I started living with a girl. We were only eighteen at the time but before long she gave birth to a child. And although I should have been there for her I kept indulging my passion for shows, especially for anything morbid or obscene.
I was getting worse. I was always on the look out for new 'experiences'. I began to take pleasure in making people suffer and started developing an interest in evil. I used to hang out with a gang. We called ourselves 'The Destroyers'. When I look back I didn't really enjoy much of their jokes or the way they took the mickey out of each other, and yet I liked being with them. It was an escape. We had the wrong name. We should have been called 'The Perverters'.
I finished university quite well. I had never had a problem with studies. I worked for a few years and then went back to visit my home town. While I was there something unexpected happened that shook me completely. One of my best friends took ill and, despite everything that was done for him, he just seemed to keep getting worse. His sickness brought about a deep change in him and eventually he embraced the Christian faith. Not long after that he died.
That sudden death shocked me deeply. I was saddened to the the very core of my being. I couldn't bear the pain of remaining in that town. I couldn't stay at home. Everything made me suffer. Everything reminded me of him. It was a continuous torment. I felt as if he should still be there but when I looked he was gone. In the end I hated everything about that place.
I remembered his faith and I began to think: "Trust, hope in God!" But God was seemed to me to be a waking dream, an unreal phantasm! I desperately sought consolation but found it only in my tears.