Give me the strength to seek you; Oh, you who allowed me to find you, and who gave me the hope of finding you more and more. – Saint Augustine

For much of my life, I was searching for something. I didn’t know what I was looking for, or even if I had ever embarked on such a quest; I thought that my everyday existence was just that – living. But I always felt like something was missing. Only, if I were courageous and strong enough, something would be bestowed upon me. When I was a lonely and alienated boy, I thought my destiny lied within the public showers of a San Francisco YMCA; my only comfort were the lyrics of a Village People song. I honestly believed that some “Macho Man” would be waiting for me – benevolent and caring; he could usher me into a sense a manhood that always seemed distant and unattainable. But like siren calls, they usually lead to destruction.

In my case, the lure of happiness directed me to the fog-shrouded shores of San Francisco. Amidst other castaways on something that looked like Pleasure Island from one of my favorite boyhood movies, Disney’s “Pinocchio,” I believed that I had found a place where I belonged. Yet, the frivolity and the undeniable sense of comradery came at a heavy price. In the age of AIDS, I knew there were risks, but a deadly disease seemed preferable to a life of loneliness in exile. At first, the collateral damage was somewhat tolerable; as long as it was happening to someone else. Then, those of us who survived a little longer than most – slowly began to change. Our youthful exuberance and innocence started to disappear; many of us became bitter and cynical. I was among them. I turned into the very thing I wanted to escape – an unhappy and angry young man.

And rising up, he rebuked the wind, and said to the sea: Peace, be still. And the wind ceased: and there was made a great calm. (Mark 4:39)

In the end, I was left alone and empty-handed once again. I felt duped and deceived. But, almost immediately, I exchanged my hope for salvation through one all-male community to another – the Catholic priesthood. There, I found some incredibly courageous men who were willing to help me – primarily by telling me the truth. But I also found a cadre of apologists, enablers, and predators (often residing with the LGBT community itself) who were more than willing to tell me what I thought I wanted to hear. However, I had a strange instinctual draw towards the more rigid-looking and unattractive truth-tellers. At the time, I wasn’t apt to receive what they said; however, I kept returning to them for advice; because, I felt a peculiar kinship with them. Like me, they were semi-exiled or barely tolerated by a world that no longer wanted them; their bishops or superiors look upon them with suspicion. On the periphery of the Church, I found some consolation.

Despite short-lived periods of relative tranquility, I spent most of my days (and nights) in a near constant state of extreme agitation. I couldn’t relax. I found my return to God to be a never-ending and strenuous experience. I could not trust – anyone. Because of past abuse and disappointment, I looked at everyone with suspicion, even God.

In Confession, I was hopelessly repetitive; I couldn’t escape a cycle of self-destructive behavior. Oftentimes, episodes of great tribulation were preceded by instances of mental distress and upheaval. Following such angst, I couldn’t think. A kind priest, who had suffered greatly under the cruel persecutions of his bishop, offered some advice. At first, it sounded too simple, that it couldn’t be taken seriously. He said, when these moments of duress occur, the most important thing – is to remain calm. His recommendation – pray 3 Hail Marys. For a while, simply out of pride, I refused to even consider his instruction. Instead, I continually chose to power through everything. Except, I was powerless. Since childhood, when I first became addicted to the realm of fantasy, pornography, and masturbation – I had brainwashed myself into believing that there was only one way to find contentment: sexual gratification. But this quest took on many forms; the first was unequivocally physical; the second – was somewhat more indefinable, because it was psychological.

The undeniable physiological and emotional release that accompanies masturbation is partly due to an increased level of Dopamine, Oxytocin, Serotonin. Endorphins, and Adrenaline in the body; in other words, these hormones makes us feel better; momentarily, they can make us happy. But their influence is fleeting. For the most part, many men do not perceive this precipitous dip in their hormone levels, because a large number of them tend to view pornography and masturbate at night – and then go to bed and fall asleep. Except, pornography can be even more insidious than just as a quick aid to a 10- or 15-minute fap addiction; for many young men who are alienated from male friendship and masculine mentors, it can be your only contact with the world of manhood. Before I ever stepped foot into the Castro District of San Francisco, it confirmed my supposed identity; I had already been sufficiently groomed.

“True freedom is impossible without a mind made free by discipline.” ― Mortimer J. Adler

In my effort to stand up against an addiction to sex, porn, and masturbation – it meant that I had to confront many of the preconceptions I had relied upon for most of my life: not only how I oftentimes alleviated stress, but my perception of myself. Those simple 3 Hail Marys were a basic start; I couldn’t begin to solely combat the demons of 20 years, but I had to start somewhere – and, next to Jesus Christ, the Mother of God is mankind’s greatest ally; far from the meek little girl, the Virgin Mary that I grew up with was the strong countenance in the icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Since childhood, she had looked back at me with that indomitable stare; and I knew.

Another priest, who also continuously seemed to exist on the margins of Catholicism, had a strong affinity for the Eastern Churches. From him, I first learned about the “Jesus Prayer” and the “Jesus Rope.” From him, I acquired a string of 33 connected beads, not unlike a Rosary, on which, instead of reciting the Hail Mary or the Our Father, you prayed the Jesus Prayer – one for each year of His life. Like the 3 Hail Marys, and the Rosary itself, it was a simple prayer – but simplicity does not mean that it is ineffective or unsubstantial. On the contrary, the most basic weapons are often the most enduring and reliable; for example, the US Marines issued bayonet or the classic Swiss Army knife. Padre Pio referred to the Rosary as a “weapon,” and in the 2006 Russian film “The Island,” or Остров, the priest-monk in the movie constantly recites the “Jesus Prayer,” before performing an exorcism.

Unbeknownst to me, they were slowly trying to get me to pray; to start; to make a beginning. At first, I was resistant. Then, I began to implement their instructions. I didn’t admit it, especially to them, but I noticed a difference. Stopping, when I wanted to do something, when I felt compelled to do something, when I thought I had to do something – was my first experience with self-discipline in adulthood. For most of my life, I longed for it.

For a generation of ostensibly fatherless young men, in an era of indeterminate masculinity, the bookish and professorial Jordan Peterson has become an unlikely icon of manhood. His simple directives: “Clean your room; Stand up straight; Tell the truth,” have become revelatory rules for those who grew-up without any. While many men had a father, who offered their son some sort of discipline – those guidelines, mostly in terms of conduct, did not transfer towards a directive that could assist someone into manhood. I guess, we were supposed to figure it out on our own. For some of us, it didn’t go so well; in our desperation, we often relied upon numerous feeble replacements.

Part of this process included the practice of trusting again. Perhaps, not placing my trust in a man – to save me, but trusting in the Word of God that had been passed on through generations of men, including rabbis, priests, and laymen. I could trust in the truth; and therefore, trust in God.

“You touched me, and I burned for your peace…” – Saint Augustine

Once you have encountered God, it is impossible to believe in those old ways of dealing with the turmoil and pain. Yet, we continually return to that same empty well of false promises. And, as Our Lord said: “Whosoever drinketh of this water, shall thirst again…” This is a profound statement concerning the pernicious nature of sin, but also about the destructive consequences of addiction. But such an encounter with Christ must result in conversion. In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, “the Samaritan Woman” at the well is considered a saint – St. Photeine. Immediately following her conversion, she became a Christian missionary: traveling throughout North Africa, Carthage, and then Rome itself. We are all called to dramatically change and to rededicate our lives. If not, we are still that same person at that dusty well; or, I am still that lost and lonely boy seeking solace in porn, masturbation, or in some false idea of comradery.

There is no shame in occasional failures, there is only humiliation when we give-up. One of the most efficacious guardians against the recidivist character of on-line addictions is the use of holy icons. Again, this may seem to be a simplistic approach, but if you have been repeatedly beaten-down and humbled – in such times of desperation, we are sometimes willing to try that which we once rejected. Next to your computer screen – place an image of Our Lady and the Christ Child; remain conscientious about which you choose; avoid the more sentimental and Western-ized images of a sweetly smiling Virgin Mary and a somewhat aloof Baby Jesus. In the Byzantine tradition, Our Lady of Perpetual Help is a quintessential example, the custom was for an image of the Theotokos that meets our gaze. She confronts us. A good priest related to me the story of Our Lady of Perpetual Help – the Christ Child, his sandal visibly falling off his foot, is started by the sudden appearance of angels carrying the instruments of His eventual Passion – He leaps into His Mother’s arms; knowing the source of her Son’s future suffering – the Virgin Mary looks directly at us. And in that moment of resolution to the truth – we can find peace.