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Chapter 2: The Quiet War Within
After that night, something in me shifted. It was like a door had been opened—and I couldn't unsee what I saw… or unfeel what I felt.
At first, it was curiosity. A strange, silent whisper that crept into my nights. When the world was asleep and the house was quiet, I would lie awake, replaying the scene I had stumbled upon. I didn't understand it fully—I just knew it made me feel something. Something strange… something powerful… something I didn't know how to name.
Slowly, I started to imitate it. At night, under my blanket, I would experiment. At first, it felt harmless. Just a way to explore, to feel something other than emptiness. But soon… it became a habit.
I couldn't sleep without it.
Then it wasn't just at night. It became something I ran to when I was tired… when I was sad… when I was bored… when I was angry. It became my secret relief. My escape. My comfort. But also—my shame.
I never told anyone. Not even God at first.
The guilt didn't come immediately. At first, I didn't even think it was wrong. After all, no one told me not to. It wasn't something they taught at school or whispered about in church. And if my brother could do it, then maybe it wasn't bad… right?
But deep down… a quiet voice kept asking, Is this who you want to become?
I brushed it off.
Until the cravings started getting louder.
I couldn't focus. I couldn't go a day without it. I found myself drifting toward things I shouldn't be watching or reading. I started reading stories that weren't just romantic—they were vivid, wild, tempting. I told myself I was just bored. Just exploring. But I knew the truth.
I had lost control.
I didn't know what addiction meant back then, but I was living it. I wasn't free anymore. I was chained to a habit I couldn't break. A war no one could see. A storm that smiled in public but screamed in private.
I started feeling far from God. Like I was dirty. Like I couldn't pray without feeling like I was lying. Sometimes I would cry after. Not because I was in pain—but because I felt empty. Lost. Distant from the girl I used to be. From the God I said I loved.
I told myself, I'll stop tomorrow.
Tomorrow came, and I failed again.
And again.
And again.
Each time I promised God I'd stop… I found myself crawling back. It became a cycle. A prison. A pattern I didn't know how to break.
And yet—I never stopped wanting to be free.
I still wanted God.
I still wanted light.
But I was deep in the dark… and I didn't know how to climb out.
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