I led the life of a seemingly “normal man”: I was living with a woman, earning quite well, and travelled the world. However, I occasionally had episodes of depression and felt as if I was hitting a wall, as if there was a kind of wall in my heart
My name is Christopher. It means “carrying Christ.” For most of my life, however, it was the opposite – it was He who constantly carried me, and I did not even want to see it…
My Family Home
I was raised in a Catholic family. When I was a child, I remember my grandmothers waking me up to go to church. Thanks to them, I went to rorate coeli and rosary services, although I did not understand much of it. No one had ever told me that God loved me, that you could have a close relationship with Him. However, I had always been sure of God’s existence, because of the caring love I received from my grandmothers. In difficult moments, I would reach out for the rosary. I trusted that when I prayed the rosary, God would help me.
I didn’t experience real love at home. There were often arguments between my parents; there were also other problems. For years I had a lot of regret and hatred for my father. I would often cry and pray, not understanding what was happening between my parents. My parents would sometimes send me to church, although they themselves did not attend the liturgy. At some point, my mom went to work abroad, and I stayed with my father. Initially, on Sundays and church festivals, I went to church, but with age, especially with the sins of impurity, I began to move away from God. Then the situation only got worse: relationships with women, often resulting in hurting each other. I knew in my heart that what I was doing was wrong. But I thought, “if ‘everyone else lives like that’, then why can’t I?”
About 10 years ago my mother got seriously ill. At some point she began to talk about her supernatural experience of meeting St. John Paul II and the great love of the Lord God. During her illness while abroad, she began to beg Jesus for health and experienced His mercy. Thanks to this blessing my mom became a devout Catholic; she started going regularly to church and participated in the sacraments. Her life had changed by 180 degrees. When she returned from Germany, my father and I thought that she had gone insane, and we made her visit a psychiatric hospital. Fortunately, the doctor found nothing wrong with her. In retrospect, I realize now that it was cruel of us to do so.