke again. There was nothing to talk about. I drank more and went home.

***

The next day, a bit groggy and sleepy, I went for a walk. I never went for walks, but now I had to; I guess I needed to think things through. I sat on a bench and stared at the concrete. I don't remember if it even crossed my mind then that I was on the wrong path. Even if the spark had ignited, it quickly faded. I told myself that I wasn't to blame for the breakup. I just wanted to take a step forward, to introduce something new, something very natural. I was innocent, pure as a whistle. After that, I didn't have any more girlfriends until the end of high school. I calmed down a bit and returned to my former realm.

***

I treated pornography as a first-order need, something as natural as eating, drinking, and sleeping, something so natural that I didn't even wonder if I could live without it. Days, months, and years passed. It didn't dominate my life; it was as important as everything else. This monster that had been born inside me was alive, constantly being fed, growing, and waiting to breathe fire. I passed my final exams with quite good results, got into my dream university. But that's when I truly lost my way. I realized I was an adult, and adulthood was a commitment. I got a part-time job and had some money. I didn't have a girlfriend, but I wanted to give vent to my passions. So I became a guest at local brothels, later even receiving a loyalty card. I had no remorse, no feeling that I was doing something wrong. I never had that feeling. For me, it was a symbiosis—someone makes the product, I buy it, someone works, I pay. So what if the product is alive? I wouldn't use these services if they weren't there. It wasn't my fault, it was the entire world's fault; I was its victim. And in a way, I truly was

.

Then I met a girl. She didn't charm me, but she seemed captivated by my charm. You have to take advantage of such twists of fate. We dated, spent a lot of time together, but we didn't have common interests, and I didn't have common interests with anyone. She loved me, and I told her every day that I loved her, not knowing what love was. She gave me what I hadn't received from her predecessor, what I so longed for and lived for. One day she came to me pale, fell into my arms, and told me she was pregnant. I wasn't particularly concerned, but I hugged her tightly; I felt it was necessary. It wasn't a blow or a bolt from the blue for me. I accepted it like any gift of fate. I decided to marry her. After all, we had to start a family eventually, and maybe this was the right time. We married as soon as possible. My wife was happy, and I reinforced her in that belief. She had everything a woman should have. She was pretty, had wealthy parents, and she loved me. I couldn't imagine a better situation. I continued to frequent brothels, continued to buy pornographic magazines, and looked lustfully at other women. My wife didn't notice, didn't want to see, and considered me a paragon of virtue. But love is blind, and women are foolish.

***

There was a moment when something inside me shifted. Our child was born. When I held him in my arms, looked into his eyes, felt his innocence, my heart began to beat. I realized I was a father, that everything I had done up to that point had been inadequate. I partially broke my addiction, or maybe just curbed it a bit. The child was growing up, my wife's attitude toward me changed. We passed each other more and more often at home, and the child grew up somewhere between us. I loved my child; for the first time, I loved someone, cared about someone. It was fatherly love, the only thing that kept me going. My wife realized things weren't great between us, and perhaps even understood that I'd never loved her. In any case, she bottled up the pain, never expressing her suspicions. I went on increasingly frequent business trips with my young secretary. I was drawn to her, I longed to experience her, to go hunting again. She was eager for a raise and a good recommendation, so it all went smoothly, quickly, and without strings attached. Time passed, I started visiting old haunts again, and I completely missed the most important moments in my child's life. I didn't notice how he began to walk, talk, and demand more and more time and dedication. My wife raised him in a good spirit, with love and care. I cared for him too, but in my own way.

***

We went on vacation to her older brother's. He had a beautiful house by the lake. The weather was wonderful, and the surroundings enchanted with the magic of the landscape. We spent countless wonderful moments. Most importantly, we were finally a family; my wife and I had become closer, and I devoted a lot of time to our child. And it would seem that everything was going well, were it not for one fact. There was something neither my wife nor anyone else knew, something I hid deep inside and didn't let anyone know. My brother-in-law had a sixteen-year-old daughter. She was incredibly beautiful. Her pale face with noble features, her blond hair, and above all, her perfectly shapely body, filled me with a fever. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I was afraid to be around her, I paled in her company, yet I didn't avoid contact with her. We often talked, sitting close to each other. During the day, I stared at her, in the evenings I undressed her in my imagination, and at night I dreamed of her.

One evening, she asked me to drive her to a disco in the city. She was beautiful. Heavy makeup accentuated her features, a tight blouse exposed delicate breasts, and lustful legs spilled out from under a short skirt. I drove, but I didn't look at the road. I was wandering somewhere between my imagination and the curves of my goddess. We entered the forest, I pulled over, and stopped. I couldn't bear it. She asked what was wrong. I didn't answer. I fixed my gaze on her, the way murderers look at their victims. She paled, and I took action with a cold, steady hand. I touched her knee and gently slipped my hand under her skirt. With the other, I gently touched her face, brushing her hair back. I wanted to kiss her. She looked at me with pleading eyes and, in a trembling voice, asked, "Uncle, what are you doing?" I paled. Cold sweat poured down my forehead. I pulled my hands away from her, placed my head on the steering wheel, and tears streamed down my face. Before my eyes, I saw my child, my wife, and all this interwoven with images of naked women and wild acts. For the first time, I understood who I was and what I was doing. I cried deeply and bitterly over my fate and my own mistakes. I felt dirty and sick, lost and overwhelmed, lonely and empty. I told myself it was over.

***

Now my life is a test. Every day I struggle, falling under the weight of sin, and then rising with tears in my eyes and a sense of shame in my heart. I know I can't turn back time, erase the past, or fix the mistakes I've made. But I believe in a better tomorrow and I move forward. I know that one day I will repent and learn true love. I fight and trust in the hope I've placed my trust in.