Good always exists with evil!
For good without evil would be thoughtless,
And evil without good, unpredictable.
That recurring nightmare woke me up again. I jumped out of bed, sticky with sweat as usual. And then there was that strange feeling, as if someone were squeezing my neck, and I couldn't catch my breath, and on top of that, I was fully aware of my death, which would once again triumph over life if this nightmare didn't release its deadly grip in a moment. I wanted to see the time, so I glanced at my watch, but there must have been a momentary power outage, because the electronic alarm clock was only blinking ominously with red dots. I thought about the strange feeling of uncertainty and disorientation. The lack of basic knowledge instills a sense of fear and loneliness. So I reached for the watch that lay beside the bed. It was only three in the morning, but I was already wide awake. I could never fall asleep again after that dream. So I got up and found a cigarette in the dark. I stood by the open window and sat on the windowsill. The July night was warm, even muggy and stifling. It was still quiet and peaceful outside. Only a few lights were on in the apartment. I inhaled the nicotine smoke, which brought momentary relief, and looked at the bed where HE slept peacefully. I quietly left the bedroom and entered the next room, where Emilka slept peacefully in a colorful bed by the window.
She was still so innocent; her life was like a blank, unwritten page that could be used in a million ways. Meanwhile, she could enjoy her unadulterated childish joy in all the good things that surrounded her and had befallen her in her short three-year life. I thought that she could become whatever she wanted in the future. On the other hand, what choice do we have? We become what others expect of us. They decide for us, and once we enter a role, we remain in it until the end of our earthly lives, because conformism is the simplest solution and the path of our behavior.
Those who find the strength to fight within the rigid social framework are rejected and excluded from the broader community that, after all, satisfies our basic needs. Sometimes, however, someone crosses our path who completely transforms our existence, reevaluating our entire structured lives. There's a dangerous trap here, though: we never know who's waiting for us around the next corner of our earthly existence. We only have a fifty percent chance that they'll be a good person who will change our lives in a positive way, but what about those who encounter the remaining fifty percent?
They have only two options: surrender or fight. But why is the first option always so much easier to achieve? Who created us so weak and submissive?
I often wonder why this Being with a capital "B" gave weak people free choice? He surely knew that most of them would choose the first option. Perhaps that's what life is all about: eternal struggle and choice?
Or perhaps this is the full grandeur of His plan, and at the same time, its perfidy and insidiousness. Every day He forces us to make choices, each time tempting us with evil and commanding us to choose good, and records our choices in a virtual database in the form of magical, yet utterly modern, symbols of punishment and reward. I've often wondered about His plan for me. Did He intend for my life to be this way? He placed both good and bad in my path, who changed my earthly existence. Or perhaps who we meet around the corner depends precisely on our choices, on which way we turn? Or on which solution we choose? Perhaps these evil ones are punishment for taking the easy way out? We could ask so many questions, and they will remain unanswered. Supposedly, those who temporarily reside there, during clinical death, receive complete knowledge, answers to all questions. Perhaps, just as after eating the forbidden apple, Adam acquired the wisdom of the creator himself, the same is true for those who have passed away. As a reward for good choices, they received omnipresent wisdom and learned the truth. One might ask what truth, after all, everything is relative and a matter of social contract. However, I know that not everything. After all, there must be something constant, objective in our lives, something we believe in. If wisdom, love, justice, and knowledge were subjective, our lives would have to be as well, and yet we must be certain that they are not. There is something, or even someone, who transcends subjectivity, the social contract, and imperfect people.
Looking at my daughter, I wanted to offer her all these objective goods, to shower her with love and teach her to love. I want to show her how to distinguish truth from falsehood and how to make wise choices.
Above all, I'd like to protect her from encounters with these evil ones, though no earthly being has such power. I can only show her how to cope with nightmares, bad memories, and the injustice that will befall her at the hands of these wicked people. Although sometimes that name is too much for some.
I was roused from my contemplation of our fate by Emilka stirring in her bed. I glanced at the clock again; it was almost four o'clock; I hadn't even noticed another hour of my life slipping away.
I returned to the bedroom and lay back down in bed. In the darkness, I snuggled up against my man, who was breathing so calmly, evenly, and the sight of his naked body sent a pleasant shiver of desire through me. I could still feel his scent, his touch, his warm breath. He was so close, so close, so tangible. Though I hadn't yet fully realized that he belonged to me, and I to him. After what had united and divided us, after all those moments of loneliness and the presence of others, of unfulfilled hopes, we were finally one.
But it would take a long time for us to find each other in this tangle of human fates, small joys and great catastrophes. My touch must have awakened him, because he turned to me, gently ran his warm hand across my cheek, and asked, or rather stated, a fact he already knew about my life, and now ours: "
That dream again?" Then he leaned in and hugged me tightly, just as I needed it. His closeness, his strength, his courage to get up again in the morning and not think about what had happened, just function normally. To prepare breakfast, drink coffee, go to the store, play with Emilka, cook dinner, laugh, and make love with him.
"I love you," I whispered, snuggling even closer into his warm, naked body.
"I love you too," he said, and kissed me as only he could, and I was already enjoying it. After everything I'd been through, I couldn't recover for a very long time. A man's touch was almost painful; all I felt was revulsion and disgust. He reminded me of everything that had happened to me. I needed a lot of patience and tenderness to recover, to find myself again. My husband, however, didn't find much of that human feeling within himself. It was just as difficult for him to come to terms with it all as it was for me. Returning to normalcy, though that's probably impossible after what happened to me.
Only He found His way to me, won my heart, trust, and body. I was His, though in truth, I never belonged to anyone; none of us belongs to anyone. He is a completely independent, unique human being who possesses an enormous gift, strength, and sometimes a curse when misused: free choice. I often wondered what the man who ruined my life was thinking, did he even think for a moment about me, about my experiences? And if he hadn't had a choice, none of this would have happened. I would be a different person, and my life would likely be completely different than it is now. But would it have been better and more fulfilling? I'll never know. This entire experience changed me irrevocably; I became a different woman, stronger, though deeply wounded in my heart.
On the other hand, I probably wouldn't be with such a wonderful man now, who fascinates me more and more every day with his wisdom, including his wisdom of life, his patience for me, and his complete understanding. I've never trusted anyone as much as he did; no one has ever captivated me with their sensitivity to other people's lives.
He taught me what it means to truly love, maturely, and to delight in another person anew every day. How to be with myself and not lose myself in the other half of my heart. He was the one who made me realize that love doesn't mean protecting someone from everything bad at all costs; it means understanding and helping them forget their past experiences.
My husband was a completely different person; besides, we were young then and completely absorbed in each other. We thought that showing love meant sex and jealousy.
We were together, but in reality, each of us was our own person. We had our own issues and our own vision of ourselves and our life together in the next dozen or so years.
However, I'd like to tell you the story of my life from the beginning. It seems like an ordinary story like many others, but each one is incredible and unique. Mine will be full of tears, dashed hopes, but also small joys and great, true love. I started at the end because it's easier for me to recall it all, and these memories aren't easy. Now, years later, I've achieved peace and can talk about and reflect on all of this with detachment. My husband helped me come to terms with it all, teaching me to let go. My daughter brought joy and incredible, completely unconditional love into my life, a love I didn't even know existed.
Now I think that what happened to me had meaning, didn't happen in vain. It taught me something, left an indelible mark, became a warning, but helped me find my true self. As Father Twardowski writes, "When God closes a door, he opens a window," and so, in a sense, it did. He, my man, was my window. While searching for myself, I also found Him.
I also want to tell you my story as a warning against bad people, but also against an immature, half-baked substitute for love, which isn't about looking into each other's eyes, kind words, sex, and the panicked fear of the other person leaving. It begins with friendship and trust, then evolves into fascination and attachment. Mature love is about shared experiences, everyday joys and major problems, momentary infatuations and arguments over insignificant matters that only prove we care about each other. True love is based on mutual respect, partnership, and admiration. And when our light at the end of the tunnel fades, that feeling of the whole world suddenly crashing down on us, and life fills us with anxiety and the inability to function normally without our significant other.
The bed becomes too big, nice clothes unnecessary, everyday matters unimportant, because living for yourself is less meaningful than living with and for someone else. You wake up at night and are overcome by a feeling of emptiness and loneliness. What was important with him makes no sense without him. A person is a creature that adapts to any situation, sooner or later comes to terms with change, and learns to live anew. Just as I learned, though it wasn't easy.
The saying goes that a person can be destroyed, but not defeated. The will to live is usually stronger than the momentary impulse to die. Most of those who attempt to take their own lives, if they hadn't succeeded the first time, wouldn't do it again.
If only someone had offered them a helping hand at that moment, as I was offered, their lives might have been saved. Perhaps they could have overcome fear, despair, and the hopelessness of the situation? Or perhaps their drive to live wasn't so strong after all? I wanted to live, but after what happened, I became a bit lost within myself, but also within the vast reality that surrounded me from all sides, and at times I felt it was overwhelming me, placing its enormous body on top of me, as if it wanted to swallow me whole. I'd never felt such helplessness and enslavement as I did then. Everyone around me asked how I was feeling and offered their sympathy, but in reality, they were even more helpless than I was. It finally happened to me, and none of them could imagine what I was feeling, what was happening in my mind. None of them could help me; I had to find the strength, courage, and oblivion to return to the living. To stop vegetating and dwelling on my past, to focus on normal life, everyday matters. But those who should have helped me pretended nothing had happened. And I didn't need it; I wanted to talk about it, and they changed the subject. They pretended to themselves and to me that everything was as it had been before, but it wasn't and never would be again. Now I know that this was their way of helping and forgetting, but it wasn't effective enough, or rather, it had completely different results.
I retreated further and further into myself. I built a strong wall around myself and stopped letting anyone get close to me. I kept everyone at a distance, looking for malicious intent in everyone. I became arrogant, capricious, at times unbearable. Meanwhile, they justified my strange behavior with what I'd been through and treated me like a sick child, which only fueled my passion. One day, I couldn't take it anymore. I picked up a bottle of pills and...
But I promised to start the story from the beginning, so I'll keep my word.
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