This chapter is a testimony, not a confession. It tells part of the darkness I lived in, but only so that the light of God’s grace can be seen more clearly. Every word has been written with care—raw but respectful, honest but hopeful. I share not to shock, but to point others to freedom in Christ.
Marc Valor
I remember sitting alone on the couch one night, my laptop open in front of me. The room was dark and quiet. On the screen were dozens of open tabs, each offering something I thought would bring relief or excitement. But deep down, I knew they wouldn’t.
My heart was pounding. I felt tense and restless—torn between the momentary rush and the quiet voice inside telling me, “This isn’t who you are.” I kept chasing the next click, hoping it might finally satisfy. But it never did.
It was like trying to quench a deep thirst with salt water. No matter how much I consumed, I only felt emptier.
So I closed my eyes and went back in time—to where it all began.
When It Started
My struggle didn’t begin with a screen. It started in childhood, long before I understood what I was experiencing. I was a young boy, full of curiosity about the human body and the feelings that curiosity stirred. At the time, I had no words for it—no real understanding—only the sense that something powerful had been awakened.
As I grew older, my thoughts became more focused. Simple things—like scenes in movies or conversations among friends—would stir my imagination. I began to pursue those feelings more intentionally, though always in private, always in secret.
Somewhere along the way, I realized this wasn’t the life God had for me. I had been taught that intimacy was sacred—meant for the safety and commitment of marriage. And I began to feel the weight of conviction.
I remember walking past girls in school—too shy to speak, yet battling thoughts I didn’t want. I longed for purity, but I didn’t know how to fight. I confessed. I prayed. I promised myself it would stop once I was older.
But it didn’t.
My First Taste of Independence
After graduation, I got a job and bought my first computer. I told myself it was for school, work, and productivity. But I quickly discovered how easily it could become a doorway to everything I thought I had left behind.
I didn’t stop going to church. I didn’t stop trying. I even opened up in confession to my priest and told him I felt trapped. He was kind and supportive—but no matter how sincere I was, I couldn’t seem to follow through. I would make progress for a few days or weeks, then fall again.
Moving Away
Eventually, I moved out of state for better career opportunities. I left behind my family and church community—hoping for a fresh start. But the struggle followed me.
What I thought would take a couple of years took far longer. I couldn’t stay focused. I would start something important, only to get sidetracked again and again. My patterns of escape had become deeply rooted.
With fast internet and no one watching, I slipped even deeper. I told myself I was working or studying, but in truth, I was avoiding the very life I was trying to build. The shame grew heavier. I kept everything hidden—but it was slowly breaking me down.
Looking Back
Now, I can see how long I carried this burden. I see how much time and joy it stole. I see how numb I became to God’s voice.
But I also see this: God never stopped reaching for me. Even when I was far from Him—even when I stopped believing in myself—He never gave up.
