It was a warm spring day, but I was depressed beyond depressed. It is difficult to describe how empty I felt. I was cycling in the shadows again—lapsing into lust and compulsive sexual behavior.
I had not used Internet pornography since installing a software monitoring program on my computer. But when you're depressed and despondent, when you are desperately craving the buzz of stimulation of the old wiring, you stop thinking clearly and resort to default behaviors. I knew of a park where men sometimes gathered in the afternoon, and one of the things they did was swap porn. I went there, met a fellow and got a magazine. For some time I'd been taking antidepressants, and one of the side effects was that it made sexual arousal nearly impossible. But porn could at least spark a buzz. Addiction is a disease of the brain, and I was just looking for a buzz in my head. I left my car and walked down a desolate pathway.
I sat on a log, the warm spring sunshine bathing me and the wind coming up as a storm was approaching from the distance. Normally I love being outside in moments like this, but not this day. I was beyond hope.
"God in heaven," I remember praying, "I cannot believe after everything I've done and all the grace you've shown me, I'm here in this place, just cycling and cycling and cycling. I can't stand this life anymore. I don't care what you want from me—anything, anything. I don't care what you do with me, but you have to do something. Please." No answer.
Engulfed in my self-loathing and shame, I made my way back to my car.
A police cruiser pulled up and after being questioned about what I was doing in the park, I was arrested and charged ...