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My father was deployed on a peacekeeping mission to India and Pakistan, where he remained for a full year. 

After the winter holidays, I returned to school, a crucial time for achieving good grades to get into high school. I hoped to enroll in the High School of Civil Engineering and Geodesy in Split. 

In our final year of school, we had a new subject: chemistry. Our teacher was an older woman, and we all struggled with the material. I noticed she had large breasts and often didn’t wear a bra, making her nipples visible. I found myself getting aroused and, later at home, masturbated while thinking about her. A few days later, she announced she would offer extra lessons after class for anyone who was interested. Since it was the last class of the day, everyone else went home, leaving me alone in the classroom with her. I wanted to sleep with her but didn’t know how to initiate anything. She gave me some chemistry assignments, but I wasn’t focused on them. Eventually, I abandoned the idea of trying to sleep with her, which was probably for the best. I went home, masturbated again, and had an even more intense orgasm. 

I created a Facebook account, but I wasn’t as popular as some others. I initially wanted a lot of friends, but eventually decided to focus on quality over quantity. My first Facebook experience was awkward. A girl posted “meow” as her status, and misunderstanding how Facebook worked, I sent her a private message saying, “hello kitty, how are you?” She replied that I wouldn’t have spoken to her that way if I’d stayed in the suburbs. She was right. I added some friends from the suburbs on Facebook and looked at pictures from their recent trip. 

In the spring, my school organized a field trip to Dubrovnik, a city 120 miles south of Split. I’m not sure why I agreed to go. Danny was going, but not all of my other friends. Knowing it would be a long drive, I planned to sleep most of the way. The night before the trip, I stayed up all night playing GTA San Andreas.I barely made it to dawn before I had to get ready for the trip and leave. I packed my bag and went to the front of the school where the bus was waiting. I chose a seat between the first and second doors, closer to where the teachers were sitting. For some reason, I didn’t sit with Danny. We began driving south along the Croatian coast.

We passed by the sandy beaches of Omiš, where I used to go with my parents. We continued towards Makarska, a city located between Omiš and Dubrovnik. The sun began to rise, and although I’d planned to sleep, I couldn’t. We arrived in Dubrovnik and explored the city. After lunch, we continued the journey and eventually headed home. I thought I would finally get some sleep on the bus, but everyone started singing, waking me up. I was frustrated that I hadn’t slept the night before. I stopped celebrating my birthdays, and my friends lost track of when it was. 

School was finally over. One sunny summer day, Danny and I were hanging out in Split, walking and talking as we headed toward Bačvice beach. We sat on the cliffs, and he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and offered me one. I accepted and smoked my first cigarette. I inhaled, exhaled, and coughed a little at first, but eventually stopped. We shared a few more cigarettes and then went home. 

One day, Danny invited me to see the movie “Wounds” (Rane). It was a 1998 Serbian drama about two teenagers growing up in Belgrade in the 90s. 

The film depicted sex, drugs, and violence, and its popularity in Split influenced our local culture. 

One night, Danny and I decided to get drunk. We somehow managed to buy the cheapest wine, Epicc Drinc along with some cigarettes, and headed to Bačvice. The area was lit at night, so we weren’t in complete darkness. We sat on a bench, mixing the wine with soda, drinking and smoking until we were properly drunk. Being drunk was a strange but generally pleasant feeling. The cigarettes tasted better than ever. We played Serbian folk music on our phones and had a little party. When we’d had enough, we went home. Danny headed toward the center of Split, while I wobbled toward the bus station. It was around midnight, and I was waiting for the last bus that would take me closer to home. I boarded the old, empty bus—only the driver was present. I sat down on one of the worn wooden seats and suddenly felt nauseous, likely from the bus’s motion. I threw up on the floor. The driver either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and I simply got off when the bus reached my stop. I remembered something my grandfather from Split once said on my way home: “Youth gets drunk and vomits on buses, and that’s sad.” I had become that youth. When I got home, my family was already asleep, so I managed to sneak in without anyone noticing I was drunk or smelled like cigarettes. The next morning, I woke up with a hangover from the cheap wine, but no one suspected anything—they just thought I was tired. That evening, I met up with Danny again, and instead of getting drunk, we went to Bačvice to play picigin, swim, and hang out with some classmates. With the lights around the beach, it was easy to play picigin, and there were others there swimming, sitting, or playing in groups. 

My younger brother was still a child, while my other brother and sister had become teenagers. 

I settled into a routine of school, rowing, and everything else that comes with being a teenager. When school began, I focused on studying as much as possible to get good grades for high school. Thanks to my success in rowing, the Croatian Rowing Committee awarded me extra points for my high school application. 

I was 14 years old, in eighth grade—the final year of elementary school. As the oldest students, we were no longer bothered by upperclassmen. However, one day during a school break, a younger student who was in my brother’s class lightly harassed me. I noticed him laughing behind my back. 

I didn’t initially realize what had happened, but my classmates pointed out that I had bird droppings on the back of my shirt. It was clearly spit from that younger kid, but I chose not to do anything about it, and I didn’t tell any teachers or my parents. 

With good grades at the end of the school year, I was confident I would get into my desired high school. As an eighth-grade class, we had a planned graduation trip to Zagreb. We packed our bags and set off. Once again, I chose a seat between the teacher and the second set of doors on the bus. We arrived at a small village near Zagreb where our hostel was located. I shared a room with Danny. That night, we went to a local club where I drank Epicc Drinc. Students from other cities were also at the club. I met a girl, we talked, and exchanged phone numbers. A girl in my class joked that I finally had a girlfriend. 

Danny and I left the club around midnight and went back to our room. We turned on the TV and watched Showgirls, a 1995 NC-17 rated film known for “nudity and erotic sexuality, explicit language and sexual violence.” There was a famous pool sex scene, and afterwards, I went to the shower and masturbated. 

The following day, we took a trip to Zagreb. We explored the city center and toured the Dinamo Zagreb football club stadium. In Split, our hometown, we supported Hajduk, the football club that was the main rival of Dinamo. 

We returned to our hostel, and I spent the time listening to music. I couldn’t help but feel disconnected from my classmates and longed to be on a trip with my friends from the suburbs. After a few more days, I was relieved to finally be heading home. Once I logged onto Facebook, I saw that my friends from the suburbs were on their own trip, tagged in numerous photos, and I felt a pang of regret for missing out.

During the summer, I applied to high school to become a geodetic technician. It was one of the most popular programs at the school because it was considered an easy job with good pay. There was only one class for future surveyors, while construction technicians and architects had two classes. The school was located in a large building in a newer part of Split, and my high school, along with three others, was housed there. A few days later, I returned to check the enrollment list and found my name. It was somewhere between the middle and bottom of the list. I recognized some new names, many of whom would later become my friends. Danny, on the other hand, enrolled in a different high school, just next door. 

I was 15 that summer, and high school was supposed to start in September. On the first day, I met some new people. They were from the entire wider Split area and islands, and one of them was even from Bosnia and Herzegovina. It was exciting to start meeting people from scratch like in the suburbs because I was able to create a better connection unlike the seventh grade of elementary school in Split. Every morning I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and took the bus to school early. I listened to music on the way to school. I hung out with some guys who were also early. I expected to have as many girls in the class as possible to find a girlfriend, but there were only four girls. 

I took a picture in the bathroom, shirtless, styling my hair and showing off my muscles, including my six-pack. I set it as my Facebook profile picture, hoping to attract a girl. 

However, the only response I got was from a gay man who messaged me saying I was beautiful. I felt frustrated and blocked him. A classmate did comment that I looked strong. 

My closest friends in high school were Jim and Barby Jo. Jim was a talented tennis player. Barby Jo was from Bosnia and Herzegovina, was wealthy and swore frequently, a habit I picked up, now regularly using phrases like “God fucked you” and “fuckin’ Jesus,” sometimes even jokingly. 

Overall, I enjoyed my time in high school. 

Most of the professors were good. However, our biology teacher, an older, overweight woman, was an exception. Initially, she refused to discuss condom effectiveness, claiming she “couldn’t say that.” Later, during a discussion about body mass index, she referred to “body weight.” Remembering what our physics professor had taught us about the difference between mass and weight, Jim raised his hand and corrected her, saying it should be “body mass,” not “body weight.” The biology teacher became angry and told him never to correct her, emphasizing that she had a PhD. She even wrote him up, requiring Jim’s mother to come to school for a meeting. Not all the teachers were bad. One, in fact, was the kindest and most attractive MILF (Mother I’d Like to Fuck). I often masturbated at home thinking about her, as did Jim and most of my classmates. Our history professor was an older man nearing retirement. Despite his age, he was the coolest professor in the school. 

One day, after class, he asked Jim, Barby Jo, and me to stay behind. I was worried he was going to reprimand us or something similar. Instead, he pulled out a book called Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. He sat us down at a table and asked us to read a few passages. As we began reading, we realized the passage described a character having sex. The description was very direct and explicit. We all laughed and complimented our professor on being so cool. I mentioned that the book was a refreshing change from the incredibly boring books we were required to read in Croatian class. We then started talking about our MILF professor, and the history professor surprised us by saying she was “good and wet.” 

A few days later, I was in town running errands and ran into this professor in front of a local sex shop. From that moment on, I considered him the coolest professor ever. One day in history class, he even asked the entire class how to say “penis” in Greek. I knew the answer because I had read Bratoljub Kljaić’s Dictionary of Foreign Words, but I hesitated to raise my hand, thinking it would be embarrassing to say it aloud. After a pause, the professor, looking disappointed, revealed that the word he was looking for was “phallus.” I regretted not raising my hand and giving the correct answer; I probably would have gotten a good grade for it. 

In rowing, I became known as the first in my group to shave my pubic area. While some initially criticized me, they soon followed suit and came back the next day with their own shaved areas. 

I liked the way it looked. It reminded me of my early experiences with masturbation back in the suburbs, before I’d gone through puberty and developed pubic hair. 

My father returned from his peacekeeping mission in India and Pakistan, bringing us many gifts. He gave me a brand new HTC HD2 smartphone. 

He brought new smartphones for my siblings, too. The night he returned, I was in my room exploring the features of my new phone. I noticed my brother was also looking at his new phone in his darkened room. When I went to the bathroom, I saw my sister similarly engrossed in her phone. Returning to my room, I continued to explore my phone. It occurred to me that there was something strange about all of us staring at our devices. I suppose a new technological era had arrived in our home.

That winter, Jim and I were invited to Stobreč by a classmate to celebrate New Year’s Eve 2010. Stobreč, a coastal area near Split, is located between the suburbs and the Split itself. It was supposed to be a mixed party with both guys and girls. Feeling hopeful, I shaved my pubic area the night before, not wanting to feel self-conscious if anyone got undressed. When I arrived, however, it turned out to be a low-key New Year’s Eve, nothing like the orgy I’d imagined. I talked to a girl on the balcony, but we didn’t even kiss. Around 3 a.m., when it started raining, my dad picked up Jim and me and drove us home. I was disappointed that I hadn’t hooked up with anyone and felt a strong desire to lose my virginity as soon as possible.

Danny and I discussed smoking weed. He told me he’d tried it and described feeling pleasantly dazed and relaxed. He never pressured me to try it, but my curiosity made me want to experience it for myself. We were 15 years old and had limited access to weed, especially since it was illegal in Croatia. Danny somehow managed to get a few buds for $20. We knew we were overcharged, but we didn’t care. We bought rolling papers and filters, went to a secluded alley in the ghetto, and tried to roll a joint. Both of our rolling skills were awful. In Europe, it’s common to mix weed with tobacco in a spliff, but I didn’t know that. I rolled a joint with pure weed. It was so poorly rolled that when I lit it, it burned up quickly, wasting time, weed, and money. That didn’t discourage me from trying weed again.

I finished my first year of high school with acceptable grades. We celebrated the last day of school at a cafe above our school. We bought a lot of drinks, got drunk, and sang along with an accordion player who was there. As the sunny day turned cloudy, we decided to go swimming at Bačvice beach. I boarded the bus with my classmates, and we headed toward the city center. Just as I was about to get off at the last stop, I threw up on the bus floor. Unlike the last time I’d gotten sick on the bus at night, this time there were other passengers who witnessed it, making me extremely uncomfortable. I glanced at the vomit on the floor and quickly exited the bus. As we walked toward the beach, I apologized for getting drunk and asked for forgiveness. Everyone was understanding. 

When we arrived at the beach, I was exhausted. Entering the shallow water, I kept falling over. I was so drunk that I had to lie down on a bench. To add to my embarrassment, I then saw my sister walk by. 

That summer, Jim, Danny, Barby Jo, and I went to a “matinee” at a club in downtown Split. These parties lasted from 8 pm to 11 pm and were designed for people our age— too old to be stuck at home, but too young to be out all night. Barby Jo bought us a bottle of Jack Daniels and Epic Drinc’s. We mixed drinks, drank, and smoked. The club was crowded, and the DJ mostly played Serbian turbofolk music. Every so often, he’d announce, “There’s a discount on Johnnie Walker mixed with Epicc Drinc, and in the morning, we can all sober up with Nescafe.”

A few days later, Danny told me he’d bought us two pre-rolled joints, and I was very excited. One warm July night, we went to the coast of the Split peninsula to smoke weed. We chose this spot to get as far away from the police and other people as possible. Danny pulled out two joints. It was the first time I’d seen properly rolled, cone-shaped joints. They looked beautiful, like perfectly formed cigarettes. He lit one and started smoking. The earthy scent filled the air, and I loved it. He handed me the joint and told me to inhale three times and then exhale. The grassy smell was wonderful. I took three more puffs and then passed the joint to Danny. After we finished it, he asked how I felt. It wasn’t as intense as I had expected. We smoked the second joint and then had some cigarettes. The cigarette smoke felt different going through me after the weed. 

We went for a walk, but I didn’t feel any particular effect, while Danny seemed to be high. We ran into some of our rowing teammates and told them we’d gotten high. I’d rate my experience a 2 out of 10. One of our teammates even called us junkies. A few months later, at a regatta, I beat him in a race in single sculls. 

I was still determined to try weed again. 

In August, while on Facebook, I noticed a girl named Stacey commenting on Jim’s status. I decided to add her as a friend, and she accepted. We started chatting, and I mentioned that I had recently started smoking weed. She replied that there was some weed in her father’s closet. We exchanged a few more messages and remained Facebook friends. 

A week later, Danny and I were taking an evening walk when we crossed paths with two girls walking the opposite way. I recognized Stacey and stopped to greet her. We exchanged a few words before continuing on our separate ways. I became curious to learn more about this intriguing girl. Over the next few weeks, we chatted on Facebook, and I found out she was 14 years old with a birthday on New Year’s Day. In September, Stacey invited me to her apartment, which was near my high school. I was excited at the prospect of finally having sex, so I brought condoms. I went to her building and took the elevator to her apartment. She opened the door, and I noticed the apartment was dark. We went into her room, and she then mentioned that her grandmother was in another room, so it turned out we weren’t alone. I could have easily had sex with her, but something made me decide to talk to her instead of whispering. This disturbed her grandmother, who came into the room to see what was happening. She was surprised to see me there with Stacey, but Stacey calmed her down by saying we were just hanging out. I felt foolish for missing the opportunity to have sex with her, but I wasn’t ready to give up. 

I started my second year of high school. My academic performance wasn’t as stellar as it had been in elementary school. I’d become unmotivated, simply tired of the constant schooling. First, there was the half-day commitment, and second, the books we were assigned for Croatian class book reports were incredibly boring. 

The only exception was George Orwell’s Animal Farm, which had a somewhat interesting plot. There was also a bizarre book by Franz Kafka called The Metamorphosis, in which a man wakes up one morning to discover he has turned into a giant cockroach. It reminded me of when I watched Wounds with Danny. One character in the film, leaving class with his friend, commented on how boring Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment was. He’d said that in Crime and Punishment, a guy kills a woman, and the rest of the book is about him agonizing over his actions. The character in Wounds then says, “What if the guy had just fucked some hot girl instead? As if they would ever recommend that kind of book to young people…” 

School had already started, and I was in some kind of relationship with Stacey. Barby Jo showed me Stacey’s Facebook profile, saying he found her interesting. I didn’t say anything—no “She’s my girlfriend,” no “Back off, friend,” nothing. I’m not sure why I reacted that way. Then Jim mentioned that I had added her on Facebook and that we were in a relationship. Barby Jo seemed confused, but then said he wouldn’t pursue her. Winter arrived, and I settled into the familiar routine of school and rowing. Danny had found a new girlfriend. She had an ovarian cyst and was on medication similar to contraceptives, which meant Danny could have unprotected sex and ejaculate inside her. I wanted the same thing; condoms felt so unnatural to me. 

On December 11th, my relationship with Stacey became official; we started dating. Our dates usually consisted of going to cafes, drinking coffee and smoking, or walking around Split. Stacey was a heavy smoker, so I found myself smoking more than usual when I was with her. We smoked blue Phillip Morris cigarettes.

It was a blue pack with white filters. One night, we were sitting on Bačvice beach, and it was freezing cold. I held her close and kissed her. We both wanted to have sex, but we had no idea where or how to do it. Our homes were never empty, and neither of us had a car yet. As we walked from Bačvice toward Split, we passed under an overpass where no one was around on that cold night. I stopped her, pushed her against the wall, and started kissing her. I unbuttoned her jacket and touched her intimately. I already had an erection. I pulled her shirt up, revealing her bra. I took off her bra, finally exposing her beautiful breasts with their equally beautiful areolas. There was no time to waste, so I lowered my pants, and she immediately started giving me oral sex. I wasn’t particularly fond of that, but that first time always holds a special place. Just as I thought we were about to have sex right there, two women walked by, cheering and clapping. We laughed, stopped what we were doing, and decided it was time to get dressed and go home.

Stacey had a female friend, the same one who was with her when I first met her. Her name was Melissa. Even though I was in a relationship with Stacey, I wouldn’t have minded sleeping with both of them. That’s why I accepted Stacey’s invitation to celebrate New Year’s Eve 2011 with the two of them. The weather was nice and calm, and we went to Bačvice to drink and smoke. At midnight, Split erupted with the sounds and colors of fireworks and firecrackers. Melissa immediately wished Stacey a happy birthday and New Year. Since she’d just turned 15, I wished her a happy birthday as well. We took pictures, had fun, and then went home. 

In the winter of 2011, I turned 16 and received my first ID card. It felt like a ticket to the adult world. I could stay out past midnight, and Stacey could be with me because I now had proof of age. 

I found an old VHS tape of me and my brother’s baptism. Since we no longer owned a VCR, I took it to a store to have it transferred to a CD. Watching the video again, I pointed out to my mom that I was making a strange, almost devilish gesture with my hand. She told me that all newborns do that. 

Whenever I went on a date with Stacey, she would ask me to walk her home. She lived in a neighborhood near my high school. It was a somewhat rough area, and her parents preferred that I escort her home to ensure her safety. We would usually wait for the last bus, as she had an 11:30 pm curfew. After long kissing and hugging sessions in front of her building, I’d have to catch the last bus home. Eventually, we started staying out later and later, which meant I had to walk. It was a 35-45 minute walk, depending on how fast I went, but I considered it a sacrifice for her. One night, as we walked toward her apartment, we passed a group of guys who had known her for years. She spoke to them, said something they didn’t like, and one of them called her “a stupid bitch.” I didn’t react at all; I just stood there silently, scared, until we moved on. I wish I could’ve stood up for her. 

In April, we went for a run around the peninsula one afternoon. I took her to a trail that ran between the upper and lower coastal roads. As we were running, dusk began to fall, and we were alone on the trail. I became aroused and positioned her on a rock by the path, so she was sitting down, and then I lowered her pants. I pulled her panties down, revealing her wet vulva. I was eager to penetrate her as quickly as possible, so I hurriedly lowered my own pants. As my pants came down, my erect penis was exposed. I looked at her eager face and slowly moved closer to her. I gently inserted my penis into her vagina, and it was the hottest, wettest, and most pleasurable feeling of my life. I thrust a few times, and we both enjoyed it. 

Unfortunately, I felt like I was about to ejaculate, so I pulled my penis out of her.

I then asked her to kneel in front of me, and I began to masturbate while she took my penis in her mouth. I ejaculated into her mouth, finally experiencing sweet release. She swallowed my semen and commented that it was “salty.” We got dressed and headed home. Almost immediately, I began to worry that she might be pregnant because I had penetrated her without a condom. I started to panic, wondering if the pre-ejaculate had gotten her pregnant, or if I had ejaculated inside her without realizing it. I regretted my first sexual experience; it felt like a total failure. She reassured me, saying that everything would be fine. 

One Sunday in May, probably May 15th, my little cousin from the suburbs had her Holy Communion. My family and I went to my aunt and godfather’s house in the suburbs for the celebratory lunch. Afterwards, my brother, a cousin, a young man, and I went to a local soccer field to play and hang out. On the way home, I got a text from Stacey asking what I was up to. I told her I was at a communion lunch and wasn’t sure when I’d be home. We exchanged a few more texts, and I mentioned that I could head home earlier. I told my parents I was going to leave the Communion celebration early to go to Split and hang out with friends. I left and started walking toward the shore to catch a bus, as bus service to and from the suburbs was limited on Sundays. I walked quickly to the bus stop and finally boarded a bus that took me closer to home. I went to my apartment and texted Stacey to come over. 

When she entered the apartment, we immediately started kissing. We went to my room and helped each other undress. We were finally naked in front of each other and I told her to lie down on the bed. 

When she lay down, she spread her legs, and her face and body were lustful.  

I lay on top of her and kissed her lips and neck. She moaned softly as I squeezed her breasts. I nipped at her nipples like a hungry wolf, licking them, then her whole breasts. I then moved down to a good position to lick her vulva. I started with one long, slow lick from the bottom to her clitoris. She moaned a little louder, and I was thrilled by the taste of her juices. I was thirsty for them and continued to lick her sweet vulva. I inserted two fingers and began moving them as if I were beckoning her, gently teasing her. Her body twitched. I stopped and reached for a condom. 

My penis had never been so fully and rigidly erect, but I somehow managed to roll the condom on from top to bottom. As the scent of latex filled the air, I put some saliva on my hand to lubricate my penis. I looked at her young body and her lustful face. I inserted my penis into her vagina, but now, with the condom on, I felt far from climaxing. I began thrusting gently, and we both made sounds of pleasure. I continued for a while longer, and it felt amazing. First, I had sex with her in the missionary position, watching her breasts move with the rhythm. Then I pulled her close and continued in the same position. She moaned and seemed to enjoy it. As I held her close, I kissed her neck and gently pulled her hair. She responded, “Yes, DO THAT!” I got up and turned her onto her stomach. I told her to spread her legs for me, and then I penetrated her from behind. I thrust into her rhythmically, and she started to scream. I loved the sight of my penis going in and out of her vagina as I pressed against her buttocks. I hugged her from behind, reaching for her soft breasts. I then grabbed her shoulders and pressed myself hard against her as I continued. I turned her onto her back and entered her from above. We slowed down the pace, and the sex became more tender and loving. I licked her neck and kissed her lips. I pulled my penis out of her vagina to lick her breasts some more. I licked her latex-flavored vulva, and then I’d had enough. I took off the condom and lay on my back. I told her to take the tip of my penis in her mouth and get ready to swallow my semen. I masturbated and finally ejaculated a large amount into her mouth. I was satisfied, and so was she. We lay naked next to each other and cuddled, discussing our experience and happy with how it went. It was my first time having sex, but not hers. 

At school, I asked Barby Jo if I could use his dorm room to spend time with Stacey. He agreed, and one evening, I took her there, and we had a intimate experience together. I kept up my successful rowing career, and one summer afternoon after practice, a guy named Harry, who was a few years older than me, invited me to join his newly formed group. They were focused on recreating the lifestyle of ancient Rome. The aim of our group was to create a performance featuring the marching of the Roman army and gladiator battles. Harry and one of his friends purchased replicas of 1st-century Roman soldier armor, swords, spears, and other equipment. Danny’s father contributed by crafting wooden shields. 

Even though Split was established in the early 4th century, we relied on the fact that people’s ideas of Roman soldiers were shaped by Hollywood movies, so we aimed to match their expectations of what a Roman soldier should look like.

My role was to be a gladiator, and I began training with a few of Harry’s peers. One of them was an experienced martial arts expert who had a deep understanding of combat, movement, and how to execute or evade attacks. Together, we worked on creating a choreographed routine that mimicked a gladiator battle. We practiced using wooden swords and makeshift shields. I struggled with coordination, and my movements felt awkward and unnatural. 

The following day, I told Danny about my gladiator training, and he asked Harry if he could join us. Harry agreed, so Danny participated in his first gladiator session. It turned out he was much more agile and quick than I was. As a result, I ended up taking on the role of a Roman soldier, marching and forming formations like the famous ‘turtle shape.’ We had to develop a choreographed routine so we could earn money from performances. Our second way of making money was by taking photos with tourists in the center of Split. 

Tourism in Split was booming during those years, especially in the summer when visitors from around the world flocked to the city. We would dress in replicas of ancient Roman tunics, sandals, metal armor, helmets, and carry swords, spears, and, of course, a pouch to collect money. Everyone wanted a photo with guys dressed as Roman soldiers, and we capitalized on that. After snapping a picture with us, we’d politely ask for a tip, and most people were happy to oblige. It was my first job and it was so simple. I knew English well and had good communication skills. I was happy that Harry introduced me to his community, and my parents were happy too. I bonded even more with Danny because he was my age in that group, while the others were a few years older. 

We rotated in four-hour shifts, and it turned out to be quite profitable for all of us.

On warm summer days, Stacey and I would head to the sea for a swim. We often went to Bačvice beach, swimming out to the buoys that separated the swimming area from the boat zone. While there, I kissed her and began caressing her gently underwater with my fingers. She couldn’t resist and gave in to the sensations. On summer nights, we would go swimming on the peninsula. We’d walk along the shore until we found a secluded little beach. There, we swam naked, and it felt magical. After getting out of the water, we started with some foreplay. I suggested we try the 69 position, with her on top. I pleasured her while she took me into her mouth. I encouraged her to suck gently, and afterward, we shared an intimate and passionate experience. 

In the summer of 2011, I was at a mall near my building with Stacey when my father and brother Henry unexpectedly showed up. I introduced them to Stacey, as no one in my family had known about our relationship until then. A few days later, my mom suggested I bring Stacey over to our house, so I did. I introduced her to my family, and while I was occupied with something else, Stacey and my mom had a conversation. 

Later, when we were alone, Stacey told me they had talked about my mom’s second pregnancy, which hadn’t gone well. It was a pregnancy that occurred between my birth and my brother’s in 1997. The pregnancy lasted a few weeks, but the embryo didn’t survive. During the winter, I traveled to the island of Brač for a rowing regatta. When we returned to Split, Stacey asked me to meet her at a café. When I saw her, she seemed deeply upset. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she had experienced a miscarriage.

I felt confused and sad, though not as heartbroken as she was. The event had a profound impact on her. 

We moved forward and continued our relationship, including being intimate, as though nothing had changed. Occasionally, she would bring up the topic, and I would do my best to comfort her. During that time, I also met one of her friends from the neighborhood, who happened to be a drug dealer. He became our go-to source whenever we wanted to get weed. 

Back then, we were paying $15 for 1/28 oz of weed, and we could manage the cost. One night, we were in a park in the center of Split. We found a shaded bench to hide on, and I rolled a joint. We smoked it and got pretty high. At first, we were laughing and having a good time, but eventually, I started experiencing some unsettling hallucinations. I kept seeing movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, no one was there. Eventually, the hallucinations stopped, but they started up again briefly before I managed to shake them off. We headed to the bus, which was running late. At the bus stop, it was just us and another younger couple. Out of nowhere, an unmarked police car pulled up, and two officers stepped out. They were dressed in plain clothes but identified themselves as police and showed their badges to the other couple. I was too high to feel scared, though I was slightly concerned. Luckily for us, the girl from the other couple started arguing with the police. She was an orphan and wasn’t supposed to be out at that hour. They ended up arresting her and taking both her and her boyfriend to the police station. The officers asked me to show my ID, which I did. After checking it, they left. I was extremely fortunate they didn’t search me for drugs, as I still had some weed in my pocket. 

The next day, Stacey and I went to a café in a shopping mall near my building. Stacey’s mom texted her, telling her to come home with me. We weren’t sure what to expect but knew we had to go. We took the bus to her place and entered her apartment. It was my first time meeting her parents, and they were both visibly upset. Stacey and I were confused about why they were so angry until her mom took us to her parents’ room. 

They had a computer there, and Stacey’s Facebook account was still logged in—she had forgotten to log out. Her mom had read through her messages, including some about buying weed from her friend. Her mom asked me if she should contact my parents, and I said ‘no,’ which made her even angrier. In the end, she didn’t reach out to my parents but punished Stacey. Her father then sent me home. 

During the winter months that followed, Stacey and I went on a few more dates. Since we had no place to be intimate and it was too cold outside, the most we could do was get to ‘second base,’ and I would finger her. I loved the lingering scent on my fingers as I headed home afterward.

January 

My father went on another peacekeeping mission to India and Pakistan. At the start of 2012, I was 17 and a half years old. Around that time, there was a prom held at a hotel in my neighborhood, and I brought Stacey as my date. 

We all couldn’t help but admire our attractive MILF professor—even Stacey did. I was a skilled writer, and the MILF professor always complimented my work. For the prom, I was tasked with writing poems about the teachers, which were traditionally read at the event. I wrote around 15 to 20 poems, each creatively describing a different professor. Rhyming came naturally to me, and I found it simple and fun. By the end of the night, though, I felt down and went outside to sit alone. Stacey found me and asked what was wrong. I didn’t have a clear answer, but I think it was the sense that there had to be something more out there for me than just a mediocre prom. 

I injured my back while rowing and went for an MRI, which revealed two protruding spinal discs. I blamed my coach for pushing me too hard without properly teaching the correct rowing technique. When he saw my MRI results, he dismissed my concerns, insisting that I was making a fuss over nothing and could continue training. Frustrated, I decided to quit rowing. 

March 

In the spring of 2012, my high school class had an excursion. Our entire year— surveyors, construction technicians, and architects—was set to travel to Prague, Czech Republic. Just a few days before the trip, Stacey was hospitalized for some reason, so I went to visit her. The day before my departure, when we talked about the trip, she became hysterical and almost didn’t want me to go. I suspected she was afraid I might cheat on her. 

One morning in March, we all met in front of the school and boarded the bus. Since we surveyors thought we were cool, we took seats at the back. Right from the start, we played Serbian turbofolk music, but quickly turned it off since it was still too early. As we headed north, I sat next to Jim. As we neared the Slovenian border, we made a stop and got off the bus. One guy pulled out some weed and began rolling the thickest joint I had ever seen. He ground up massive chunks of buds like he had an endless supply at home and didn’t have a care in the world. When we lit it up, I experienced the best high of my life—at least up to that moment.  

I put on my sunglasses and headed over to meet Jim and Barby Joe, who were sitting at a nearby café. As I laughed uncontrollably, they looked at me curiously, wondering what was going on. 

That’s when I admitted that I was high. I was having a great time—until it was time to cross the border. The guide grabbed the bus microphone and instructed everyone to take off their sunglasses and keep a straight face. Panic set in. I snapped a few pictures of myself and saw that my eyes were bloodshot and half-closed—I was convinced the border guards would arrest me on the spot. 

At the border, we stepped off the bus, and despite my paranoia, I somehow made it through without any issues. We reboarded and continued our journey to the Czech Republic. After spending the night in Graz, Austria, we finally arrived in Prague the next day. The city was stunning, and I couldn’t help but admire our bus driver for maneuvering through its streets so effortlessly. 

Once we checked into the hotel, I shared a room with Jim and Barby Joe. Wasting no time, I covered the smoke detector with a small plastic bag and lit a cigarette. Later, after dinner, I stepped outside for another smoke. A guy nearby was openly smoking weed—after all, it was legal in the Czech Republic. 

I wanted to buy some weed but had no idea where to find it. Some guys from the construction technician class attempted to score from some sketchy dealers in an alley, only to realize later that they had been scammed with a piece of rubber in a plastic bag. 

The following evening, we headed to a nightclub that had been converted from an old church. A DJ was playing Balkan music on what used to be the altar, while our professors sat above us in the area where the choir once stood. I was on the dance floor at a table, drinking with Jim and Barby Joe, soaking in the surreal atmosphere. 

I was so committed to drinking that I downed a glass in one go and slammed it on the table to prove my intensity and determination. Barby Jo grinned and said, “THAT’S the kind of drinking buddy I need!” 

Out of nowhere, the unmistakable scent of weed filled the air. Curious, I scanned the club and spotted a guy lounging on a couch across from our table, casually smoking a joint. Without hesitation, I walked over and asked him where he got his stash. 

He told me he had a connection in Prague and handed me a joint. I took a few hits, realizing how surreal the moment was—I was getting high in a club that was once a church, while our oblivious professors sat up in the choir section. 

The mix of weed and alcohol hit me hard. I felt unstoppable, dancing and singing on the couch like I owned the place. Then, as if the universe was in on the joke, a song about weed started playing, making the whole experience even more unreal. 

It was Kokuz by Dubioza Kolektiv, and the lyrics went: “due to the world crisis, I don’t have enough money for rolling papers, there is no ganja neither, I need some.” I couldn’t resist dancing to it, pretending to roll and smoke a joint, and my classmates laughed along. After we left the club, Jim, Barby Jo, and I made our way back to the hotel. 

On the way, a group of guys from Spain approached us and asked if we had any cocaine. For a moment, I was caught off guard, but I quickly responded with a firm “no” and carried on. Back in the hotel room, we took a few pictures, and I eventually passed out. 

The next morning, we decided to “rent” a hookah from the hotel and smoke. When I checked out the photos from the night before, I noticed my eyes were red and sleepy, but honestly, the whole experience was worth it. I had a blast during the trip, and getting high made it all the more memorable. 

The next night, we headed to another club, and I ran into the weed guy once more. We were outside the club, smoking when just as I was about to take another hit, a police car drove by. It felt like I had activated some cheat code from GTA San Andreas to escape the cops, and it was like they couldn’t catch me. 

We spent the next few days exploring Prague before heading home. On the way back, we stopped in Vienna, Austria, and visited an amusement park. I tried the slingshot ride, where Jim and I sat in two connected seats facing up, and then we were shot about 50 feet into the air. As we reached the highest point, the seats rotated so we were facing down before we started plummeting. The adrenaline was incredible, almost like jumping off a cliff at Bačvice. 

Eventually, we made it back to Split, and life quickly returned to the normal school routine. 

A few weeks later, Jim, Danny, and I traveled to Bosnia and Herzegovina to visit Barby Jo. The ride took about an hour and a half. He lived in a village called Klobuk, near the town of Ljubuški. Barby Jo was a great host and welcomed us along with his family, who offered us food and drinks. That evening, he drove us to a nightclub in Posušje called ‘Elephant,’ where there was a concert by Boban Rajović. Jim, Danny, and I got drunk, while Barby Jo stayed sober to drive us back. We spent the night at his place. The next day, we had lunch outside his house. We sat at one end of a long table, while his family and some of their friends, including a priest, sat at the other end. As the priest talked with Barby Jo’s parents, Barby Jo mentioned that the priest was highly knowledgeable, a good person, and well-informed about many things. Listening to this, I felt inspired and wished to have that same depth of knowledge someday. 

A few days later, we had a math class with a new teacher. We waited outside the classroom until she arrived to unlock the door and let us in. She was an older woman but still attractive. As she walked past us to the door, she was far enough away that Jim felt comfortable making a comment, saying he would have slept with her if he were an older man. I thought to myself that I would have slept with her right then and there. The math class itself was pretty dull, but at the end, she mentioned she’d be willing to tutor anyone who needed extra help at her home. Since I really needed the assistance, I got her phone number after class. I contacted her the next day, and she gave me her address. When I arrived the following day, she answered the door wearing a two-piece pajama set. 

We met, and she let me in. Once I sat down at the table, I realized we were alone. We started studying, and she was a great help. We talked about my future education, and she asked me where I wanted to go to college. I told her I was interested in geodesy, but more importantly, I wanted to make educational videos to improve the education system and ultimately change the world. She was pleasantly surprised and smiled. Her smile was beautiful, and I wondered what it would be like to sleep with an older woman like her. I assumed she was menopausal and couldn’t get pregnant, which made me think how wonderful it would be to ejaculate inside her. Time ran out, and I left. From that moment on, I wanted to meet an older, experienced, and serious woman to explore a sexual relationship with.

April 

My English teacher informed me that another English teacher from our school had invited me to a spelling competition in Zagreb called “English in Action.” Other students were also going to compete in persuasive speech and acting. I accepted the invitation, and about two weeks later, I took a bus to Zagreb with the English teacher and several students from my school. The group consisted of several young men and women. We arrived in Zagreb and checked into our hostel. 

The spelling competition was scheduled for the afternoon and was held at a nearby hotel. We went to a seminar room that had seating for the competitors in one section and spectators in another. Near the competitors’ seats was a table for the judges. I sat down in one of the competitor chairs, and the first few seats remained empty. The judges began the competition and asked us to move to the front seats. I volunteered to go first. There was a microphone nearby, and each competitor had to go up, spell the word correctly, and then return to their seat if they were right. The judges asked me to stand up and spell my first word. This wasn’t officially part of the competition, but a warm-up demonstration for me and the others. I went to the microphone and had to repeat the word I heard from the judges, spell it, and then repeat it again.

My first word was “population.” I visualized the word by “writing” it on my palm, which amused some of the audience. I correctly spelled it out loud: “population, P-O-P-U-L-A-T-I-O-N, population.” The judge confirmed I was right, and I was off to a good start. The competition narrowed down from about 20-30 people to just four of us. I was doing well until my turn came up again, and I had to spell “drudgery.” I hesitated for a moment and then attempted “D-R-U-G-G-G-E-R-Y.” The judge said “incorrect,” and my time in the competition was over. But I learned a new word that day! 

After the spelling bee finished, they held the persuasive speech contest. A guy from my school competed, but he didn’t do very well. After that competition, we all had dinner at the hotel. Afterwards, we went out to explore Zagreb, get a drink, and smoke. We returned to the hostel to get ready for bed, but no one was actually ready to sleep. One guy was trying to flirt with a girl, but she told him she had a boyfriend. 

The next morning, the acting competition was held, and several students from my school performed. They didn’t win, but it didn’t matter; we all had fun. In the afternoon, they held the awards ceremony, where the top three teams or individuals in each category received a prize. The judges also announced that special prizes would be given to those who finished fourth. That included me, and I was so proud to go on stage and receive my award. In the evening, we packed our bags and took the bus back to Split. We had a good time on the highway. We arrived at the Split bus station, got off, and said our goodbyes. I headed toward the local bus station, dragging my luggage behind me. The girl who had mentioned having a boyfriend earlier followed me. 

As we approached the bus station, she said, “I’d like to see you naked.” I immediately backed away and told her, “Don’t say that.” We then went our separate ways home.

May 

In May, we all took the state graduation exam, and my results were average. We applied to colleges online, where we could list multiple choices in case we didn’t get into our first choice. My top choice was geodesy, followed by civil engineering. I also included the Faculty of Teacher Education, and my last choice was the acting academy. While the acting academy was my last choice online, it was my true passion. I dreamed of becoming an actor and starring in films that would make the world a better place. This desire to change the world was also reflected in my interest in the Faculty of Teacher Education. 

My family and I regularly talked to my dad via Skype. 

I was finally old enough to enroll in driving school. After passing the required medical exam, I signed up at a local driving school and began taking classes. There was only one other student in the class, a very annoying girl. She was so irritating because whenever the instructor asked a question and I didn’t know the answer, she would immediately jump in with all her “knowledge,” making me feel put on the spot. I survived having that annoying girl in my class, though I suspected it wasn’t her first time at driving school. After I passed the written exam, it was time for the practical driving lessons. I was nervous at first, but I eventually got the hang of it. I drove instinctively, and the instructor usually just pointed out road signs and other details. Eventually, I overcame that hurdle too. 

I had one particularly bad experience while driving on the highway. There were two lanes leading to the exit, and I was in the right lane. When the instructor told me to change lanes to the left, I didn’t check my blind spot and almost caused a collision with a nearby truck. The instructor, though trying to remain calm, was clearly upset and disappointed. He exclaimed something like, “Oh my God, how could you even…?” in a somewhat hysterical tone. I just held back tears and tried to drive as normally as possible. Despite this incident, I managed to pass my driving test on the first try, though one of the examiners did remark that I spent too long checking my mirrors. 

I got my driver’s license in the summer and immediately went for my first drive with my mom and siblings. Mom was nervous and kept wanting me to pull over, but she eventually relaxed and let me drive. I also remember my first drive with Danny. It was at night, and Danny borrowed his parents’ car. We drove all over the city. I made an illegal U-turn and someone honked at me, but overall, it was a good experience. It was so good that at the end of the night, as we were walking back to Danny’s house, just minutes before we were about to park the car, I realized we had driven the entire time without the headlights on. 

I turned 18, which meant I could legally buy cigarettes and alcohol, as well as gamble without any restrictions. 

Stacey and I were excited about my new driver’s license, as it meant we finally had a private place to have sex. I took her for a drive around town, we grabbed a drink, and then I drove to a secluded spot where people sometimes went to have sex in their cars. There were a few such places near Split, and we chose one on the peninsula. We climbed into the back seat, and after some foreplay, we started having sex. Sex in the car was surprisingly great because of the specific position and the design of the back seat; it was even better than a bed. Our sessions lasted between 45 minutes and an hour. We alternated between aggressive, almost porn-like sex and gentle, loving intimacy. At the end of each session, Stacey would ask me to keep going a little longer, so I always did. 

Stacey’s friend Melissa invited us to her seaside cottage, about an hour’s drive north along the coast. We were all excited to be alone and have some privacy. We made a meal, and after eating, we smoked some weed. We went swimming, and then evening came. We watched TV and went to bed. Stacey and I were in one room, and Melissa was in the other. As Stacey and I were having sex, I asked her why she hadn’t suggested a threesome with Melissa. Stacey had mentioned to me recently that Melissa was on birth control pills, and I was interested in sleeping with her and ejaculating inside her. 

The threesome, however, never happened. I spent the night with Stacey, and we slept naked. The next morning, I woke up, and she told me she hadn’t slept well because she enjoyed watching me sleep. I noticed a red rash on my penis and worried that it might be a sexually transmitted disease. The next day, we returned to Split, and I went to the doctor about the rash. He told me I needed a urethral swab to check for bacteria. The following day, I went to the clinic for the procedure, completely unaware of what I was about to experience. When I entered the room, the technician told me to take off my pants and lie down on the bed. I did, and then he told me to hold on tight. He took what looked like a cotton swab and inserted it into the opening of my penis. It was incredibly painful. He repeated the process, and it hurt again. When I got home and tried to urinate, it felt like I was peeing broken glass. I had to go, but I had to force myself to overcome the pain. The lab results came back negative for harmful bacteria, and I never went back to that doctor. I concluded that the rash was probably caused by sleeping naked and rubbing my penis against the sheets. 

My rash cleared up, and I continued to have sex with Stacey. Our sexual appetites grew with each encounter. We got bored with regular sex and wanted to try something different. One evening, we decided to role-play as business professionals meeting for a discreet encounter. I was supposed to pick her up, and we’d start a fictional conversation related to work. However, halfway to our usual secluded spot, I gave up, and she did too. It just wasn’t our thing. 

She confided in me that she had been raped at the age of 13, which was how she lost her virginity. One night, while discussing sex, we decided to experiment with some new things. I role-played raping her, including choking and slapping her, though not with full force, so as not to leave any visible marks. She enjoyed being slapped during sex and having her hair pulled. It wasn’t something I was personally into, but I did it for her. 

One summer day, we went swimming in Stobreč. We rented a kayak, and I paddled us around Stobreč and towards Split. On the way, I noticed some new beaches, and Stacey told me her dad had said they were known as “gay beaches” because they were popular spots for gay people to hang out. It was a secluded area with a narrow strip of coastline separated by slopes and the sea. The slopes were eroded, and there were no houses or buildings nearby. There were just a lot of pine trees and man-made paths leading from the top of the slopes down to the coast. I saw some nudists on those beaches. We almost reached the Split area by kayak, but we were still parallel to the “gay beaches.” I paddled to one of the beaches and we secured the kayak. Since we were alone, I suggested Stacey take off her bra, which she did, and I stripped naked as well. We probably would have had sex if a naked man hadn’t walked by. Then, a mosquito bit my testicle. We decided to head back to Stobreč to return the kayak. 

One day, my dad called us on Skype. We all talked to him in the living room, but I felt like the conversation was pointless and boring. Mom eventually sent us all to our rooms and closed the living room door. She also closed the hallway door, so my siblings and I were confined to our rooms. At some point, I tried to go back to the living room, but I realized the door was locked. Then, I heard my mom moaning. I realized she was having virtual sex with my dad. I thought how pathetic that was.

I would sometimes visit Stacey’s house and see her parents, who were no longer upset with us about smoking weed. Neither our parents knew we smoked cigarettes, though I suspected Stacey’s parents at least suspected. They would let us go to her room to watch a movie. Sometimes I would give Stacey a back massage. Then her mom would come in to “check” on us and would always jokingly ask, “When’s my turn?” It made me wonder what it would be like to sleep with Stacey’s mom. I occasionally masturbated while thinking about her. 

I’d been researching ways to increase my penis size. I came across countless techniques and promises from scam artists, but I realized they weren’t worth my time. I was looking for a natural way to enlarge my penis, and one day I found a website called pegym.com. It claimed to offer methods for penis enlargement using specific tools and exercises. Since I was 18, I created an account and logged into the forums. I explored the forums and saw many subforums, including ones dedicated to premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction, and even foreskin restoration. I was a novice on the subject, so I started researching penis enlargement techniques and everything related to it. The first step was to warm up my penis, either with warm running water or by wrapping it in a warm, damp cloth. I chose the warm water method. 

Next, the instructions said to get my penis to about 60-70% erection and then perform an exercise called “jelqing.” This involved a “milking” motion, similar to how you’d milk a cow. The goal was to increase blood flow to the penis, which was believed to increase both its length and girth. When I compared my own penis size to the average, I realized I was already above average in both length and especially girth.

However, I didn’t consider my penis to be exceptionally large. I tried my first penis enlargement exercise, which involved warming up and then jelqing, and it felt good. I was simply trying to enhance my size to please Stacey even more. After the session, I noticed a few red dots on my penis. I researched what they were and found out they were neither a good nor a bad sign. I chose to interpret them as a good sign, since I hadn’t been forcing the exercises. I told Stacey about the penis enlargement techniques I was trying, and she was happy to hear it. A few weeks later, after we had sex, she said she felt a difference in the size of my penis, even though I hadn’t actually measured it. I concluded that either the quality of my erections had improved, or she was just being nice to me. 

I often went out in the evenings to smoke weed by myself. I would go to a secluded part of the forest on the peninsula, away from the coast, to avoid getting caught by the police. 

Other times, I would drive my car to the beach, get high, and then listen to a radio station where people were praying the rosary. I would laugh and say out loud, “You’re all crazy, that is completely unnecessary!” Then I would switch the radio from FM to AM. I discovered some music with an Eastern European sound, probably picking up a signal from somewhere else in the Balkans. It was a regular song, and I just babbled along to it while I was high. 

I watched a lot of porn at home; I couldn’t seem to get enough. Even Stacey watched porn. I remember one night at her place when we watched it together. I continued to go out and enjoy smoking weed. Stacey and I also started going to casinos. We played roulette, but only placed small bets for fun. It felt great to be in that adult environment, smoking while sitting next to the roulette table. 

One evening, me, Stacey, Jim and Danny went to a concert by Dragana Mirković at the “Hemingway” club. Stacey just had to be there with me, God forbid I only went with Jim and Danny. I got used to her presence with me and my friends. The concert was great, and I even took a picture with Dragana Mirković herself while I was on stage. 

Over the summer, auditions for the acting academy were held. I spoke with some of the actors to get a better understanding of what the judges were looking for in prospective students. I had to memorize three monologues and perform them in front of the judges. I chose two existing monologues and wrote my own poem, hoping to catch the judges’ attention. About 30 people were auditioning for the acting academy, some of whom were auditioning for the 4th or 5th time. When it was my turn, I went inside. The judges were seated at a table, and I began my first monologue. My first monologue went pretty well, but during the second one, I forgot my lines and got flustered. I stood there in silence, feeling ashamed, but eventually, I remembered them. I finished by reciting my poem, and the judges seemed genuinely impressed. I left the academy and went for a drink with some of the other auditionees.

Later, we returned to the academy to see the results. 

One of the other auditionees passed, but I was among those who didn’t. I went home disappointed, but I got over it, comforted by the fact that I had at least tried my best. 

Stacey and I started getting high more frequently. One night, I was riding my bike home after getting high, and I was alone on the road. I was staring down at my feet pedaling when I hit the curb and fell off my bike. Luckily, no one was around, especially the police. I got up, continued cycling home, but ended up with a large scratch on my leg. 

In September, the college acceptance results came in, and I was accepted into the Faculty of Civil Engineering. I had been 33rd on the list for Geodesy, which only had a capacity of 30 students. At the Faculty of Civil Engineering, I met some new people who also liked to smoke weed, so we mostly focused on how and when to get high, and studying took a backseat. 

The day after class, I had plans to go out with Stacey, but my classmates invited me to smoke weed with them after class. I told Stacey I was going with them and then turned off my phone. We went to smoke, and I was in charge of rolling the joint since no one else knew how. I felt a sense of pride, even though my rolling skills were still just okay. We smoked and then went to a café, hung out for a while, and then went home. When I checked my phone, I had missed calls and texts from Stacey. She was angry that I hadn’t gone out with her and seemed to want to control who I spent my time with.

I met a cute girl at college, and I got bored with Stacey and wanted to cheat on her. I messaged the new girl, and we met at a café. She told me she liked to read erotic novels. We chatted for a bit, and then I went to meet Stacey. She told me her period was late, so we went to buy a pregnancy test. She asked me where I had been, and I couldn’t come up with a good answer. I confessed that I’d been with another girl, and she was furious. We went to another café, where she took the test, which came back negative. 

October 

In October, my college friends and I decided to go to Omiš to stay at one of our friend’s houses. One Friday evening after classes, we took the bus to Omiš. We arrived at a house that was typically rented to tourists during the summer; it was located near the sea. We rolled joints, got some drinks, and I enjoyed their company. I got so drunk and high that I eventually fell asleep on the bed. I woke up the next morning feeling great and saw that one of my friends was still awake. I suspected he had taken some speed to stay up all night. We left the house, and it felt wonderful to take the bus back home. 

December 

Stacey and I went out to celebrate New Year’s Eve 2013. I rolled four joints to prepare for the night. We went to a club, but the music was boring, so we went outside by the sea with a lot of other young people. We smoked three joints and had a good time. Then Stacey’s father came to pick us up. He didn’t realize we were high and drove me home to my neighborhood. I had one joint left, so I decided to smoke it in the stairwell of my building. I went up to the top floor where there was no elevator shaft and lit it up. The automatic lights went out, and it was just me smoking in the darkness and silence. 

Every so often, the elevator would beep as people presumably returned from their New Year’s Eve celebrations.

I was dissatisfied with how I’d spent New Year’s Eve 2013. That old feeling from growing up in the suburbs, that there must be a better way to celebrate, resurfaced. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and threw up on the staircase. It took me a while to compose myself, and then I went down to my apartment, grabbed a cloth, and went back up to clean up the vomit. I returned home, and even though it was 5 in the morning, the night still felt young to me. I turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels. I stopped at CNN, which was broadcasting New Year’s Eve celebrations in New York. It was interesting to watch other people who seemed genuinely happy, or at least good at pretending to be.

At the beginning of 2013, I was 18 years old. Stacey had another miscarriage and was deeply depressed. It was likely caused by the abortion pill she had taken previously. The gynecologist told her she would probably never be able to have children. I didn’t know how to help her. 

She told me she’d been contacted by a woman from Serbia who claimed to be her biological mother. Apparently, Stacey had been adopted. She told me that she eventually met her biological family, who came to Split to see her. When she met her parents and siblings, one of her siblings spat in her face. She ran home after that. Stacey has remained in contact with her biological father.

He informed her that her biological mother had been killed in a car accident. This news deeply affected Stacey, and she struggled to function at school. She began experiencing insomnia, sometimes going 2-3 days without sleep. As a result of the trauma and lack of sleep, she eventually started having hallucinations. 

One spring evening, we went on a date. After I sent her home, I went for a walk towards my own house. A minute or two later, she was suddenly there, running towards me and crying hysterically. She told me she had seen the dead body of her biological mother on the floor of her apartment building. I comforted her until she stopped crying, calmed down, and then went home. 

A few days later, we were at Stacey’s house, in her room. She told me she saw a man dressed in black standing by the window. I looked, but there was no one there. She started crying and said the man was insulting her and laughing at her. I didn’t know what to do. Then, while still crying, she pulled a doll out of the closet and told me she wanted to have a baby. 

She managed to live a relatively normal life, and I wanted to support her as much as I could. Somehow, our relationship continued, but it wasn’t the same as before. 

One evening, Stacey and I went for a run. We went to Bačvice to run along the sea. It was windy, and the sea was wavy. On the way, we ran into her cousin, who was a police officer. She introduced us, and then we continued on to Bačvice. We ran to try and counteract our lifestyle, which was filled with cigarettes and marijuana.

We ran east from Bačvice, towards Stobreč, and she was running on her tiptoes. I told her that my rowing coach had taught us that short sprints are done on your toes, while longer distances are run on your heels. This led to an argument between us in a public place, while people walked by. We stopped running and started walking. Stacey would stop every now and then to emphasize her point. As we approached the “gay beaches” that separated Split and Stobreč, our argument escalated to the point where I felt like I wanted to die just to make her stop bothering me. I started running towards the Stobreč, intending to drown myself. I could hear Stacey running and screaming after me, but I eventually lost her and continued running alone. 

I reached the “gay beaches,” and my phone started ringing. It was Stacey. I answered, and she cried and told me to come back. I didn’t say anything, hung up, and kept running until I reached the middle of the beaches. The phone rang again, and this time it was her cousin, the policeman. I put the phone down and started wading into the choppy sea. I walked until the water reached my hips. Suddenly, a large wave crashed into me, pushing me back and almost knocking me over. I stopped trying to drown myself and returned to the shore, mostly soaked. The phone rang again, and I answered. It was her cousin. I told him I’d be back. I returned to where I had started running, and Stacey and her cousin were there. He gave me his hoodie so I wouldn’t get sick, and we got into his car. I don’t remember anyone saying anything; they just drove me home.

A few weeks later, it was a beautiful, sunny day, and I was wearing sunglasses. I drove to Stacey’s apartment, and we went to a coffee shop. Afterwards, we were in the parking lot smoking cigarettes when we somehow got into another argument. I told her I wanted to break up, and she replied that I had “impregnated her with two children who were aborted, so I have to repay her somehow.” Then she started crying, saying she wanted her mom and her babies back. I broke down and started crying. I hugged her, but it felt meaningless. I drove her home and then went for a drive myself. I headed toward the suburbs, crying as I drove. I hoped no other drivers would notice, hiding my tears behind sunglasses. Halfway to the suburbs, I decided to drive there and kill myself by crashing into a wall near an industrial zone. I stopped crying and wondered if this was the end. But it wasn’t. I slowly drove past the wall. I parked the car nearby and stayed there to calm down. Suddenly, I saw another car approaching, and I recognized my aunt from the suburbs inside. She looked confused to see me there, and we barely waved at each other. 

The next day, I went to the hardware store to buy a hose that I planned to connect to my car’s exhaust pipe to kill myself with carbon monoxide. I didn’t find the right hose and went home. On the walk back, I inhaled exhaust fumes from passing cars, hoping they would somehow be enough to kill me. 

The suicidal thoughts subsided, and I went to get high. One sunny afternoon, I went to the “gay beaches.” I considered it an ideal place to do drugs because it was secluded, and I assumed no police officer would ever go there. As I walked, I noticed a few people around, all of them alone. I climbed one of the trails to explore, reaching the top of the slope. From there, I had a great view of the sea and the islands. I went back down and ran into a guy with bad breath. We talked about the beaches, and I mentioned I wanted to go back down. I offered to let him go first, but he insisted I go ahead. We went back down together and then parted ways. I found a nice rock, sat down, rolled a joint, and started smoking. 

As I was thinking about how to solve my problems with Stacey, it started to get dark. A guy was walking home, and when he saw me, he slowed down. I lit a cigarette and watched him approach. When he was a few yards away, he said “hello,” and I returned the greeting. Before I knew it, he tried to grab my testicles. I pulled away, and we both laughed awkwardly. I told him to leave, and he did. 

The next day, I was in the car with Stacey in a parking lot, and I told her about my encounter with the man on the beach. I jokingly suggested that we should break up because I was obviously gay. She got angry, saying it was all lies. We had another fight, and she started blackmailing me to stay in the relationship. She threatened to tell my parents about her miscarriages, and I was terrified of their reaction. I felt hopeless and started crying. I cried and sobbed for so long that I felt like I would never stop. Stacey’s phone rang; it was Melissa. I stopped crying and just sobbed quietly instead. An angry Stacey spoke to Melissa on the phone and then said, “He’s here crying.”

A few weeks later, things seemed to return to “normal,” and Stacey went out with Melissa. They went to a nightclub to drink, smoke, and sing along to Serbian pop-folk music. The next day, she told me how great it was and how she and Melissa “closed the club,” meaning they were the last ones to leave. 

At one point, we had an argument, and she accused me of giving her genital herpes. She even pulled down her panties and showed me her vulva, which was covered in red, swollen blisters. She claimed it was probably because I was prone to oral herpes, and I had been performing oral sex on her while I had a cold sore. I didn’t have oral herpes at the time, and I even googled to see if oral herpes could be transmitted to the genitals; the answer was no. I told her she was wrong, but she persisted with her blackmail. 

She told me she’d heard rumors that we were only in a relationship because I had a car.She even told me that Melissa got hooked up with her cousin, a police officer. 

I bought a brand new mountain bike. It had 29-inch wheels, and I paid $300 for it.

August 

In August, my Roman soldier and gladiator reenactment group had a performance in the town of Igrane, about 20 km south of Makarska. We drove there in four cars, bringing all our equipment. We arrived and settled into our apartments. The performance began late in the afternoon, and we all dressed in our Roman soldier and gladiator costumes. We joined the other performers and paraded through the town. 

After the parade, we performed a choreographed routine of Roman army drills and gladiator fights. After the performance, we had dinner. We changed out of our costumes and into regular clothes. In the evening, there was a party on the edge of town. We drank and smoked. I got somewhat drunk and noticed a girl dancing who also seemed drunk. I went up to her, danced with her, and then kissed her passionately. It felt good to cheat on Stacey. After a while, the girl wandered off, and my group and I returned to the town. Danny and I were in an alley, rolling a joint. The others from our group were on the beach, swimming and hanging out. I had a brilliant idea. I walked into the sea, holding the joint and lighter above the water so they wouldn’t get wet. Then, Danny and I swam a little way offshore to join the rest of our group.

We lit the joint while we were in the water, being careful not to drop it or get it wet. We all got high and enjoyed swimming in the incredibly warm water.

January 

I started smoking weed every day, usually in the evenings to help me fall asleep. My college classes were from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. After lunch, I’d go to the “gay beaches” to get high. I enjoyed the sun, the sea, and a few hours of freedom before my 4 p.m. classes. I’d drive to college half-stoned, my eyes still red and heavy. I’d walk into the lecture hall, and the professor would look at me strangely, as if he knew I was high. I’d stare down at my notebook, hoping he wouldn’t report me to the dean or someone else. After class, I’d have dinner and then go to the men’s restroom. I’d lock myself in a stall, lower the toilet seat and lid, and sit down. Then, I’d take out my rolling papers, filters, a cigarette, and my weed. I’d calmly roll a joint, preparing myself to meet up with Stacey. I finished rolling, put the joint and my rolling supplies in my bag, “flushed” the toilet, and went outside.

I met Stacey, and she asked me how often I smoked. I told her I did it every day, more than once if possible, or at least once before bed. I needed my daily dose of weed; I had to “just smell it and taste it a little.” She told me that’s how addicts think, and she was right. This sparked a fight, and she then ordered me to stick to a strict daily routine: home-college-home, with no deviations. I got angry and went home.

Stacey was about to enroll in college and chose a maritime program. I became her math tutor, and thanks to my help, she passed the state graduation exam and got into the university. Once she started college, she struggled with math again, so I helped her out once more. Her math courses were easier than mine, since I was studying to become an engineer, so it was easy for me to help her, and I felt good about it. She passed her math tests and advanced to her second year of college, while I had to repeat my first year because I had failed some subjects, ironically, including mathematics. 

March 

I was still wearing the underwear my dad had bought me in Pakistan. However, it was getting old and had a small hole under my testicles. One day, the hole ripped bigger, and my testicles were hanging out, getting pinched as I walked. When I got home and changed, I noticed that my left testicle was a little bigger than usual and had dilated blood vessels. It felt like I was touching a bag of worms. I went to the doctor, and he told me I had a varicocele (varicose veins in the scrotum). He ordered X-rays and a semen analysis. 

April 

I went to get an X-ray of my testicles and found myself sexually attracted to the female doctor who was about to perform the procedure. I walked into her office, and she told me to lie down on the bed and lower my pants. I was hoping my penis would become erect, but it remained flaccid. 

I went to the semen analysis room, and the nurse gave me a small container for the sample. I went to another room equipped with comfortable chairs, pornographic magazines, and a toilet. I looked at some of the magazines, but after watching so much video pornography, it was like looking at a blank wall. I ejaculated into the container and took the sample to the nurse. The next day, I picked up my results. 

They showed a lower-than-normal count of live sperm. 

During a follow-up appointment, the doctor told me that the varicocele wasn’t dangerous, but it could affect my fertility. He recommended surgery to improve my chances of having children, but I declined. 

July 

Over the summer, I had to study to retake the math courses I’d failed both this year and the previous year. The subject was divided into two parts – Mathematics 1 and Mathematics 2 – covering infinitesimal calculus (derivatives and integrals). Each exam was in three parts. First, we had a problem-solving test, followed by a separate theory test. Finally, we each had an individual oral exam with the professor. She was a bit eccentric, and I thought her requirements were excessive, but it made sense that she demanded so much, as future civil engineers needed all that knowledge. 

I passed Math 1 relatively easily and then had to study for Math 2. I passed both the problem-solving and theory tests. One day, I had my individual oral exam scheduled for 1 p.m. at the college. The exam began, and some parts went well, while others didn’t.

The professor complimented my handwriting, saying it looked like it was written by a woman. We talked as she questioned me. Then came the integral problem that I hadn’t solved correctly on the written test. She told me I had to solve it again or I would fail the exam. Somehow, I managed to solve it, and even she was impressed with how I arrived at the correct answer.

The exam continued, and we took a break later. It was already 3 p.m., and she was known for conducting lengthy exams. The test resumed, and she continued to chat a bit. At one point, she asked me where I was from. This wasn’t the usual question about my birthplace, but rather about my grandfather’s birthplace—my ancestral origin. I told her I was from a village west of Drniš. Since people with my last name were mostly from villages south of Drniš, she jokingly suggested that my family was probably “degenerate” because of this discrepancy.

I was shocked that someone in academia would make such a statement. I just smiled, and the exam continued. She talked a bit more, and then I realized I could report her to the dean if I didn’t pass. I even considered some kind of blackmail. 

However, it wasn’t necessary. Around 7 p.m., the exam finally ended, and I passed Mathematics 2, which meant I also passed my first year of college. I went home and shared the news with everyone, and they were all happy. 

In the spring, I had the idea to grow marijuana and make some money. I told Stacey, and she didn’t object, but she did tell me to be careful. I envisioned making about $20,000 in the first year, and then reinvesting some of that to make $500,000 the following year. I wanted to settle down with Stacey, have a normal life, and forget about the past. I researched growing weed online and discovered that location and discretion were key. 

I found a website called icmag.com, and in the forum section, I found a thread called “MASSIVE OUTDOOR GROW.” 

It was created by a user who called himself “Julian.” It was a long thread, but it contained a lot of useful information about growing weed. I couldn’t grow weed indoors, so I wanted to do it outdoors, under the sun, as nature intended. I spoke to the drug dealer who supplied Stacey and me with weed, and he told me it would be hard work, not only because it was illegal, but also because someone else could find my plants. 

I started scouting locations to grow my weed, visiting several places I had in mind. First, I went to a hill in the suburbs where there was a quarry. I explored the south side, but nothing seemed suitable. Then I headed east towards the mountains above Omiš. The location seemed promising, but it was right next to a state road, and I’d be risking too much being seen there with bags of soil and other supplies. I returned home and started searching online for maps showing the cadastral situation around the Split area. 

I used arkod.hr to check land ownership, looking for areas that were either privately owned or state-owned. I headed towards the mountains north of Split, exiting the highway onto narrower roads leading to a village. I drove up the mountain, enjoying the beautiful views. The road went past the village and eventually transitioned from asphalt to gravel. The gravel road then continued all the way to the mountain’s summit, which is about 2,000 feet high. I parked next to the small church of St. George and took in the scenery. 

The view was incredible. You could see all of Split, the suburbs, the sea, the islands, and the surrounding areas. I explored the south side of the mountain but realized I’d be too exposed; anyone could see me. I got back in my car and drove to the north side. It was typical Mediterranean forest, with some trees and mostly shrubs. The ground was shallow, with rocks and boulders everywhere. I found a spot near a dirt road that seemed like everything would be hidden in plain sight, but I ultimately decided against it. I drove down the mountain on a dirt road and found a small path leading back up to the summit. Near this path was a grassy area with several medium-sized rocks scattered around. I walked on the rocks, careful not to step on the grass, so as not to create a visible trail that someone else could follow. I had to navigate through some prickly bushes as well. 

After a while, I ventured further down the mountain, walking on the grass because the terrain required it. I reached an area with more trees and shrubs and decided this was the right spot. It was relatively close to a dirt road, so transporting soil and containers wouldn’t be too difficult, but at the same time, it wasn’t so deep in the wilderness that hunters would stumble upon it easily. I went home and checked arkod.hr again. I located my chosen spot on the map, and it was state-owned land, not currently being used by anyone. The only remaining obstacle was the hunters who roamed the area, but I accepted that as a risk of the endeavor. 

In June, I ordered 10 marijuana seeds online and received them a few weeks later. I believe I read somewhere that possessing marijuana seeds wasn’t illegal in Croatia at the time, but growing marijuana without a permit was. This meant growing for scientific purposes would be legal, but what I was planning was completely illegal. I ordered autoflowering seeds. These produce smaller plants with a shorter growth cycle than traditional plants. Summer was passing, and I still hadn’t begun my growing operation. I also ordered water retention gel online so I wouldn’t be as reliant on rain. I had the seeds and the gel, but I still needed soil.

July 

My family and I moved out of our neighborhood so we could rent our apartment to tourists. We moved to another neighborhood in Split. 

August 

I started growing weed at the end of August. 

One afternoon, I went to a large store that sold everything for home improvement, including tools, paints, carpentry supplies, and garden soil. I needed an alibi in case someone saw me there, so I decided I would say I was looking for soil for some plants at the Roman museum that Harry and my association had started in Split. I also needed to figure out a system for germinating the seeds because I couldn’t just do it on my balcony or somewhere similar. 

I had an idea to use two plastic lids from ice cream containers, placing them one on top of the other. Inside, I put damp paper towels, and I poked several holes in the lids for airflow. I made three of these double-lid containers and placed the seeds inside. Then, I taped each pair of lids together, attached a string, and opened the vents in the storage room next to the apartment to hang them inside. The lids and seeds hung in the ventilation shaft, and I hoped the tape would hold. After putting everything inside, I closed the vent cover. I came back 24 hours later, and most of the seeds had germinated. It was amazing to witness the “birth” of something like that.

I bought four 40-pound bags of high-quality soil and three 4-gallon water containers for initial watering. I loaded everything into my car, drove home, and while in the garage, it hit me: this was really happening, and there was no turning back. It was evening, and I planned to prepare the soil that night and head to the growing site at dawn. I had dinner and then began my first sleepless night, preparing everything for growing weed. 

In the middle of the night, I drove to a more secluded part of the garage. I unloaded the soil, laid everything out on the floor, and began mixing. I finished around 3 or 4 in the morning and then set off for the mountains. I took a shortcut on the interstate to avoid a potential police checkpoint about a mile and a half north. I stopped in a small town to fill my containers with water before continuing on to my growing location. 

I arrived around 5 a.m. and had to set up three different growing locations. I chose three spots because if I were caught or robbed, the loss would be minimized. First, I unloaded the bags of soil and carried them to the three separate locations. This took me about an hour and a half. I needed to relieve myself, but I didn’t have any toilet paper. I squatted in the bushes and used the smooth surface of a rock to wipe. I didn’t care; I was too focused on the money I was going to make. By 7 a.m., the sun was relatively high in the sky, and it was getting hot. I took off my shirt and continued working. After I had laid out all the soil, I had to transport the water containers to each location. This was easier said than done because each one weighed about 40 pounds. The weight wouldn’t have been a problem if the terrain hadn’t been so difficult. I had to walk on rocks, navigate between bushes, and go up and down the hill while carrying those tanks. Sometimes, while trying to walk on the rocks and avoid thorny bushes simultaneously, I’d lose my balance and almost fall, risking serious injury. 

The second time, I actually fell, but thankfully, it was a slow fall. The scorching sun made everything even more difficult. I carried the first two containers to two of the locations, but the last one had to go uphill. I felt like I was going to vomit from the effort. I questioned why I’d gotten into growing weed in the first place, but I kept going. I finished around 2 p.m., completely exhausted and sunburned. I was lucky no one had passed by. 

After I finished, I went to my old neighborhood to pick up the germinated seeds from the storage room. When I entered my apartment, my neighbor had just returned from work. She was married with two sons and lived with her husband. She invited me in for a drink, and I accepted.

We were alone in her apartment. I thought she was flirting with me, but I wasn’t interested in sleeping with her. I needed to go home to our other apartment in a different neighborhood because our old apartment was being rented to tourists. I got there around 4 p.m. and immediately fell asleep. I woke up around 6 p.m. to my phone ringing. It was Stacey. She told me her father had passed away. I went to her place, and everyone was crying. I stayed with her that night, and we slept in her room. Two days later, her father’s funeral was held. I was there with her, and I cried as we buried him. He was a war veteran, and some soldiers gave him a final salute by firing their rifles. 

September 

One day I was on a date with Stacey and she told me that she had tried speed (amphetamine). I was worried, but in the end I got the urge to try it myself. One day we went to a house party with her college classmates and they offered me speed. I accepted the offer and snorted my first line. The speed was indeed speedy. Time passed quickly and I was not tired. I had the ability to drink and smoke indefinitely. I was with Stacey and one of her male friends from college. In the middle of the night, another male friend came and sat next to Stacey. They were relatively close to each other, but I didn’t react. I wanted to break up with her anyway. The two of them went to the balcony to talk, and I stayed inside with her other friend. I told him about my weed growing and by that time about 10 people knew that I was growing weed. It was hard for me to keep my mouth shut because I was proud of what I was doing. 

October

College started, and we moved back to our old apartment in the old neighborhood. I attended classes and visited the plants whenever I had the chance. 

November 

My marijuana growing venture came to an end. I had to figure out how to dry the buds. I laid them out on sheets of paper to dry under some bushes. A few days later, I returned, and everything was wet. I decided to take the risk of transporting all the weed by car to Split and finding a drying location on the peninsula. I succeeded and found a good spot deeper in the woods near a small road. Just as I finished placing everything in the bushes, protected from the rain, I saw a woman walking with a dog about 50 feet behind me. She didn’t see me, but the dog did. Luckily, the dog just stood there and didn’t bark. After a few days, when everything was dry, I weighed it all. There was about 2 ounces in total. I had invested about $1,000 and made about $1,200. 

December 

I was getting tired of college. One day, during a break between lectures, I was dozing off at my desk. In that liminal space between reality and dreaming, with my eyes closed, I had the strange sensation of seeing my own pants and shoes as if through the table. 

February 

One day, we had a meeting with my Roman military reenactment group. When I arrived, it turned out to be an intervention, specifically for me. Danny, Harry, and the rest of the team were there. I was surprised and touched that they cared enough about me to organize such a thing. Everyone told me they were worried about my weed use and that I needed to stop. They also encouraged me to focus more on college, but I was ready to give up on it. I thanked them for the intervention and went home. 

March 

One afternoon, I was at Kašjuni beach, on the south side of the Split peninsula. I got high and watched the sunset. My phone rang; it was Harry, from my Roman soldier and gladiator reenactment group. He asked where I was, and I reluctantly admitted I was at Kašjuni, smoking weed. He said he wanted to talk about something important. I waited for him, and when he arrived, he told me I should stop smoking weed. I didn’t care and asked him what he was up to. He said he was planning a trip to Barcelona, Spain. 

The plan was that on this trip, we would dress up in Roman soldier costumes in pairs and take pictures with tourists in Barcelona to earn money. We were counting on Barcelona being a large city with lots of tourists, assuming we could make a good amount. There were supposed to be six of us going, and we planned to fly there. Danny was one of the six, so I decided to go along. I was excited about the trip and wanted to keep it a secret from Stacey. I saw it as a kind of escape from her, a way to finally break up with her. 

The night before we were supposed to leave for Barcelona, I was with Stacey, and we were talking about our plans for the next day. When she asked me where I was going, I hesitated, caught off guard. I’m a terrible liar, so I ended up telling her I was going to Barcelona the next day. 

Naturally, she got angry and didn’t want me to go. She was hysterical and wouldn’t let me go home. I eventually made it home, packed my bags, and went to sleep. I woke up in the morning; my flight was at noon. I met the rest of the team at the airport, and then my phone rang. It was Stacey, but I didn’t want to answer because I was enjoying myself. We boarded the plane and first flew to Stuttgart, Germany. At the airport there, I noticed a lot of women looking at me and the rest of the group. We then flew to Barcelona, arriving in the evening. The “Spannabis” festival was happening in Barcelona during those days (from November 3rd to 13th), and I had briefly considered going, but ultimately wasn’t that interested. As we were taking the bus into the city, I saw a van from the company “Sensi Seeds” drive by.

It was cool because I had ordered some seeds from them. 

We took the subway to our apartment in the Sant Andreu neighborhood. The address was Carrer de Castellbell 25, near the Fabra i Puig metro station. The next day, we explored the city and I noticed orange trees on our street. We took the subway to scout out the best locations for taking pictures with tourists.

We reached the city center and walked along the famous La Rambla. We saw some street performers who were actually living statues. They had a pedestal they stood on, and their permits were clearly displayed. We considered getting a permit ourselves, but that would take too long. We found a square near La Rambla that looked like a good spot to perform. Some dark-skinned men were selling toys that were essentially slingshots launching small helicopters that then slowly descended to the ground. Many people were passing through the square, and we chose it as our spot. Nearby, there was a luggage storage facility. The next day, we brought bags containing our armor and other Roman military clothing and paid the owner to store them there so we could change. We gathered and decided that Danny and I would be the first to dress up and start taking pictures with people. We did it, and it was a historic moment for our group. However, we weren’t making much money. 

After our whole team went home, we decided to have some drinks and go out. After getting ready for the party, we mixed gin and tonics, and everyone started sharing some surprisingly personal and sensitive stories. One guy talked about how his father was a heroin addict and how he’d had to beat him up one night. I ended up in my room with Harry, and I confided in him that Stacey was constantly angry and resentful towards me because of her miscarriages, and that I honestly didn’t care. Harry called a doctor friend in Croatia and talked to him about the situation. After he hung up, he explained some things to me. It seemed I had either dodged two bullets, or Stacey had been lying, because when she went to her gynecologist, he didn’t write an official report stating she’d had a miscarriage. He had just talked to her without documenting anything, probably because she was a minor at the time. 

We all went out and took the metro. I could smell weed on the train, and it smelled fantastic. I wondered where it was coming from. We went to the Opium Club near the sea. Harry was a good dancer and started dancing with a girl. I was with Danny, and then he went to the bathroom. I saw a beautiful girl standing alone, but I was too nervous to approach her. When Danny came back, he told me he’d been doing cocaine with some guy in the bathroom. He seemed very excited and happy after doing the cocaine. We tried to find someone to hook up with, but we were unsuccessful, so we went outside. I saw a beautiful girl from the club walking away in the distance, with some guy circling around her, hugging her and bothering her. I briefly thought about intervening, but I noticed she didn’t really seem to mind, and her resistance was lessening over time. 

Danny suggested I pay a black hooker that charged $15. I thought, “Why not? Fuck Stacey and all her abuse, let’s go for it.” Prostitution was illegal in Spain so we had to improvise our place for sex and we walked a little further away from the Opium Club. I asked her where she was from and how old she was. She told me that she was from Ghana, at the age of 22. We found a park with bushes in the dark and hid between them. I was nervous and I lowered my pants. My cock was half erect and she barely put a condom on it. Then she lowered her pants, turned her back on me, and leaned forward. I didn’t penetrate her, but I just simulated to fuck her. She realized this and began to moan. I also started to “moan,” and then another sex worker approached. I grabbed her breasts, but she asked for payment first, so I gave up on that. I finished my fake encounter without even climaxing. 

The sex workers left, and then some guys came up to me and showed me a bag of weed. I immediately wanted to buy it, but they insisted I take a walk with them to some secluded alley. We walked through the park, and they spoke to each other in a language I didn’t understand. Suddenly, police officers appeared out of nowhere and demanded IDs from all of us. As they began searching us, they asked me what I was doing with these guys. I told them they had just offered me a walk. The police officer likely realized what was going on and let me go, while the other guys were arrested. 

I left and went back to the front of Opium to find Danny. He was there talking to some African sex workers. I joined them, and Danny told me he was going to pay for my next encounter. I wanted redemption for my previous failure and accepted the offer. I assumed we’d go to a more private location, but she took me to the pier at the local port. We sat down on the wall, and I lowered my pants. My penis was only about 20% erect, and I started masturbating. The sex worker, probably feeling sorry for me and wanting to justify the money I’d given her, desperately tried to help me by also masturbating me. My erection was still non-existent, and then some men walked by, which really turned me off. I gave up on sleeping with that sex worker and went to meet Danny. 

Dawn was breaking, and we went for a walk around the city. We met a suspicious-looking couple and asked if they knew anyone who could sell us weed. We went to a building, and the guy rang the doorbell on the intercom while Danny and I waited to the side with the girl. The guy assured us we could call there anytime and get weed, but no one answered.

We were disappointed and about to leave, but the guy stopped us and offered us some cocaine. I wanted to try it, and he made three lines on his smartphone. He snorted the first one, Danny took the second, and then it was my turn. I checked to make sure my nostrils were clear. I thought they were ready, but as I snorted the line, some cocaine fell out of my nostril onto the phone. I quickly snorted the rest to make sure I got it all. I asked the guy when it would start working, and he said immediately. I didn’t feel anything; it was probably fake. The four of us went for a walk and discovered that the couple actually lived on the street. They told us about their trip to South America and how they’d tried ayahuasca, a powerful psychoactive substance. I found it interesting as I watched Barcelona wake up and begin a new day. Danny and I said goodbye to the couple and took the subway back to our apartment. 

The next day, Danny and I went to work as Roman soldiers. We encountered a high school excursion of students from Italy. I met my doppelgänger and took a picture with him. After that funny experience and a reasonably good shift, we went home. We decided to go out alone that night, so we dressed up and headed towards the Opium club. We got there and started dancing with some Asian girls. Then two men who were nearby approached us and asked if we had money to spend time with them. We realized they were their pimps. We declined their offer and went to find other women.

We found two more women and started talking to them. I told one of them that we were from Croatia and had come to Barcelona to dress up as Roman soldiers and work for tips. Danny then pulled me aside and told me not to be so serious. He said he’d told his date he drove a Ferrari, which was a more exciting story than mine. Eventually, Danny went off somewhere with his date, and I stayed to talk to the other woman. After a while, I asked her if she wanted to have sex with me. She said “maybe,” which I’ve always thought was a clever answer. A “no” could have potentially put her at risk of me becoming aggressive, and a “yes” would have forced her to be intimate even if she didn’t really want to. She went to the bathroom, which I took as a rejection, and I lit a cigarette to console myself. 

Suddenly, a drunk girl came over, took my cigarette without a word, and left. That threw me off a bit, but I pulled myself together and lit another one. Danny came back and told me he’d had sex with his date in the bathroom. Danny was a real player, and I wanted to be more like him. We left the club and took the metro. I smelled weed again and wondered where it was coming from. We boarded the train, and the smell became stronger. I noticed a guy in the back of the train secretly smoking a joint. 

He walked toward us, likely trying to blend in, but he caught my attention. He walked past us and kept going, and Danny and I looked at each other in the train window and realized we looked like lost puppies. I thought, “If I’m not going to get laid, at least I can get high while I’m in Barcelona.” So, just before the last stop, I went after the guy with the joint. I approached him and asked if he wanted to sell it to me. He said, “$10!” I reached for my wallet and pretended to be confused as I pulled out a $5 bill.

I told him that was all I had, and he agreed to give me the joint for the $5. We got off the train and walked up the stairs while the joint was burning. We reached the street, and it started to rain. I tried to shield myself and protect the joint as if it were the last one I’d ever have. We started walking toward our place, and the rain intensified, but luckily, we found a covered spot next to the street. 

We started smoking the joint, and it was delicious, especially considering we were in the middle of Spain. We got high and then went home. I’d accomplished my goal of getting high while in Barcelona and fell asleep soundly that night. The next day was a day of solo wandering for me. I wanted to explore the city more, and my sense of adventure was strong. I took the metro all the way to Camp Nou, the Barcelona football club stadium, but I only saw it from the outside because I didn’t want to pay the entrance fee. I went to Park Güell and later took a selfie in front of the Torre Glòries building. That was the end of my Barcelona trip. The next day, we packed our bags and went to the airport. Just before takeoff, the flight attendants gave the standard safety briefing. Danny watched it all and then said, “What is this crap? Let’s fly!” 

As we reached Croatian airspace, it was nighttime, and it was a cool sight to see the city lights below. We landed in Split, and my dad and Henry were waiting for me at the airport. Danny didn’t have a ride, so we offered him one. On the way home, I noticed how simple and uncomplicated Split seemed compared to Barcelona. There weren’t as many lanes and lights around the city. About half an hour after I landed, as we were driving home, my phone rang. It was Stacey. I suspect she’d asked some of Danny’s other friends when we were landing and calculated the right time to call me. I ignored her calls. When I got home, my family asked about my trip, and I said it was good. I called Danny, and we went to meet our drug dealer to get some weed. We talked about our experiences in Barcelona, and the dealer said my eyes were shining with joy. We drove somewhere by the sea, and I finally got high after a long break. 

I decided to grow weed again in the same location as the previous year. In the spring, I ordered about 20 seeds online. I wanted to improve my soil mix, so I also ordered Neem, a substrate that provides nutrients and pest protection for the plants, and more water retention gel. I planned to start earlier that year, instead of waiting until late summer. Since I needed a place to store everything, I rented a garage in Split. 

Someone asked me why I was renting the garage. I told him I planned to do some horticulture in the suburbs. Ironically, this guy worked in the customs department of the police. A few days later, I went to my grandfather and Uncle Benny’s place in Split. I needed money for my new weed-growing venture. I asked if they could lend me $2,000. Uncle Benny didn’t have much or didn’t want to lend it, but my grandfather gave me $1,000. I’d also saved some money from working as a Roman soldier, but my desire for profit was stronger than ever. I bought twenty 4-gallon containers, ordered a large amount of garden soil, and bought a can of green spray paint to camouflage the containers. I also bought tightly woven nets to protect the seedlings from insects while still allowing them light. I ordered Neem, water retention gel, perlite, and purchased duct tape.

May 

In the spring, my grandfather from the suburbs passed away in his sleep. It was the first death on my mother’s side of the family, and it was a huge shock for all of us. We all went to the suburbs to mourn him. My weeping grandmother said that only saints die in their sleep. She cried as she told me I would take only good deeds with me when I go to heaven. The priest came, and we prayed for my grandfather. While everyone was praying, including me, I cried loudly for a short time, then stopped and left. The funeral was a few days later. First, we were all in the morgue, where other people came to offer their condolences. Then, we had a procession to the church for the Mass. When it was over, I went outside first and saw an older guy taking pictures with a cheap, small camera. I assumed he was a local oddball and told him to stop, but he continued, so I got angry. We had another procession to the grave, and the same guy was circling us, taking pictures. I still thought he was just a local lunatic and again told him to stop. He said he was doing his job, so I buried my grandfather feeling angry. Later, when I told my uncle what had happened, he told me that he had asked the man to take pictures. I felt terrible. 

Since we rented our apartment to tourists during the summer, we needed somewhere else to live. My youngest brother Henry overheard my grandmother and uncle talking on the day of my grandfather’s death. They said we could stay in the house in the suburbs that summer. Our whole family moved back there. When I got back, I felt like a stranger and longed for city life. I’d even forgotten about Lenny and all my other childhood friends. 

June 

I broke my HTC HD2 while working out at home. My dad took it to someone to fix, but they didn’t have the spare parts. I ended up ordering a brand new Lenovo Vibe K5 for $100. 

One afternoon while working as a Roman soldier, there were many opportunities for romantic encounters. I didn’t succeed with every single one, as my flirting skills weren’t the strongest, but I enjoyed the interactions with the various women. One day, a girl came to take a photo with me and a colleague. I asked for her phone number and where she was staying in Split. She told me she was going to Makarska in a few hours, and I said I would meet her there. I was so determined to sleep with her that I drove to Makarska that evening. It was an hour’s drive, but I was really focused on this. I arrived in Makarska and met up with her. We went for a walk along the coast, away from the city center, and I found a secluded spot to roll a joint and smoke. I offered her some, but she declined. We walked back towards the city center, and that’s when we ran into some of her friends. The girl told them I’d come all the way from Split to see her, and one of her friends became overly protective. Everyone started to leave, and her friend made it clear I wasn’t welcome. They all walked off, leaving me alone and disappointed. I headed back to Split. I got in my car and started driving through Makarska. I was pulled over by the police and handed over my driver’s license and registration. The policeman saw my last name and said he knew my dad. I was extremely lucky because I was high at the time. He let me go, and I returned to Split. 

While working as a Roman soldier, I met a girl from Argentina. I was interested in sleeping with her. I told her my birthday was coming up and I wanted to celebrate it with just her. One night, after working as a Roman soldier and checking on my growing operation, I waited for her at my apartment in Split. She told me she was having dinner and would contact me later. I was exhausted, so I lay down on the couch and reluctantly fell asleep. When I woke up an hour later, I saw a message from her saying I hadn’t responded to her messages and that she’d gone back to her own apartment in Split. I’d missed my chance. 

She mentioned that she planned to come back to Split in July.

July 

I kept in touch with a girl from Argentina, and she told me she would be returning to Split. One evening, we met in the city, and I had an apartment available that was usually rented to tourists. We walked from downtown to my old neighborhood and sat under an overpass near the hill where I used to get high. I rolled a joint, and we smoked together. We got high and made our way to my apartment. Once there, we sat on the balcony in the dark, the only illumination coming from the lights of my neighborhood. I rolled another joint, and we smoked again. At some point, we started kissing, our bodies pressing together as we stripped down to our underwear. I stood up, guiding her toward the room with my hand tugging at her thong. She grabbed her phone to play music while we made love—it didn’t bother me. St. Germain – Sure Thing played in the background. 

In the room, we stripped down completely. I laid her on the bed, parted her legs, and teased her with my tongue, drawing soft moans from her lips—this was just the beginning. I kissed her again, trailing my lips down her neck. Then I lay back as she took me into her mouth, glancing up with a playful look. She murmured something about not having had one this big in a while. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. With the music still playing in the background, I reached for a condom. She lay back again, spreading her legs, anticipation hanging in the air. 

I eased into her slowly, and in that moment, we became one. Our rhythm built naturally, moving together in sync. After a while, we switched positions—this time, I lay back as she straddled me. She guided me inside her, rolling her hips, lost in the moment. Our breathing grew heavier, and soon, her moans filled the room, growing louder as pleasure overtook her. She became incredibly passionate as she took control, speaking in Spanish. Her words, “yes papi, yes,” added to the intensity of the moment. We decided to try unprotected sex, which felt more intimate than using a condom, but I remained cautious due to the risk of pregnancy. The night lasted until dawn, and afterward, we shared a joint. Even though I didn’t reach climax during our time together, it was still a fulfilling experience. I walked her to the bus stop, returned to my apartment, and later took care of myself. 

I met another woman from Australia who I was interested in. Wearing a Roman soldier costume seemed to boost my confidence. We planned a date, and I picked her up in the center of Split. We went to a hill near my place and smoked together, then headed back to my apartment where we relaxed and smoked again. In the dimly lit living room, with music playing in the background, I made a move to kiss and touch her, but she pulled away. I decided to try a different approach—I went to my room, changed into a towel, and returned to the living room, hoping to catch her attention. She smiled, but I misinterpreted her reaction and assumed she wasn’t interested in taking things further. I got dressed again and joined her in the living room. That night didn’t lead to anything physical, and I told her she might regret it later. We stayed in contact, and she eventually admitted that she did regret it. It seemed like she might have been teasing me, but I sensed there was some interest on her part.

One mid-July afternoon, I woke up around 4 p.m. and headed to the garage to prepare the soil and containers for planting. It was a lot of work. First, I painted the pots green to make them less noticeable from above. Next, I mixed soil, neem, and water retention gel into a single blend and filled the pots with it. After that, I cut pieces of netting and wrapped them around each container, securing them tightly with adhesive tape. By 3 a.m., I was exhausted, so I took a break to eat and smoke a joint on a hill near my old neighborhood. As dawn started to break, I returned to the garage to continue working. 

I loaded as many soil-filled containers as I could into my car and drove to the mountains. My goal was to arrive before sunrise to avoid both people and the heat. To save time and reduce the risk of running into police officers who occasionally patrolled a known spot on the interstate about a mile north, I took a shortcut. I reached a dirt road near my growing site just as the sky was beginning to brighten, though the sun hadn’t fully risen yet. I started unloading the containers and carefully carried them to their designated spots, making sure to avoid creating any visible trails that someone might follow. By 8 or 9 a.m., I was done. I took a moment to smoke a joint, then headed back home to the suburbs. But my work wasn’t finished yet. 

In the afternoon, I had to head back to Split to prepare the remaining containers. Despite feeling exhausted, I forced myself to stay awake and had lunch, though the stress of what I was doing made me feel nauseous. By late afternoon, I was back in Split, working through the night to finish preparing the soil and containers. The thought of the potential money kept me going, even as I faced another sleepless night. By dawn, I had completed everything, loaded the soil-filled containers into my car, and drove to the mountains. Once there, I carried them to my cultivation site, completing the task.

It was grueling work, but I finally finished around 5:30 in the morning. Exhausted, I returned to my car, rolled a joint, and smoked it to unwind. The drive home took about half an hour to the highway, then another stretch along the highway to Split. Along the way, I stopped at a parking lot near Stobreč to smoke a bit more. That joint hit me so hard that I ended up falling asleep in my car around 7 a.m. After being awake for nearly 39 hours—working physically and navigating a risky, illegal activity without the aid of stimulants like speed or cocaine—I desperately needed rest. I woke up suddenly around 9 a.m., relieved that no police officers had noticed me in the parking lot. I drove the rest of the way home and finally got some proper sleep. 

A few days later, I met up with Harry to discuss the possibility of “laundering” the money I might make from selling weed. When I asked him about it, he questioned whether I was prepared to face jail time, to which I replied that I wasn’t. He hinted that we might be able to work something out. The following day, he called and asked me to meet him again. During our conversation, he offered to connect me with an indoor weed grower, suggesting I could make a significant amount of money. However, he made it clear that if I were caught, I couldn’t mention his name. After considering the risks, I decided to decline his offer. 

In mid-July, I felt the urge to swim naked and decided to head to the only nudist beach I knew of—a spot known to be popular with the gay community. I arrived on a sunny afternoon and found the beach empty. I undressed, feeling a sense of freedom and a bit of excitement. After swimming in the sea, I came back to the shore and noticed an older man, also naked, approaching me. He complimented my appearance and made it clear that he was interested in a sexual encounter. I politely declined his offer and began rolling a joint, using my hat to cover myself as I did so. Once I finished, I walked over to a rock by the sea to sit down. I had brought a joint, a lighter, and my hat with me. As I sat there, I kept my hat over my lap to protect myself from the sun. The man approached me again, persistent in his advances, but I firmly declined once more. I lit the joint and started smoking, eventually offering him a hit. He took a few puffs and mentioned he hadn’t smoked since his trip to Amsterdam. After handing the joint back to me, he reached for my hat, trying to remove it. I immediately became angry and told him to stop. 

Another naked man appeared on the beach and stood there, watching us. I suggested to the man who had approached me that he might want to spend time with the other guy instead. He replied that he wasn’t interested in “feminized men.” By then, I was feeling the effects of the joint, and eventually, both men left. Finally alone, I enjoyed swimming naked and stoned, savoring the moment of peace. 

The next morning, I returned to the same beach. Since I was alone, I took off my clothes and smoked again. As I went for a walk, I came across an older man who was fishing, completely nude. I noticed he was well-endowed, but we simply ended up chatting about the beach and the people who frequented it. He mentioned that there was another nudist spot at Kašuni Beach in Split. During our conversation, I asked if he was okay with me rolling another joint, and he had no objections. I lit a joint and offered him some. He took a couple of puffs, then pulled out his tablet to play some music. I climbed up the slope to relieve myself, and when I turned back, I noticed him pointing his tablet in my direction, seemingly trying to take a photo. I quickly covered myself and said, “No,” but I suspect he might have taken the photo anyway. 

While on the beach, my companion offered to share some cannabis with me, producing a pre-rolled joint in a plastic container. He cautioned me about its potency, suggesting I limit myself to two inhalations. The effects were indeed quite strong and left me feeling disoriented. As we continued our conversation, I observed several unclothed older individuals walking by, which made me realize these beaches primarily attract an older male demographic. During our discussion, I made an insensitive remark about the LGBTQ+ community, which I quickly recognized was inappropriate and offensive. My companion also expressed disapproval of my comment. Before parting ways, he recommended “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle, suggesting it contained valuable insights about meditation practices. 

I departed and continued along the beach, hoping to encounter some female sunbathers. While still clothed, I noticed several women behind a rocky outcrop. I decided to disrobe but waited until I felt composed enough to walk past them respectfully. They paid no attention as I passed by. I set up my beach spot a short distance away and went for a swim, occasionally glimpsing them enjoying the water. While nothing transpired at the beach, the encounter left a lasting impression in my private thoughts later that evening.

July 20, 2016 proved to be memorable. I visited Kašuni Beach, located on a peninsula. While the main section featured conventional beaches – where I received Harry’s call – the western area toward the peninsula’s tip had a different character. This section was marked by rocky shores interspersed with small pebble beaches beneath pine-covered slopes. The secluded nature of this area made it perfect for naturist activities, away from the more populated main beach. 

Following a path overlooking the shoreline, I spotted a small cove nestled among the rocks, situated between the main beaches and the peninsula’s point. Upon descending the rocks, I found someone had thoughtfully hung a large sheet between the rocks, creating a shaded area. Taking advantage of the private, empty spot during the intense midday heat, I laid out my towel in the shade, undressed, and made my way to the water. I swam naked, hoping a woman would come along so I could have sex with her on the small beach. I swam between the rocks to the shallows and urinated in the sea. Afterward, a mature woman approached the rock next to me, and I greeted her in English, asking where she was from. She replied that she was Croatian, and we both laughed. She then broke the awkward silence by completely undressing in front of me. 

I was surprised I didn’t get an erection, unlike the previous day when I’d seen women at the gay beach. I suppose I’d become desensitized to seeing naked bodies. I swam back to shore and got out of the water. As I reached my seat, an elderly couple descended the rocks. They were both wearing swimsuits; the woman was topless and had large breasts. Upon reaching a small beach, the elderly couple and the woman I’d spoken with earlier had a verbal altercation. The woman told them they couldn’t use sheets to reserve space on the public beach. The older woman retorted that she could do as she pleased. After a brief exchange, the woman lay down, while the couple began talking to me. The man chuckled, commenting that women always argue. I asked if they were bothered by my being near them under the covers, and they said they weren’t. As I chatted with them, I rolled a joint, occasionally glancing at the woman. She looked stunning sunbathing nude with a summer hat. 

I finished rolling my joint and walked over to her, feeling nervous but telling myself I had nothing to lose. I asked if she minded if I smoked next to her. She said it was fine, and we began talking. She told me her name was Ava and that she was 48. I was 22, but the age difference didn’t bother either of us. In fact, she said I was close to the youngest she’d consider. We chatted a bit more, and I got high. She suggested a swim to cool down, then dove gracefully headfirst into the water. We swam and continued our conversation. Returning to the shore, the older woman who’d argued with Ava earlier remarked that she thought Ava was around 48 or 49. I agreed, suspecting she’d overheard our conversation. Unconcerned, I grabbed my towel and belongings and placed them next to Ava, who was just emerging from the water. We spent time together on the rock, and as the afternoon wore on, we both got sunburned.

I suggested we go to a café. While I hoped to have sex with her, I also genuinely enjoyed her company and considered her a friend. We drove to a café in the Split ghetto. She ordered a coffee with milk, and I ordered milk, hoping it would lessen my high. We talked for a long time, and she revealed that she was divorced and had a daughter. After more conversation, I drove us to a large park towards Kašuni. I felt a little self- conscious being with her, worried about running into someone I knew and them seeing me with someone old enough to be my mother. The slight discomfort wasn’t overwhelming, but it was irritating. We spread our towels on the grass, and I rolled and smoked another joint. After about an hour, I drove her home. She lived between my old neighborhood and the ghetto. During our goodbye, we both expressed a desire to see each other again. Back home in the suburbs, I tried searching for her on Facebook, but I couldn’t recall her last name. Fortunately, we’d exchanged phone numbers. 

A few days later, it was Danny’s birthday, and he threw a big party at his house. His parents were away, so we brought some weed. He also made us a three-course dinner, which was quite an experience. We all got high, and then I received a message from Ava. She invited me to join her in Stobreč by the sea, saying she had work to do there and was waiting for me. I accepted and drove to Stobreč in the evening. We met at a local campsite and went for a walk under the streetlights. We reached the beach, and she spread out a towel for us to sit on. We talked, and eventually, I worked up the nerve to kiss her. After the kiss, she jokingly asked what took me so long. I’d been thinking that after Stacey, things would never be the same, and that I’d lost a lot of my passion. 

A few days later, Ava and I were on a sunny beach, kissing and caressing. I became aroused, and she became lubricated. She lay back and spread her legs, and I penetrated her without a condom. We both moaned with pleasure. I began gently, then increased the pace. To my surprise, she reached climax quickly, and I doubt she was faking it. To my even greater surprise, I ejaculated inside her, though I did so reluctantly due to my fear of pregnancy.

Despite the low probability at her age, she was still menstruating, which was a major source of anxiety for me during sex. My other concern was that we always had sex on the beach, exposed to voyeurs and passersby. Afterwards, she stood on the rocks by the sea, and I watched her from behind. She leaned on one leg, and I thought she had a magnificent body. I wanted us to have a better sex life. I realized I’d lost much of the passion I’d had with Stacey and that I probably wouldn’t be able to satisfy Ava the way I had Stacey. 

One day, Ava and I were between the public beach in Kašuni and our usual secluded spot. There were more people around than usual, and the beach was pebbles, not rocks. We swam and then moved to shallower water. We embraced, and I became erect. She noticed and then mounted me right there in the shallows. I thrust for a few moments but then stopped, feeling too embarrassed to have sex with so many people nearby. 

Ava and I decided to take a day trip to Makarska. We left in the morning, and she drove. We passed through Omiš and arrived in Makarska about an hour later. After buying some food, we parked under the pine trees. We went to the beach, and the heat was so intense that we couldn’t wait to swim naked. We walked past several “clothed” beaches before finally reaching a nudist beach. We laid out our towels and went into the clear blue water.

We got out of the water, and I rolled a joint. I lit it while lying naked with her, with people passing by just 50 feet away. In front of us, two men, presumably foreigners, were also nude. She remarked that they were looking at me and were probably gay. I didn’t care; I was on a nudist beach with a beautiful woman, far from home. 

We had lunch and stayed on the beach until evening. We got dressed and bought ice cream. On the drive home, with her at the wheel, I got hungry and started spreading pâté on bread. She then mentioned she was hungry too, so I gave her pieces of the pâté-covered bread as she drove. A few days later, she told me that it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for her. 

I grew marijuana and worked as a Roman soldier in Split. I visited my plants once or twice a week to check on their progress, sometimes cycling all the way to the mountains. On one occasion, I nearly became dehydrated while watering them and stumbled upon a workshop with an outdoor water tap. 

Growing marijuana was both exciting and nerve-wracking. One day, while tending to my plants, I heard a loud whirring noise that sounded like many helicopters. It turned out to be a large flock of birds flying overhead. Another time, I saw a military helicopter in the distance flying towards Split. I had to quickly hide behind some bushes to avoid being seen. 

I often biked from the suburbs to Split, as I didn’t always have a car. I began getting high before every shift while working as a Roman soldier. One day, while working with Danny, some women came to take pictures with us. I asked them for a tip, then forgot I’d already asked and asked again. They ended up tipping us twice, which made for an awkward situation. After the shift ended, Danny and I went to count the money. Typically, we would make between $100 and $150 per 4-hour shift, which was great money back then. We would get high again and in the evening we went to Matejuška, a part of the city of Split by the sea, behind the Riva (the promenade), towards the peninsula. We ran into some American tourists and got high with them. We talked about weed strains and I was proud to know so many strains. I almost told both them and Danny that I was growing weed. When we finished talking to them, we went to another part of Matejuška to meet some people. They offered me and Danny some speed and Danny took the first fat line. Then it was my turn and I snorted the next thick line.

I felt good, despite my eyes watering from the speed. We all laughed, agreeing that it was high-quality. We got a little more stoned, and then I headed back to the suburbs. It was a six-mile bike ride, both uphill and downhill, but I didn’t mind. On the interstate late at night, I coasted downhill, enjoying the warm night air. As I neared the suburbs, I decided to go to the river. It was the middle of the night, and no one was around, so I undressed and felt like swimming. I didn’t fully submerge myself in the cold water, worried about having a heart attack. I went home and tried to sleep, but the speed kept me awake. I occasionally felt a sharp pain in my heart.

I bought “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle and learned some breathing exercises, including continuous breathing. Normally, people pause briefly between inhaling and exhaling. One evening, while reading, I decided to try continuous breathing, even though it’s recommended against when trying to sleep. I put down my book, lay on my back, closed my eyes, and began breathing slightly faster than usual, without any pauses. Suddenly, I felt like I was teleported to a road near my neighborhood in Split, floating above it while hearing a white noise sound. The sensation lasted two seconds, and then I was back in my body. 

A few days later, while sleeping on my back, just before waking up, I had a vivid sensation of observing myself lying in bed with my eyes closed as I rapidly approached my own body. Then I woke up. 

August 

One sunny morning in August, I drove my car into the mountains to visit my plants.

Everything was going well with my plants, so I rolled a joint to celebrate. I put on sunglasses, smoked it, and then drove to Split for my Roman soldier job. I drove down towards Solin, a town near Split, while high and with a bag of weed in the passenger seat. I glanced in my rearview mirror and noticed an attractive girl in the car behind me. Looking back at the road, I suddenly braked, causing me to rear-end the car in front of me. 

I immediately threw the weed out the window. Fortunately, the driver of the car I hit was calm, and the damage to both vehicles was minor. The only issue was that it was a company car. We exchanged numbers, and he said he’d contact me about insurance. I got back in my car and drove to Split for my Roman soldier shift. Later, foolishly, I returned to the scene of the accident to look for the bag of weed I’d thrown out, but I never found it. Since the damage to my car wasn’t significant, I made up a story about hitting something. Two days later, the other driver called to say he’d handled all the insurance paperwork.

A few weeks later, my Roman soldiers group organized a trip to Slovenia. Fifteen of us were going, so we planned to travel in two cars and a van. One sunny morning, I was driving one of the cars, with Danny and two others as passengers. We planned to smoke a joint while driving and decided to do so after a short break in Knin, a town near my hometown. We stopped in Knin and then continued on to Slovenia. 

Danny pulled out a pre-rolled joint, and we lit it. As we drove and smoked, I got a little higher than I intended. I had the sense to not wear my seatbelt. We were driving towards Slovenia when I saw a police officer standing on the side of the two-lane highway. We made eye contact, but he didn’t react. We dodged a bullet there. We continued into Slovenia, and I then saw a line of stopped cars. I decided to overtake them, then realized it was a road construction zone, and the cars were waiting for a green light at a temporary traffic signal. Fortunately, I ended up in the construction lane, which was gravel. Cars coming from the other direction honked at me as I passed. Danny and the other two passengers, who had been sleeping, woke up and saw what happened. After dodging another bullet, we stopped, and I asked one of the other passengers to take over driving. 

We arrived in Slovenia and settled into a campsite with small cabins near Ptuj. We had a performance that evening and then returned to the camp to sleep. The next day, we had a morning performance, followed by an afternoon break. Danny and I went to a local coffee shop, where I openly asked people if they had any weed. No one did, so we returned to the camp.

Our whole group had dinner and then decided to drink at the campsite cabins. We gathered in one and gradually got drunk, singing and being loud. Some of us, realizing it was time to stop, went to bed. Others, including Danny and me, decided to go out. We took a taxi to Ptuj, paid the fare, and found a nightclub under a large tent. I was very drunk (9/10) and feeling great. I saw a DJ on stage, and people were dancing. Then it started raining, and everyone moved under the tent. I was the only one who stayed dancing in front of the stage and the DJ, getting soaked but having a fantastic time. When I got tired, I went back to Danny, who showed me a video of me dancing in the rain. We laughed and went back to the camp. A few days later, we left Slovenia and returned home. 

I spent the rest of the summer working as a Roman soldier, smoking weed, and going to the beach. One day, I went to the gay beaches to get high and swim naked, hoping to meet someone. However, the only people there were gay men. I moved further down the coast towards Stobreč, got high again, and, unable to contain my horniness, masturbated. I then went for a swim, heading in the direction of Stobreč. I noticed two women sunbathing on the beach. I swam a bit further and then started to approach them. I got out of the water a little distance from them and walked towards my spot. As I passed the women, I saw that one was a tanned, topless mature woman, and the other was much younger. I walked by them and went back to my spot.

After a while, the wind picked up, and as I watched the sea, I noticed an inflatable mattress about 50 yards offshore, drifting away. I immediately swam out to it, grabbed it, and brought it back to shore. I wondered who it belonged to but decided to keep it. Shortly after, I looked towards Stobreč and saw the tanned, topless mature woman approaching me. I suspected it was her mattress and waited to see what would happen. Soon, she was close by, and I stood up naked and walked towards her. 

We met, and she told me her name was Amber. She asked about the mattress, and I confirmed I’d retrieved it. She then asked what I was doing there, and I told her I was swimming naked. I asked her age, and she said 46. I told her I was 22, and she mentioned having a son my age. She then subtly straightened up, almost as if offering her breasts. I wasn’t interested. I explained that I’d been on the beach all day and had already masturbated. I suggested we exchange numbers, which we did. For some reason, she had her phone with her on the beach. 

She told me to keep the mattress. I went back to my spot, and she lingered nearby for a while, but I didn’t pay much attention. Eventually, a man came to the beach near me, and she greeted him. They chatted while I rolled another joint. Amber went into the sea, and by the time I finished rolling, she was walking in the shallows near some rocks. She was a beautiful sight, but I wasn’t interested, especially with the other man now present. Suddenly, she grimaced in pain and sat down in the shallow water. I went over and asked what was wrong. She said she’d stepped on a sea urchin—common on those beaches. I went into the water and asked her to lift her foot. I examined her foot but couldn’t find any sea urchin spines.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her looking lustfully to the side, and she was probably looking at the guy on the beach who had come a few minutes ago.

Realizing there was no sea urchin issue, I returned to my spot. She then joined the man on the beach, who was a nudist. I saw her beckoning me over, so I joined them.

The man asked my name, and I introduced myself. I joined them, and we stood in silence for a few moments. Then, I began kissing Amber and untied her swimsuit. She knelt down and began performing oral sex on me. I was nervous about my first threesome, and my arousal wasn’t what it used to be, but eventually, I became erect. She was impatient and stood up, turned her back to me, and presented her rear. 

I penetrated her, and she finally got what she wanted. I was happy too; there’s nothing better than sex without a condom. I began thrusting, and she simultaneously masturbated the other man. He had a slightly aggressive look on his face and was telling me to “fuck that whore good.” I felt myself about to ejaculate, and she sensed it. Just before the point of no return, I pulled out. She moaned in disappointment, but I was worried about pregnancy. The other man then continued having sex with her. When he finished, I asked her to lie down so I could have sex with her. She refused, so I masturbated and ejaculated on her breasts. People on the beach, including gay, bisexual, and straight men, began approaching, so we all got dressed and left. 

The day after the incident on the beach, I met Ava in Split and proudly told her I’d had sex with another mature woman. She simply turned and walked away. I couldn’t blame her. She forgave me a few days later. 

Amber contacted me afterward, asking if I wanted to do it again. I declined, and she then blocked me.

I continued to go to the gay beaches to get high. The attention I received from the men there made me realize how women feel when they’re constantly pursued by men who don’t understand social cues—it’s absolutely exhausting. I was no longer the hunter; I had become the hunted. 

September 

One day, I went for a nude swim with Ava and showed her pictures of my marijuana plants. That evening, I drove her home and then went to a parking lot by the hill in my neighborhood to get high. As I was rolling a joint, Stacey contacted me. I don’t recall the subject of our conversation. I ended the call and continued rolling in my car. I had my grinder and weed in the passenger seat when I noticed another car entering the parking lot. I was the only one there, and it parked to my left. A man got out and approached me. He identified himself as a police officer and showed me his badge. He asked what I was doing there, and I replied that I was meeting my ex- girlfriend and could prove it. He declined to see any proof and asked for my ID. I was scared, hoping he hadn’t noticed the weed in the passenger seat. He ran my information with his colleagues at the station. Since I had no record, he returned my ID and left. I was incredibly lucky, yet again. 

October 

By early October, my cannabis plants were thriving.

Some of them were ready for harvest and drying. 

November 

In November, Ava told me about a friend of hers who worked in bioenergetics. Bioenergetic therapy explores the interconnectedness of body, mind, and spirit. Bioenergetic therapists use movement, breathing, touch, and dialogue to help clients release physical tension that can contribute to emotional and mental stress. She suggested I try it because I had digestive issues and was addicted to marijuana.

I accepted her offer and one day went to Solin, a city near Split. I met the bioenergetic therapist, and he began playing Eastern music and lit a candle. I explained my situation, and then we began the session. I lay face up on a massage table. He placed his hand on the table near my groin, but I didn’t react. It didn’t bother me; I saw it as part of the process. He then placed his hands on various parts of my body, and soon the session was over. I paid him $30 and never saw him again. 

December 

Around Christmas 2016, I finished my cannabis harvest. I’d read that hanging the entire plants upside down to dry allows the nutrients to be drawn out. I hung them to dry on trees near my place. A week later, I returned to find one plant missing. I assumed someone had discovered my grow and taken one plant, perhaps out of pity for leaving the others. The remaining plants were dry and ready to smoke. I placed each one in a glass jar. I had about ten jars full of dried cannabis. It was time to drive to Split with my stash, a risky undertaking, but I hoped for the best. I drove towards Split with all the weed and, luckily, didn’t encounter any police checkpoints. I bought a large, airtight plastic container to store my stash. The plan was to hide the container in the woods above the gay beaches. I went home, got a digital scale, and then went to the location above the beaches. I weighed all the weed, and it totaled about three ounces. I had invested around $1,500 and made roughly the same amount in profit. I hid the container with the jars in the bushes, covering it with a thick layer of pine needles.

One afternoon, I went for a bike ride to check on my stash. For some reason, I decided to take all the jars with me, put them in a bag, and then went to meet Danny. We planned to smoke at our usual spot, the place where the Roman soldiers and gladiators trained. We were alone there, and I then pulled out all the jars of weed.

He was shocked to see I had so much weed. He asked where I’d gotten it, and I told him I’d grown it myself. I asked him to keep it a secret. He was happy and opened one of the jars. He smelled the weed and commented on how pleasant and “healthy” it smelled. I explained that these plants were grown outdoors and fertilized organically, which is why they smelled like mountain herbs, not the skunky weed you usually get from a dealer. 

It was the cold winter of 2016/2017, and I went to Zagreb with Danny and Jim to celebrate the New Year. Jim’s mom made sandwiches for the trip, Danny brought a pot of beans for several meals, and I brought the weed. Jim drove us up the A1 motorway, with Danny in the passenger seat and me in the back. I pulled out some weed and started grinding it. Once finished, I gently blew the ground weed toward the front seat. They soon smelled it and started laughing. We stopped at a gas station and parked a little further back. Danny and I smoked, but Jim declined. We got high and arrived in cold Zagreb at Danny’s apartment.

It was warm inside the apartment thanks to the advanced heating system. We ate and got high again. We went to the city center to wait for the New Year, and it was incredibly cold despite the lack of wind. We went to the central square where Psihomodo pop was performing and counted down from 10 to 0. We returned to the apartment and went to sleep. The next day, they wanted to go out again in the evening, but I didn’t feel like it. They went out, and I stayed at the apartment, wanting to sleep. I wasn’t happy and wished I were somewhere else with someone else. I couldn’t sleep and was awake when they returned. The next morning, we packed our bags and headed back to Split. We had some weed left, which we saved for the return trip.

January 

I returned home in the evening, and the north wind was blowing fiercely in Split. It was so strong that it felt bitterly cold. That didn’t stop me from going to the garage to retrieve my stash from where it was hidden on the power cords mounted on a metal rail. I rolled a joint but realized it was impossible to smoke outside in that wind, so I went to the lower level of the garage. I barely got high that cold night, and I remember that winter as the coldest of my life. 

Danny and I often went to the place where the Roman soldiers practiced marching drills. Danny had copied the key to the place, so we took advantage of it and went there to smoke weed alone. We’d get high and discuss various topics. We talked about the vastness of space. I wondered that if you could travel at the speed of light, where would you end up? I’ve always imagined our universe as a giant space you could travel through in a spaceship, but eventually, you’d encounter a massive, infinitely thick wall of rock. 

My weed-smoking habits had changed. I no longer smoked the way I used to, slowly inhaling through my mouth and then into my lungs. Now, I inhaled directly into my lungs. The weed didn’t have the same effect as it used to, and I just wanted to consume as much as possible. I was very tired of smoking, but I lacked the strength or will to quit. I even fantasized about being arrested for possession, thinking it would finally force me to stop. 

February 

I decided to quit college. I was in my second year again, and I realized that I no longer had the strength and will to learn. I felt relieved the day I signed the papers saying I was going to drop out. I went to the gay beaches and got high while listening to Jimi Hendrix’s “Freedom. 

I bought a book called “The Power of Intuition” by Gerd Gigerenzer. I tried to guess the price before buying it, and I was right; it was $20. My intuition was already proving useful. One cloudy afternoon, I drove to Kašuni beach to smoke weed and read the book. After getting high, I became engrossed in the reading. I then smoked a bit more. Time passed, but I still didn’t want to go home. 

I had a strange feeling, like a small voice telling me to go home, but I resisted it. Suddenly, a car appeared, and I recognized its license plate: it was an unmarked police car with two men inside. I expected them to simply turn around and leave, but they stopped next to my car and got out. One of them showed me his badge and asked for my ID. He seemed like a good cop. I rolled down the window and handed it over. He asked what I was doing there, and I said I was reading a book. 

He told me to get out of the car, which I did. He thoroughly searched me but found nothing. He asked if I had any drugs in the car, and I said no. Then the other policeman, who seemed like a bad cop, said I should have just told them if I had anything, and nothing bad would have happened. The good cop was still searching my car while the bad cop continued questioning me. Then I remembered I’d put some weed in the driver’s side door compartment, but I hesitated to tell them. They continued searching, and figuring they’d find it anyway, I admitted I had some in the compartment. The good cop found it, and the bad cop started scolding me like a father. I didn’t even argue about him saying earlier that nothing bad would happen; I just resigned myself to going to the police station. The good cop took the weed and got into their car, while the bad cop sat in the passenger seat of my car and instructed me to drive to the station. 

If I hadn’t been high, I probably would have been more shocked. I started driving with him in my car, and he asked me what I was thinking about, and why I was reading a book and smoking weed. I told him I wanted to create a better society where we wouldn’t need the police. He was silent for a few seconds, then started threatening me with a court summons, saying the judge would be merciless. I tried to concentrate on driving, but he became loud and agitated, likely trying to distract me and cause an accident while I was driving high, hoping to get me into even more trouble. 

I somehow managed to drive to the police station in my neighborhood and parked in front. We met the good cop there, and we all went inside. 

As I entered the station, the bad cop gave me a side hug and told me to hang in there. We took the elevator to a room, and they sat me down in a chair between their desks. They took my ID to write a report. They weighed the weed I had, and it was about a gram (1/28 oz). They asked where and from whom I got it, but I refused to say. A third officer arrived, eating a sandwich, and told me to sign the report. Then the good cop began a monologue, saying things like, “Drug dealers have the best money and women, while I read books on Kašuni,” trying to provoke me. I eventually gave in and told him where I got the weed, but I gave him a false location. The good cop and the third officer left the room, leaving me alone with the bad cop. I refused to sign the report, so he marked it as such. He then told me to strip down to my underwear to check if I had any more weed hidden. He asked if I had anything in my underwear, and I said no. I then got dressed, and they let me go home. 

A week later, I received a court summons at my home address and managed to retrieve it without my parents’ knowledge. 

March 

It was Sunday, March 19th, when I went to a choreography training session for the Roman soldier reenactment group I was in.

We had a relaxed training session, and afterward, I hung out with the whole team. Danny invited me for a beer, mentioning that Jim would be there too, so I joined them. We were having a good time when my phone rang. I answered, and my middle brother shouted, “GET HOME QUICKLY!! HENRY FELL OUT OF THE WINDOW!!” I grabbed my things, told Danny and Jim to take care of the drinks bill, and rushed to my car. I drove home, pumped with adrenaline. I ran a red light, seeing no other cars, but at the next intersection, I calmed down and waited for the green light. I made it to my neighborhood and parked near the building. I got out and saw police tape and some blood on the ground in front. I hurried upstairs, took the elevator, and unlocked the door. I found my parents, brother, and sister crying, surrounded by police officers who told us we needed to go to the emergency room. 

I remained calm, and our neighbor drove my parents and me to the hospital. We got into the car and drove in silence. During the drive, I broke the silence, asking, “He’s not going to die, is he?” The silence returned. We arrived at the emergency room, and they took us in to see Henry. He was sedated and connected to life support machines. Seeing him like that, I felt a sense of relief, smiled, and said, “Look at this beautiful boy.” He was just 9 years old. We left the room and went outside. I saw an unmarked police car approaching, and it was the same one I’d seen a few weeks earlier in Kašuni. My brother and sister got out of the car with a police officer, and I recognized him as the “good cop” from Kašuni. He didn’t recognize me, or at least he pretended not to. When I saw my siblings, I smiled, which made my brother angry. We stayed at the emergency room a little longer and then went home. On the way home, I texted Danny, asking if he could lend me some weed because I was out.

He replied that he was about to get high with a girl but had some weed for me. Later, I left my house to meet him, and he arrived by car. He asked what was wrong and why I’d rushed out of the bar earlier, but I didn’t want to tell him. I got high, remaining calm about the whole situation, though I was slightly worried. I returned home to find my family crying, and I joined them, pretending to cry to mask my red eyes. I ate some chocolate and went to sleep. 

The next day, Monday, I messaged my dealer and bought some weed. I could barely hold back tears as I left. I went home, a beautiful, sunny day with no clouds or wind. I dropped off my car keys and then went to a hill near my neighborhood to get high. I could barely walk, dragging my feet. I sat on a bench and started rolling a joint, crying as I did so. I lit it and smoked, sobbing, wondering why this had happened to our family. I questioned what we had done wrong for God to allow this. I returned home to find my family depressed. 

We went to the hospital, to the intensive care unit. My youngest brother was lying on the bed, hooked up to a machine with something in his nostrils. He was the only patient in the room. The doctors told us his life was in danger and that he could die. We all cried and then went home. My middle brother suggested we pray, but I wasn’t in the mood. Another day of sadness and depression passed, and after eating some chocolate, I went to sleep.

The next day, Tuesday, I followed the same routine of smoking weed on the hill. The weather was beautiful. I cried while smoking. Later, we visited my brother in the hospital ward and went through the usual routine. When we got home, I only ate chocolate. Eventually, we went to bed. 

The following Wednesday, when I woke up, my parents told me the doctors had called them. They’d said my youngest brother’s life was in serious danger. We went to the hospital again to see him. We were all calm and didn’t cry much. We went home, and I asked my family if we should call the bioenergetic therapist Ava had recommended to me. My sister dismissed the idea, saying there was no way a bioenergetic therapist could help our brother. I went up the hill to get high again. The weather was beautiful. While high, I messaged the bioenergetic therapist, telling him my youngest brother’s life was in danger and asking if he could do anything. 

He didn’t respond. About a minute later, my mom called. It was 1 p.m., and through tears, she told me Henry had just died. It was March 22, 2017. She told me to come home as quickly as possible. I walked home and called Ava. I was devastated and cried as I told her my youngest brother was gone. She cried too. When I got home, my whole family was crying. I felt an urge to break the TV, or anything, but I resisted. I became angry, and then my father became angry too. We avoided a fight. 

Then Uncle Benny and his friend arrived, both crying. We all hugged and cried together. My grandfather from Split arrived, also crying. My aunts came as well, and we were all devastated by the loss of my youngest brother. I was consumed by guilt, blaming myself for what happened.

My father took me to the hospital to speak with a psychiatrist. The doctor asked if I had ever told my brother to kill himself, and I said no. He then said it was simply an unfortunate circumstance. He told my father I had the option of taking a drug called Zyprexa. My father refused, and I later learned that Zyprexa is an antipsychotic medication. 

The following Thursday, my family and my grandfather from Split went to the morgue to see Henry one last time before the funeral. The attendant brought out a gurney with my younger brother’s covered body. She uncovered him, and there he was, dead, cold, and dressed nicely. We all cried. Even the attendant was crying. I couldn’t accept that he was dead, so I tried to open his eyes, but my grandfather told me to stop. 

I got one last glimpse of what he would have looked like if he were still alive. We left the morgue; it was a beautiful, sunny day. I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and lit one in front of my whole family. I figured there was no point in hiding it anymore, now that my little brother was gone. My mother hugged me, and my father just stood there, confused. My siblings and grandfather already knew I smoked. 

The next day was the funeral. The weather was beautiful. We gathered in the church at the Split cemetery, and everyone came to offer their condolences. I looked into the coffin and quietly told my brother to perform a miracle and wake up. The condolences concluded, though many more people wanted to express them. The funeral procession began, and we started to leave the church.

As we exited the church, I put on my sunglasses, stopped the procession, and gathered my family around me. I told them we could get through this, and then we continued the procession. On the way to the grave, I was struck by the silence, punctuated only by birdsong. We reached the grave, a niche in the cemetery wall. They placed the coffin inside, and it was over. Ava came to offer her condolences. Even Stacey came, accompanied, I believe, by her new boyfriend. Then came Jim, Barby Jo, and the rest of my high school friends. Finally, Harry, Danny, and the rest of the Roman soldier reenactment group arrived. Harry asked how I was feeling, and I replied “good.” He then commented that he was pleased with how I looked when Stacey arrived. My reaction was essentially, “Okay, let’s just get this over with. 

After the funeral, we went to the church in our neighborhood for a memorial service. I was calm, but in the middle of the service, I started crying loudly. The priest continued his sermon, while I continued to cry. My father hugged me. It was very uncomfortable, and I don’t know why I didn’t just leave the church to cry outside. Eventually, my crying stopped, and the rest of the service proceeded peacefully. We went home for dinner, and there were many people there. I managed to eat something, but while everyone was talking in pairs or groups, I just wondered why all of this had to happen. After everyone left, I was alone with my parents. 

They told me someone had informed them that I smoke weed. I admitted that I’d been caught with weed about a month prior and had to go to court. We anticipated that the court would order some kind of rehabilitation program. Dad mentioned he knew someone involved with a rehab community. We talked a bit more, and I expressed my desire to sleep with as many women as possible. My dad responded that there would always be someone who’d sleep with more women than me. He added that when I “look the truth in the eyes,” I’ll know, probably referring to some hypothetical woman I was supposed to marry. 

About two weeks later, I went to court. I handed over my ID card, and the judge began the interrogation while a clerk recorded everything. In short, I stated that I’d gotten high on Kašuni beach to make reading my book more interesting. They transcribed everything. The judge then ordered me to a three-month rehabilitation program. 

In April, my parents, sister, and I went to a “spiritual renewal” retreat in Samobor, a town near Zagreb. My brother couldn’t join us because he was at college in Dubrovnik. The retreat was a three-day program that included religious services and the “laying on of hands,” which meant standing in line to have a priest place his hand on your forehead. 

The idea was to experience some kind of divine intervention. It was around this time that Ava recommended a book called “The Biology of Belief” by Bruce H. Lipton. I read it whenever I could, hoping to discover the meaning of life and if there was a way to bring Henry, and everyone else who had died, back to life. One afternoon, we arrived in Samobor and went to our room to unpack. Afterward, we attended mass and then had dinner. We went to sleep, and I dreamed of my youngest brother.

He was crying, and I soon woke up crying as well. My family also woke up, and I exclaimed, “Fuck you, Virgin Mary!” My father scolded me for saying that. I fell back asleep and slept soundly. The next day, we had breakfast, followed by a break before mass. I was in the garden, sitting on a bench and reading “The Biology of Belief.” The book described a scientific approach to life combined with some supernatural ideas. Its main idea was that we ultimately become our thoughts. I went inside to attend mass, and while it was happening, I heard people screaming in another part of the building. 

My parents told me those screams were from exorcisms. The next day was the last of our spiritual renewal, culminating in the laying on of hands. Before it began, the priest led a prayer for the cessation of addiction, negative thoughts, misery, and basically everything unpleasant to the average person. The laying on of hands began, and everyone formed a line. Opposite the priest stood two men, there to assist. I watched what was happening, and the priest indeed placed his hand on people’s foreheads. Some laughed, others cried, and some even fell backward, only to be caught by the two men and gently laid on the ground. Those who fell spent a few minutes lying there before returning to their place in line. I waited my turn, and finally, it was my turn. 

The priest placed his hand on my forehead and gently pushed my head back. I resisted, not wanting to be one of those people who fell to the ground. He told me to relax and placed his hand on my forehead again. I experienced a sort of semiconscious state. I fell backward, feeling as if I’d landed on a cloud. I didn’t feel the two men catching me. I lay on the floor, and after a few seconds, I was back to reality. I got up and returned to my seat.

A few days later in Split, my parents and I went to the rehabilitation community in my neighborhood, and they introduced me to the director. He explained that I would have to take urine tests over three months. My parents left, and this man took me to the hospital for my first test. The doctors explained that each subsequent test would require a lower concentration of weed in my urine. Ironically, I began these tests on April 20th, the day most commonly associated with smoking weed. 

My urine tests were scheduled to be completed on July 20th. After the initial test, we went back to the rehab community, and I realized it was a faith-based, Christian organization. Some residents there made bracelets and rosaries, and I learned how to make them as well. I became quite good at it. The next day, I returned to the community and was with a girl when a song came on the radio. The lyrics mentioned a “window to the sunset,” which immediately brought to mind the window my younger brother had fallen out of. That window faced west, toward the sunset. 

They told me he jumped because they wouldn’t let him watch a movie inappropriate for those under 12. They had also taken away his phone. He then said, in front of his mother, “If the phone is going, I’ll go too,” opened the window, and jumped from the fifth floor. I almost started crying but held back in front of the girl. I went outside for a cigarette. The man in charge of the community approached and told me he knew a carpenter who needed help. The carpenter’s workshop was also in our neighborhood. The man took me to the carpenter, and I helped him feed some planks through a machine. Later, we moved some furniture. When we were finished, the carpenter offered me money, but I refused, as I didn’t think it was a big deal.

He told me he’d call me from time to time for help, since he worked alone, and I agreed. I continued going to the rehab community and taking the urine tests, which were progressing well. One day, while helping the carpenter, he lit a joint during a break. He offered me some, but I declined, citing the urine tests. 

In the following weeks, I settled into a routine of the rehab community, helping the carpenter, and taking urine tests. I was searching for the true meaning of life, who was in control, who or what God was, etc. I stumbled upon a website called returnofkings.com. Ironically, I’d been searching for things like “damn bitch,” referring to Stacey. The website contained content related to the actual behavior of men and women. If you had read the articles there, you could say you had taken the “red pill,” a reference to the movie The Matrix (1999). In the movie, the protagonist is offered a blue pill and a red pill. The blue pill would return him to his normal life, a kind of false reality, while the red pill would transfer his consciousness to the real world, a kind of real hell on earth. Although the red pill would place him in the real world where he had to fight harder for a good fate, it was ultimately better than being in the fake world of blue pills.

The returnofkings.com website was a right-wing site that espoused views against left- wing ideologies like feminism and the perceived decline of patriarchy. It described how women in the Western world had, in its view, morally degraded themselves and were all pretending to be innocent while secretly seeking casual sex. It also claimed that feminists often dyed their hair red or blue and insidiously used their positions of influence. This meant, according to the website, that they abused the human right to freedom of speech and attempted to impose vulgar sexual behavior, gay rights, and other similar ideas. 

I found that a man should be at least somewhat dominant in a relationship because it’s more natural than the alternative. I thought about my relationship with Stacey and how I felt psychologically abused, with no one to adequately help me. 

I learned about something called “The Game,” which referred to a man’s ability to approach and seduce women. I thought back to the Australian girl I’d wanted to sleep with in the summer of 2016. I remembered a moment when I was leaning against the door wearing only a towel. I’d given up on the idea of sleeping with her then, missing an opportunity. What I should have done, according to “The Game,” was go to the couch with her and undress completely. This would give her a reason to have sex with me, a concept called “plausible deniability.” This meant not directly asking a woman for sex but indirectly creating a situation where it would happen. For example, if I had stripped completely in front of her, she would have likely thought, “That’s it, we’re having sex.” The underlying idea was that she would probably tell her friends about it anyway, but she wouldn’t want to appear promiscuous.

I clicked on many articles on returnofkings.com, some of which discussed how morally degraded and perverted Hollywood was, according to the site. I was introduced to the idea that a hidden “elite” group, called the Illuminati, controlled Hollywood, the media, politics, and the rest of the world. The articles claimed that anyone wanting to be a successful actor in Hollywood had to participate in certain rituals to gain control. These rituals allegedly consisted of public or private shaming ceremonies. The articles mentioned homosexuality, pedophilia, zoophilia, and transgenderism. I read about the so-called “27 Club,” comprised of famous singers and actors who died at age 27, including Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse. I researched further and read that on the night of Amy Winehouse’s death, neighbors reported hearing drums and screams coming from her apartment. I also read about how the Illuminati supposedly sacrificed people in satanic rituals and about the MKUltra (Mind Kontrol Ultra) program. 

This program reportedly involved hypnosis and brainwashing to the point where some people would have a “breakdown.” For example, it was written that actress Britney Spears was a victim of MKUltra and experienced a meltdown, culminating in her shaving her head. I read that the Illuminati use so-called “minor magic” to subtly inform ordinary people of their plans. Since the Illuminati controlled the media and politics, which in turn gave them control of the entire world, they placed subtle signs in movies and news. One example cited was news anchors making a pyramid sign with their hands while delivering the news.

I came across an article about an 11-year-old boy who committed suicide. He had fallen in love with a girl at his school, and after she publicly rejected him, he hanged himself in his closet. It made me both angry and sad. I started crying and showed the article to my father. He was speechless. 

Over time, I developed a conspiracy theory. I believed my younger brother had been abused and sacrificed on the night of his death. In fact, I thought my whole family was the target of some destructive force. I believed I was next and that I would probably die at the age of 27, which was five years away. I was watching the news with my family when I noticed the news anchors making a pyramid shape with their hands. I pointed it out to my family as if I’d made a significant discovery, but they dismissed it as nonsense. 

Summer 2017 began, and I was still attending the rehab community and taking occasional urine tests. One day, after a test, I bought some food and sat down in the park to eat. A guy approached and asked if I had any tobacco; he needed it to roll a joint. I gave him some. After lighting up, he offered it to me, but I declined, explaining that I was in rehab and taking tests. He encouraged me to hang in there, saying I’d be able to smoke weed again in a month, something I was eagerly anticipating. 

My whole family and I moved to a different neighborhood in Split so we could rent out our apartment to tourists. I started working in a carpentry workshop, and since I knew nothing about carpentry, I had to learn everything from scratch. The carpenter gave me some basic tasks, which I performed well. I told Harry I would soon no longer participate in the Roman soldier reenactment group. I wanted to learn a trade and have a real job.

Every Friday, the carpenter’s friends gathered at his workshop for a barbecue, smoking weed and drinking beer. I had to be patient, as July had just begun. 

Ava told me she wanted a small wooden staircase for her apartment and asked if I could make it for her. I accepted, but every time I tried to do something myself, the carpenter would say things like, “Don’t use that type of wood, I need it,” or “You’re not going to do it that way.” It was frustrating because I wanted to learn carpentry, but he constantly blocked me. He had a small female dog that he’d bring to the workshop. 

Every time he returned, he’d find the dog had rummaged through the trash can looking for food. He’d get angry and physically, though mildly, abuse the dog, picking her up roughly and shouting that it was inappropriate. I told him he was exaggerating, but he insisted he was doing nothing wrong. 

The carpenter told me he was divorced and had a son. I met his son when we went to pick him up from kindergarten. One Friday in July, the carpenter’s friends gathered again for a barbecue, weed, and beer. It was just a week before I would be able to smoke weed again. I stared at the fire from the grill, and a few days later, one of the largest, if not the largest, forest fires engulfed the wider area of Split. From our new apartment, we watched flames larger than trees devour pine trees for two days. Fortunately, no one was injured or killed.

July 20th finally arrived, which also happened to be Danny’s birthday. I spent the early afternoon swimming at a gay beach, and later went over to Danny’s apartment. I was the first to arrive, and we celebrated by smoking a joint together. It felt great to be high again, although I kind of wished I’d been able to do it on my own to mark the occasion. 

I also started smoking with the carpenter; he was able to supply me with weed. I was living in a different neighborhood of Split because we were renting our apartment to tourists. One night at the end of July, I went to sleep and my eyes were closed. Suddenly, I saw the pale gray number “10”. It was a strange feeling, and I wondered what it meant. 

August 

One afternoon in early August (either August 4th or 5th), I worked as a Roman soldier with Danny, posing for pictures with tourists. An American man approached us, took a photo with us, gave us a tip, and left. He returned later, asking if we wanted to meet some of the girls he was traveling with. I accepted the offer, while Danny declined. I told the American my shift would be ending soon and that I would meet him later. 

I went to change out of my Roman soldier costume and got dressed. I met the American man near where we’d been taking pictures, and he took me to a nearby apartment. 

Inside, there were indeed two girls. He introduced me, and we started talking. They were drinking and offered me some, which I accepted. We chatted for a while, and they were impressed with my English. One of the girls asked if I could get them some weed, and I told them, “I know a guy.” The American and I exchanged numbers in case they needed anything.

At some point, a guy and one of the girls mentioned they were heading out to buy cigarettes. Once they left, I found myself alone with another girl. By that time, I was fairly intoxicated, and she appeared to be quite drunk as well. She approached me and said, “Let’s have sex.” I led her to a room, and we both undressed. After some foreplay, I mentioned I needed to go back to the living room to grab a condom. I put it on and returned to her. I was on top of her, kissing her before we proceeded further. She then mentioned she had a boyfriend. At one moment, she looked at me with a distant, empty gaze, as if staring into nothingness. 

Then she slapped me, and I slapped her back, thinking she might be into that kind of dynamic. I tried to proceed, but she began to resist. After a brief struggle, I stopped and let go. Realizing something was wrong, I went back to the living room, removed the condom, and threw it away. She left the room angrily, accidentally breaking a glass in the process, and went to the bathroom. I got dressed and messaged the American guy, explaining that the girl was acting strangely and asking where they were. He never responded, so I left the apartment. 

I went to the place where we changed into our Roman soldier costumes to get high and ended up falling asleep there. The next morning, I woke up and we had a performance scheduled on a nearby island. Our group gathered and boarded a boat to the island. The performance was part of a formal event and took place in the afternoon. We delivered a solid performance, and afterward, we enjoyed some time swimming in the sea. In the evening, there was a gala dinner near the venue, and our entire group was invited. I went to remove my Roman costume, and after getting dressed, I checked my phone.

I noticed a missed call from a landline number and called back. It turned out to be the police, who instructed me to come to the local station once I returned to Split. I ended up missing the gala dinner, opting instead to eat canned tuna outside. Later, my friends joined me and mentioned how extravagant the dinner had been, with an abundance of food and a $200 price tag for those who weren’t invited. They laughed when I told them I’d just eaten tuna. 

We all packed up and boarded the boat that was supposed to take us back to Split. Instead of enjoying the warm, starry summer night on the ride back, I was preoccupied, wondering why the police had contacted me. When I finally arrived in Split, I called the police. It was 3 a.m., and they informed me that a police car would come to pick me up. They arrived and took me to the station. Inside, I was seated in a room with a police officer who explained that the girl I had attempted to sleep with the previous day had filed a complaint against me, accusing me of engaging in non-consensual sexual activity. 

It wasn’t classified as rape, but hearing the accusation was still unsettling. They took me to the hospital for a body swab to determine if non- consensual sexual activity had occurred. Afterward, they drove me back to the station. Since it was the middle of the night, they placed me in a detention cell in the basement of the station. At least it was cooler underground. They confiscated my belongings, and I was put in a cell about the size of a small room but with a 15-foot-high ceiling. I was monitored by a camera and given a bed with a blanket. Somehow, I managed to fall asleep. The next morning, the police brought me in for interrogation. They also took photos of the messages on my phone, particularly those exchanged with the American guy.

I was in the office with a police officer, and he mentioned that the American’s statement was helping my case. The American had told the police that the girl who accused me was known to drink heavily and had expressed a desire to get pregnant while traveling in Croatia. It felt like an eternity before they finally released me. My phone and clothes were taken as part of the investigation. I got my phone back weeks later, but I never saw my clothes again. 

A few days after all this, I remembered something: the number 10 that had been stuck in my head. It turned out that exactly 10 days before this incident, an American woman had accused me of non-consensual sex. 

In the fall, we returned to our neighborhood. I had a court case because of the woman who had accused me, and I had to present my side of the story. After the hearing, I never received an official court decision, but my lawyer informed me that the charges had been dropped. 

During this time, I continued to search for deeper truths and grapple with life’s big questions. On the living room counter, there was a picture of my late brother wearing a T-shirt that said “Research.” I took it as a sign from God. Even my mother mentioned having a dream that included some kind of image involving me. When I asked her what it meant, she said it was something I would have to figure out on my own.

I grew tired of returnofkings.com’s “feminism bad, patriarchy good” mantra and turned to YouTube. I watched videos about the Hollywood Illuminati. They described how MKUltra had a sub-program called Monarch, named after a species of butterfly. The name “Monarch” was supposedly chosen because MKUltra victims subjected to programming processes felt dizzy and light, like butterflies. I found a video filled with images of actresses and singers accompanied by butterflies. In another video, I saw various actors and singers covering one eye, supposedly mimicking the all-seeing Illuminati eye. They would also allegedly “draw” the number “666” with their fingers.

Many even made the pyramid sign with their hands and positioned it around their eye, again mimicking the Illuminati’s all-seeing eye. I found a video of Jim Carrey on Jimmy Kimmel Live. When he came on stage, he made the pyramid sign with his hands, placing them around his mouth. He then stuck out his tongue and made various movements. 

He then said he would expose “Illumi-nutty” (a pun) and everything about them. I felt like I had discovered something significant that many people weren’t aware of.

I recalled reading somewhere that actress Queen Latifah supposedly “initiates” other actresses by having sex with them using a strap-on, a type of sex toy involving a fake penis. Months later, I watched a movie starring her, and at one point, she commented on the appearance of another female character, saying something like, “Yes, she is beautiful, she gives me my female erection. 

I watched a video called “All the Truth in 60 Seconds.” It featured a voiceover of a man claiming to reveal truths that many people didn’t understand. One statement that stuck with me was, “There is a dome above your head.” That’s when I started considering the idea that the Earth is flat. 

I found a YouTube channel called Justin Beers. It featured voiceovers discussing various conspiracy theories. He was a “truther” who covered topics such as Hollywood, the Illuminati, flat Earth, and more. He exposed alleged pedophile networks created by a powerful elite, known as “PizzaGate,” because it supposedly centered around a pizza place in an American city. I saw some disturbing videos he presented. One showed a parent dressed as Spiderman playing with a toddler in a way that bordered on child abuse. The baby was placed in a cradle and covered with various toys, presented as normal play, which Justin Beers exposed. In another disturbing video, a person was filmed from the chest up, covered in some kind of white substance, with only their eyes visible. This person said, without blinking, “I’m eating a little baby’s ice cream, it keeps me young.” Justin Beers claimed this video was broadcast on TV.

YouTube recommended a channel called Quasiluminous. He was also a “truther,” but unlike Justin Beers and other truther channels, he had a completely different approach. He was very direct and used profanity. He not only described conspiracy theories but also, between the lines, offered advice on how to become a better human being. His main idea was that the planet Earth is not only flat but also a literal hell, a kind of labyrinth, and you had to reach the center of the labyrinth (the Earth) before you died. 

He spoke of a paradise on Earth that could be established if 144,000 people performed “Blood over intent.” This was a process in which a person writes on a piece of paper, “I intend to bring forth heaven on Earth.” Then, the person waits for an injury or pricks a finger and puts some blood over the written words. The entire process is recorded and uploaded to YouTube with the title, description, and tag: “Blood over intent.”

January 

Quasiluminous, whose real name was Mark Braun, was a 46-47-year-old man living in Coral Springs, Florida, USA. He was married and had a son. I watched as many of his videos as I could because they were packed with information. In his videos, he discussed his belief that the Earth is flat and that its shape resembles the United Nations logo. 

According to Mark, the North Pole was actually the South Pole because the north end of the compass needle was pointing toward the South Pole. At the true North Pole (which he believed to be the center of the flat Earth) stood an invisible magnetic mountain called Mount Meru. Mark claimed that reaching it before death was crucial. He said, “Either you join me publicly in blood, or you die of old age or stupidity.” Once at Mount Meru, the source of eternal life could be found. Anyone who drank from the waters of eternity there would become an immortal superhuman. It was also said that the tree of life could be found at this location, and it had the power to resurrect the dead. 

Mark talked about the various “viruses” that people had contracted, such as the shoe virus, the religious virus, the gay virus, and the language use virus. He believed that language was a tool for communication, but he also claimed that language is what a computer uses to speak. 

Mark discussed the concept of the deadly trap of the soul. He believed that when you die, you might encounter deceased loved ones who would encourage you to go into the light. However, he warned against entering that light, as he thought these loved ones were actually harmful entities. According to Mark, the light would erase your memories and send you into a new life cycle, placing you in a new embryo on Earth. He claimed that this system of control was created by the Archons, who were reptilian beings seeking to dominate the human race and feed off people’s soul energy. Instead of following the light, Mark suggested that you should enter the darkness, turn your consciousness inward toward your heart, and say “Take me home,” which would bring you to your true home. 

Mark Braun was the final step in my search for the truth. His explanations seemed to make sense, even though I couldn’t completely believe in a flat Earth. At the very least, I became doubtful of the concept of a globe Earth. 

A brief description of the flat Earth theory Mark presented: it resembles the United Nations logo, being shaped like a flat disk surrounded by an ice wall (Antarctica). The Sun is a disk, 32 nautical miles in diameter and 3,000 nautical miles away at noon. It levitates around the Earth, moving in a spiral pattern, which causes the seasons. The Sun begins its yearly journey by spiraling outward from the Tropic of Cancer (North Tropic) on June 21, and when it reaches the Tropic of Capricorn (South Tropic) on September 23, it spirals inward. This process repeats. Above the Earth, there’s said to be a glass dome. When traveling with a compass, you’re essentially circling the Earth, as the compass always points north.

I saw that the United Nations logo was divided into exactly 33 sections.

It was a hint from the Illuminati, suggesting they controlled this place, as the number 33 holds special significance to them. 

Mark’s statements were often difficult to comprehend. He would say things like, “One side of the light hole is the black hole, the Sun above you is Jesus, and it must place its light in the holy hole at the center of the flat Earth plane. Through this process, the great dragon Typhon was born.” 

Mark would say things like, “You’ll either publicly join me in blood, or you’ll die from your own fucking stupidity. When you have sex with someone, you’re a necrophile because everyone is considered dead when they arrive,” and so on. He believed everything was controlled by the law of the sea and the law of the land. According to him, if you’re “lost at sea,” you are “presumed dead in the eyes of your masters.” This meant that you are seen as a vessel that holds your spirit, which, in his view, is your true self. Mark discovered a form of lesser magic in wordplay. For example, he said that you aren’t “born” by a doctor, but “berthed” by a “dock-tor,” referencing the law of the sea (explanation: “dock” is a sea dock, and “doc” refers to the one who accepts you at the dock). He believed that when you’re born, your footprints are taken and sent to the Vatican, symbolizing that they are taking your soul/soles (since “soul” and “sole” both refer to the foot). This, according to Mark, makes you a stillborn—dead upon arrival. He also argued that when you fill out forms with your first and last name, you’re essentially using your “strawman name.” He believed that looking at a blank form with empty spaces reveals that the true spirit has no name, age, or other identity. 

I’ve come to realize that there is a lot of lesser magic in the world. This suggests that the Illuminati or some other group has embedded subconscious messages everywhere, so that in the end, you wouldn’t even recognize their influence unless they explicitly told you. These hidden messages are in movies, TV shows, and even in the words and language we use. You’re constantly in a state of war. For instance, the typical American flag is actually a military flag because the U.S. is always at war. In the image below, you can see the real flag placed over the usual one. This flag is supposed to be used during peacetime, which never truly happens. 

There’s a lot of wordplay related to the concept of war. For example, every morning you wake up and put on your “war-drobe,” and then you go to “war-k” (work), essentially meaning “war.” 

Mark introduced me to the concept of reverse speech. He explained that when you record something and play it backward, you can hear hidden subconscious messages. While these messages aren’t always clear or easily recognizable, with enough focus, you can make out the words. For example, when the phrase “I love you” is played backward, it sounds like “We evil yeah,” but Mark interpreted it as “We will die.” Similarly, “God loves you” played backward becomes “We shall die.” He also pointed out that when former U.S. President Barack Obama’s famous motto “Yes we can” is reversed, it sounds like “Thank you Satan.” Other examples include reversing “You’re officially dead and a necrophiliac” to hear “I leave for heaven in a nice new ship, hurry!” and many more. 

Mark would occasionally Skype with a woman named Venus_14. Her real name was Phoebe Rosa Castillo, and Mark once referred to her as his personal assistant/manager. During their Skype conversations, they would discuss everything Mark talked about in his videos.

I noticed that in the comments of Quasiluminous’s videos, a person named Saturn often appeared. He commented that Quasiluminous is “mythical.” Mark Braun, now claiming to be Satan, said that he was the Devil incarnate. He explained that he had fully taken on the role of the devil with all his blood, and anyone who tried to oppose this would have to kill themselves on the spot. He quoted 2 Corinthians 4:4, saying, “This is my fucking world.” Curious, I looked up the Bible verse, and it read: “Satan, who is the god of this world, has blinded the minds of those who do not believe. They are unable to see the glorious light of the Good News. They do not understand this message of the glory of Christ, who is the exact likeness of God.” 

I wondered whether I should do Blood Over Intent because it went against everything I had been taught, including making a blood contract and aligning with Satan. One night, as I drifted between reality and the dream world, I suddenly “saw” the number 30 in my mind. It reminded me of when I saw the number “10” before having sex with that American girl who later sued me. I fell asleep and woke up the next day, still puzzled about the meaning of the number. I realized it must be connected to January 30, so I googled significant events from that day. When I checked the Wikipedia page for January 30, I was shocked to find that in 1835, there was an assassination attempt on 

U.S. President Andrew Jackson. Since my name is Andrew, I felt like I had uncovered something important, and that I might be a threat to the Illuminati or the Archons, who might try to kill me. I interpreted it as a warning or some sort of divine intervention, suggesting that Blood Over Intent was the right path to take because it was good.

I waited patiently for January 30, praying to God that everything would turn out well. One afternoon, I went to the gay beaches to watch the sunset, and afterward, I saw a boat sailing by with a light that changed from green to red. I decided to count to 10: if the light was green, I’d do Blood over intent; if it was red, I wouldn’t. But before I even started counting, I realized that red could mean both “don’t do that” and “red is the color of blood.” I quickly dismissed the idea and went home. 

When January 30 finally arrived, I went to buy donuts. I stopped to eat in front of the store, and a woman approached me asking if I had any money. I gave her a few dollars, and we started talking. I told her about Blood over intent, and surprisingly, she seemed to find the idea pleasant. 

It was a pleasant idea for me as well. I remembered something Mark Braun had said: “If you stand firm in truth, you will gain the favor of your Creator.” I also thought that if my intention was good and pure, God would indeed be on my side. 

The next day, I decided to make a Blood over intent video. I used a blue marker to write, “I intend to bring heaven to Earth and release all from bondage.” Then came the difficult part – I had to draw some of my blood. I didn’t want to wait for an injury, so I took a razor blade and cut the inside of my left index finger, closer to the palm rather than the tip. It barely scratched the surface, and it was already painful. I pushed through the discomfort and managed to get some blood by squeezing the wound. I turned on the camera and recorded a shot of the paper with the words written on it.

I said, “I intend to bring heaven to Earth and release all from bondage,” then placed some of my blood over the written words and finished filming. I posted the video on YouTube with the title, tag, and description “Blood over intent.” A few hours later, I started receiving my first subscribers and comments. One person commented, “Witnessed, blood.” Others commented, “Blood is thicker than water.” Later, I saw that Quasiluminous had re- uploaded my video to his channel with the title “Proof of Life Andrew.” I felt a bit exposed at first, worried that someone might Google me and discover my strange ritual, but as time passed, it started to feel less and less strange to me. 

February 

In one of his videos, Mark Braun mentioned that he was “standing on gallons of motherfucking blood.” He explained that, because he had donated blood multiple times, he had received several “one-gallon certificates” from the South Florida Community Blood Centers. Mark also had another channel called The Prince of Darkness, where he posted a video on 07/06/2015.

The video was titled “The Prince of Darkness Speaks” and was age-restricted. In it, Mark Braun was publicly declaring that he was indeed The Prince of Darkness, believing that this declaration would eventually grant him supernatural powers. The description of the video read: “I, the Prince of Darkness, intend to love everyone and intend to bring Heaven to Earth. Prince of Darkness (Avoid the 1st light you see after death, it is a trap for your soul). Head towards the darkness and turn your consciousness inward into your heart and say ‘Take me home.’ You will be home instantly.” 

I have been known by many names: 

Antichrist, Apollo, Nimrod, Brahma, Ra. 

I am here as an extension of The Grand Architect, tasked with bringing Heaven to Earth. My mission is to free everyone from the constraints of time and money. Heaven will manifest on Earth in your lifetime. 

In one of Ǫuasiluminous’s videos, he explained that you can unlock supernatural powers by following his method. You choose your unique deity, create a video similar to Mark’s on his “The Prince of Darkness” channel, make it age-restricted, and upload it. 

He also mentioned the concept of the Matrix Verification Code#, which is a kind of test. The question was, “When does 2/1 = 333?” The answer, according to him, was February 1st because there are 333 days left in the year from that date.

I chose a Greek deity named Aeolus, the ruler of the winds. I researched other gods I could consider and found various names online, such as Vayu, Ehecatl, and Szélatya. To make sure no one else had used them, I searched for videos like “Vayu speaks” or “Ehecatl speaks” on YouTube. After confirming that these names were available, I created a new YouTube channel called “Aeolus.” I wrote my intention to bring heaven to Earth once again, wrote “Aeolus” beneath those words, added some of my blood on top, and began recording. The video showed a piece of paper with the blood on it while I said, “I am Aeolus and I intend to bring forth Heaven on Earth and release everyone from bondage.” I then uploaded the video to my Aeolus channel and included this description:  

“I, Aeolus, intend to love everyone and intend to bring Heaven to Earth. 

Aeolus (Avoid the 1st light you see after death, it is a trap for your soul). Head towards the darkness and turn your consciousness inward into your heart and say ‘Take me home.’ You will be home instantly. 

They called me by many names: 

Vayu

Shu

Ehecatl 

Szélatya 

(I forgot the 5th name) 

Matrix Verification Code#” 

I wrote “2/1=Y3ST3RD3Y” because I uploaded the video on 02/02/2018, and 02/01 was the previous day. I found it interesting that the matrix code verification number lined up so perfectly with the date. The following day, an earthquake with a magnitude of 4.3 struck near Makarska, which made me believe that my videos could alter reality and have an impact on events. 

Mark Braun suggested in his videos that we all create “Holy Grail videos” that point to the Holy Grail, which he believed was located in the center of the flat Earth. We were encouraged to either repost videos about it or create our own. I wanted to be as original as possible, so I thought back to movies or TV series I had watched that might contain hidden messages. One film that stood out was “Total Recall”, which I had watched multiple times. In one scene, the protagonist has an alien encounter where he flies over a location and discovers a button with a palm and four fingers engraved on it. Inspired by this, I opened Google Earth and flew to the North Pole. When I zoomed in between the North Pole and Russia, I noticed a white line that resembled the “frost bridge” leading to the magnetic mountain.

Around the North Pole, there was a sea with underwater trenches. When I watched the scene from “Total Recall” where the protagonist flies over the ice, the grooves in the ice seemed to match the underwater trenches I saw on Google Earth. As he flew back to the button with the engraved hand with four fingers, I interpreted it as a reference to the North Pole, especially since four rivers flowed from there. I then downloaded DU Screen Recorder, an app that captures both the screen and audio from my phone, and began recording my first Holy Grail video. After uploading it, I gained a few more subscribers and received some comments. 

I then took a screenshot on my phone of an episode of “South Park”, where the characters were discussing a lawsuit against a deceased person. They initially thought it was impossible to sue the dead, but the lawyer explained that anyone could be sued. This seemed like a reference to how court cases usually work, where people are summoned, and in this case, even the dead could be summoned. It reminded me of my own summons, the one I received when I was caught with weed. Instead of addressing me directly, like “Andrew, please come to court,” it was written in the third person, like “Andrew is summoned to court.” 

Saturn, another channel associated with Mark, had a video titled “Beat Any Court Case.” Although I couldn’t locate that specific video, I found the same content uploaded by another channel. In the video, he explained that all modern courts are rooted in witchcraft and the ancient Babylonian court systems. He pointed out that when you are summoned to court, it’s typically done in the third person singular. Upon arriving in court, you automatically present your ID, and the legal procedure begins from there. You have the opportunity to defend yourself in court by handling your name correctly. Instead of saying “I am Andrew,” you should say “Andrew is indeed present in court.” This would confuse the judge and make them realize they have no control over you. The key is how you address your name. In a Skype conversation with Venus_14, Mark shared an experience where he went to court and stunned the judge. He handled his name properly, which caused the judge to leave the courtroom. Mark stayed put, and the judge returned dressed as a priest. Mark persisted, and the judge left again. When the judge came back a third time, he was in full captain’s attire. Once again, Mark handled his name correctly, and the judge left for the last time. Only then did Mark leave the courtroom, having won the case. 

I found another cartoon called “Conan the Barbarian.” In one episode, Conan fought reptiles disguised as humans. When he killed them with his sword, the magic broke, and they transformed back into reptiles before running away. I recorded this scene and uploaded it to YouTube with the title “Reptilian Shapeshifters.” 

Another prominent figure in the Blood Over Intent community was The Angel of Death. He appeared to be in his late 30s or early 40s and was. His name was Adam Rudseal. He frequently uploaded videos discussing the Bible and showed great knowledge of it. His content often featured rock music, and he occasionally posted about Hinduism as well. Sometimes, his videos aligned with my thoughts, leading me to believe that both he and Mark Braun were aware of everything about me.

The Angel of Death posted a video with a title that included the words “Rakija” (a Croatian word for ”alcoholic beverage”) and “adomeaboveyourhead.” This further reinforced my belief that he had a deep understanding of me. 

In some of Quasiluminous’s videos, he delved into the nature of our reality, highlighting how many logos from famous brands contained symbols like rings, eyes, or cubes. For instance, the Nike logo included a portion of a ring, and the Mastercard logo had two interlocking circles, which represented the shape of our reality. Quasiluminous also pointed out that the Alfa Romeo logo depicted a dragon or reptile devouring a man, symbolizing the idea that reptiles rule over humans, with humans being considered the food class. Additionally, he suggested that the Windows logo represented the four rivers flowing from the North Pole. 

Mark explained how barcodes, found on most products, have a specific arrangement of numbers and letters, each carefully chosen with significance. He also introduced me to sigils, which are symbols created by writing out a specific intention or desire on paper. Once the sigil is formed, it is then burned to release the intention into the universe, a practice that ties into Mark’s broader teachings about the power of symbols and their role in manifesting reality. 

To create a sigil, you first choose a phrase that represents your intention, such as “I intend to bring forth heaven on earth.” Then, you remove the vowels and any repeating consonants, leaving you with something like “NTDBRGFH.” Next, you write this phrase in black letters on a piece of paper and mirror it with red letters above the black ones. You surround the sigil with a triple border and place two circles on the left side, one red above the black one. I made my first sigil to assist a flooded area in my country. My second sigil was for my uncle Benny’s healing, to help with his hands and arms. I’ve since made more sigils, focusing on intentions like world peace and bringing heaven to earth. 

March 

I created a few more videos about the holy grail, but eventually, I ran out of ideas. 

One day, I came across the book “God is Young” by Pope Francis, which my brother had bought. I read a portion of it, and the Pope wrote, “When he thinks of God, he sees a young man – God is always new.” For a moment, I wondered if I was that God, though I hadn’t yet figured out how to use my supposed superpowers. I also started to suspect that the Pope might be part of the Illuminati and that he somehow knew about me. In another part of the book, the Pope wrote something like, “To be good Christians, we must ‘dirty our feet’…” This made me think it was a reference to my experience with that woman in Barcelona, where we had been on the side of the road in the bushes. 

One evening, I visited Danny’s house, and he was wearing a T-shirt featuring the Illuminati all-seeing eye. 

I asked him if he was a member of the Illuminati, and he went to grab a pair of scissors. At first, I thought he was going to harm me, but instead, he cut out a sticker from his T- shirt and handed it to me. When I read it, I was surprised to find it referenced “Galatians 6:17,” a verse from the Bible. The verse said, “From now on, let no one cause me trouble, because I wear the marks of Jesus on my body.” While I was relieved that I hadn’t been hurt and that everything was tied to a Bible verse, I was still puzzled as to why Danny would wear such a T-shirt.

One afternoon, I hiked up a mountain on the north side of Split, where I had previously grown weed. It was a sunny day, and the sunset was approaching. I recalled Mark Braun’s advice about looking at the Sun while standing barefoot on non-conductive ground, either in the morning or late afternoon, and speaking your intent to it. Although all I found at the top of the mountain were rocks, it didn’t bother me. I got barefoot, gazed directly at the setting Sun and said, “I intend to bring Heaven to Earth, kindly give me the knowledge of the ages so that I may accomplish my purpose.” At that moment, I was reading the Bible and remembered Isaiah 40. It was verse 9, and it read, “You who bring good news to Zion, go up to a high mountain. You who bring the good news to Jerusalem, lift up your voice with a shout, lift it up, do not be afraid; say to the cities of Judah, ‘Behold your God!’”. I hesitated to shout from the top of the mountain, debating whether to yell, “God, get us out of the hands of evil!” I gathered my courage over a few minutes, seeing all of Split below and wondering if anyone would hear me. Eventually, I shouted, “GOD, GET US OUT OF THE HANDS OF EVIL!!” It felt 1% uncomfortable but 99% liberating. Afterward, I went home. 

The next day, I went to Danny’s place, and we smoked weed while watching TV. He had some palo santo, a fragrant wood that burned with a pleasant smell. At one point, he pulled out a small, dark purple rolled-up piece of paper tied with black thread and handed it to me. He told me to open it and read it. The words were barely visible, written in black, and they said something like “… my soul shines high…”, followed by the signature “babe”.

As soon as I read it, I felt a wave of nausea. I started to think that I was under some kind of spiritual attack, possibly exposed to black magic. I began to suspect that Danny was involved with the Illuminati and that they knew about me shouting to God from the mountain. The phrase “… shines high…” seemed like a reference to my position on the mountain and my soul, which I believed to be pure. In my slightly dizzy and disoriented state from the weed and the unsettling message, Danny asked me what was wrong, but I struggled to find the right words. I handed the message back to him, and somehow, we were able to continue our conversation normally. I didn’t mention the spiritual attack or black magic; I just said I felt strange after reading the message. He didn’t have anything particularly significant to add, though I don’t remember the exact details. The conversation shifted to discussing homosexuality, and he mentioned a situation where a gay man was in front of him, but Danny said he couldn’t do anything with him because it was “disgusting.” He used the same word I had used when I was at the gay beaches. I began to think that Danny was connected to the Illuminati, part of a larger network of people who knew every detail of my thoughts and actions. I recalled Mark Braun’s statement about the Archons being able to replay someone’s entire life on a computer screen. I felt like I was being followed, monitored, and persecuted by the Illuminati. 

The second time we got high at Danny’s, we watched “The Matrix” (1999). As I stared at the digital clock on the DVD player under the TV, I thought I could “sync with the time and master it.” In my mind, I started counting down from 7 to 0, and when I hit zero, the clock moved forward by a minute. It reminded me of the times back in elementary school when I used to guess the correct time by counting down from 10 to 0. 

I kept watching the movie and really enjoyed it. In the final scene, the main character, Neo, played by Keanu Reeves, dies and then comes back to life. As I watched that part, I got so excited that I cheered and clenched my fists. Danny asked me why I was acting that way, and I explained that I was so moved by Neo’s achievement because I felt like I was seeing myself in him. 

After that, I tried multiple times to stare at the clock and guess the exact time when the minutes would change. I came across a video from a member of the Blood over Intent movement, where he analyzed the meaning of letters and numbers. When he discussed the letter Q, he explained that it was like an “O” with a small line, and that it represented “one goes to zero.” This idea made me want to become “the one.” 

One day, as I was walking home, I heard a phone ringing in a phone booth about 15 feet away. It reminded me of a scene from “The Matrix” I had recently watched, where characters transition from one world to another by answering a phone call. I thought that if I answered it, I could escape this matrix for good. It was a strange feeling, but before I could act on it, the phone stopped ringing, and I just continued walking away. 

I had some thoughts about members of the Blood over Intent movement, like Mark Braun, The Angel of Death, and Venus_14. As I mentioned before, some of their videos seemed to reflect my own ideas and thoughts. For instance, one night I decided to sleep on the floor because I was curious and thought that the hard surface might help my lower back, which had been injured while rowing. A few days later, I was watching a Skype conversation between Mark and Venus, and at one point, Mark said something directed at people who hadn’t or wouldn’t do Blood over Intent. He asked, “What have you given up in this life? Have you tried sleeping on the floor for one night?” It made me believe that not only the bad people from the Illuminati were aware of my every move, but also the good people from the Blood over Intent movement. My suspicions grew stronger after watching one of Mark’s videos, where he said, “I’ve been shown things that would shake you to your motherfucking core!” I started to think that he might have somehow seen my deceased brother Henry in the morgue. 

Some of the other members of the Blood over Intent movement included ZEU5, Mary Barnes Mackovich, Kel Dy-nasti (I hope that’s the correct spelling), and a woman whose channel was called Lucifer. 

I realized that Mark Braun was very insightful because sometimes he would say things that were both logical and humble. For example, he mentioned that when you try to lift something off the ground, you are essentially bowing down to it. He also pointed out that when you point a finger at someone, you are actually pointing three fingers back at yourself, reminding us to be mindful of how we judge others. 

I went for a spring swim with Ava, and we were alone on the beach. I wanted to have sex with her, but I struggled with maintaining an erection. Even when I managed to penetrate her, I would climax within seconds. It felt like I couldn’t have normal sex anymore. Frustrated, I went home and watched Mark Braun’s videos. In one of his Skype conversations with Venus, he laughed and mentioned the phrase “One pump chump.” I couldn’t help but feel like it was directed at me. 

Mark again mentioned in a video on The Prince of Darkness channel that he was on Earth in the name of the Grand Architect. I recalled that in his description, he had written, “I am here on behalf of the Grand Architect…”. I created my own description as Aeolus, but left out that part, thinking no Grand Architect had sent me. This led me to believe that I must be the Grand Architect myself and somehow have a hand in making decisions about everything. I began to think I was God but wasn’t fully aware of it yet. 

However, I didn’t want to get carried away and preferred to stay rational and humble. 

But one day, the Angel of Death posted a video about Trimurti, the trinity of the supreme deity in Hinduism. It consisted of Brahma, the creator, Vishnu, the guardian, and Shiva, the destroyer. I can’t remember the description clearly, but it read something like, “X is first, Y is second in progress. You’re the third.” I thought it was addressed to me. I thought that they and I were somewhat special and that we were on a special mission here on this Earth.

Mark Braun used to say “Your creator is watching” in his videos. I thought it was also aimed at me because I was that creator, and I started watching his videos. 

I continued drawing sigils and made about ten of them with the intention of world peace and the general welfare of everyone in the world. I used A4 paper, creating a large triple border near the edge. I then created a smaller triple border in the center, filling it with calligraphy in black and mirrored red letters. Below the smaller border, I wrote the wish and the resulting consonants. I planned to make a video about the Holy Grail in which I would burn all the sigils, hoping it would change our reality. 

I discovered a Quasiluminous video in which a guy who knew a lot about ancient magic was talking about King Solomon’s brass vessel. There were only short clips from the original one-hour video, but they were enough to grab my attention. The guy described how to perform an invocation ritual that uses a raised, table-like platform.

I wanted to make a replica of that table and burn the sigils above it. I didn’t truly believe it would change our reality, but I was hoping it might. I wanted to at least try, especially considering my good intentions. 

One day I was at the carpenter’s workshop when a friend of his came to visit. The friend asked me if I wanted to work for him for a day. I agreed, as there wasn’t much work at the carpentry workshop at the time. I joined some of his regular crew, and we went to remodel an old house in the center of Split. I used a jackhammer and carried bags of construction debris, like old tiles and pieces of concrete. Later, we had to dig a trench for the water pipes. I returned home happy because I had been productive and earned good pay. 

While watching YouTube, I saw a video posted by Mark (I was subscribed to some of the “Blood over Intent” members, including Saturn) of him using a pneumatic hammer to dig a trench for water pipes. This reinforced my belief that he was one of the “good guys” who knew my every move and was, for some reason, imitating my actions. Or perhaps I was imitating his. 

I planned to make a bunch of sigils and a replica of that table. I was getting more and more ideas about what to write on them. I wanted to address as much of reality as possible, meaning I wanted to change the world and the rest of the universe forever. I would write simple sentences like, “Let there be peace.”

After removing the vowels and extra consonants, I was left with “LTHRBPC.” I first wrote it in pencil to create a good template. I wanted it to look good in calligraphy, so I bought thin felt-tip pens in black and red. The manuscript consisted of beautiful calligraphic curves, with varying line thickness. Once I had the letter template, I would paint over it with black and red ink, emphasizing calligraphic details like thin and thick lines. I made many sigils, such as “Let 144,000 bring heaven on Earth,” “Let there be no pain,” “Let there be no infrastructure,” “Let everyone understand each other,” and many others. 

I bought some large candles, intending to melt them down to create a large slab of wax on which everything would be placed. In March, there was a mineral and gem fair in my city, which I attended. I bought about 20 different crystals and minerals to decorate the table. I decided against using a crystal ball like the one in the video. When my brother died, Danny had given me a small crystal, hoping it had healing properties. I included that crystal in my collection. I went to a hardware store and bought metal plates on which I planned to melt the wax. I also bought small candles to place underneath the plates to generate enough heat. I had some money left over from side jobs I’d done for a friend of the carpenter, but sometimes I had to ask my parents for money. When they asked what it was for, I told them I would explain later. They agreed. I kept the writing and drawing of sigils a secret from them. My father went to Spain on the El Camino pilgrimage and was away for those months. My brother was studying in Dubrovnik, my sister in Denmark, and I was living with my mother. I had plenty of space and privacy to draw the sigils. I had my own table, the necessary materials, and a lot of patience. 

When I conceived a sigil, for example, “Let there be no pain,” I meticulously analyzed each word, consulting dictionaries. I would start with “Let,” whose definition was “to allow something to happen or for someone to do something without doing anything to stop the action or giving their permission.” I would then analyze the words “allow,” “something,” “happen,” and so on, until I reached a point where the words could no longer be broken down. Only then did I consider the sigil “approved.” It was like zooming in on an image and analyzing every pixel to understand its composition. I was extremely thorough, but I had my reasons, and those reasons were for the benefit of every being everywhere. 

One day, while I was at home, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find two women. They introduced themselves as Jehovah’s Witnesses and asked if I wanted to join them. I told them they knew nothing of the truth and that this was Satan’s world. I quoted 2 Corinthians 4:4, which confused them, but they persisted, so I began arguing with them. I was arguing with these, in my view, misguided souls, when my mother came to the door. She tried to close it, but I continued the argument. I told the Jehovah’s Witnesses they should perform the “Blood over intent” for Heaven’s sake. My mother returned and told me to close the door and leave them alone, which I finally did. A few days later, Mark Braun released a video in which he filmed Jehovah’s Witnesses at his front door in Coral Springs, Florida. He quoted 2 Corinthians 4:4 to them and went through a practically identical situation as I had. I felt that Mark and I were connected on a deeper level. 

April 

In April, I decided to build the table at home. I envisioned a large, square wax slab measuring 6 feet by 6 feet. It was to have wax candles in the corners for support, just like the original table. I planned to arrange all the sigils on it before burning them. I was making good progress with the sigils, having created about 50 to 60 by then. The topics ranged from anti-war and anti-pain to knowledge and other subjects. I had a strong feeling that these sigils were incredibly important, and I imagined the Illuminati/Archons were going crazy because of them. One night, I googled “Grand Architect” and one of the search results was a drawing of a man sitting at a table with papers in front of him. I felt it was a hidden subliminal message meant for me because I saw a strong resemblance to what I was doing. 

I read somewhere that sigils could be “charged.” One method described involved masturbating or having sex, and then, at the moment of orgasm, staring at the sigil symbols to “charge” it, supposedly making the desired outcome happen sooner and more effectively. This is why, most of the time when I masturbated, I tried to do so selflessly, for Heaven on Earth. I would take a piece of paper with a sigil drawn on it, and as I approached climax, I would stare at it. I had to resist the urge to close my eyes or look at myself. I would reach orgasm and ejaculate while staring at the sigil. It was a strange feeling because I didn’t feel anything in particular.

I took a break from making sigils, as I had become quite consumed by it. I went for a bike ride around the peninsula and then headed to the center of Split. I stopped for a break in an area called Matejuška. I noticed some interesting drawings on the ground, made of stone slabs, and took pictures of them for fun. A few days later, while scrolling through my phone’s gallery, I noticed the image of the drawing had three white spots on it, as if someone had used Photoshop. I hadn’t altered the image in any way, and I suspected the Archons had done it to scare me. 

May 

By mid-May, I had drawn approximately 96 sigils. Each one described Heaven on Earth in its own unique way. I created every sigil to cover every aspect of Heaven on Earth, hoping that burning them would somehow bring it into being. In one of The Angel of Death’s videos, it was recounted how a young Mark Braun had filmed Coral Springs police officers beating a woman for no apparent reason. Mark streamed his recording live so the police couldn’t delete it. In the video, police officers surrounded Mark’s house and threatened to break in without a warrant. He was on the balcony, visibly scared, when the police burst into his house, shouting, “GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, NOW!!” The recording ended abruptly. Then, The Angel of Death released a reversed version of the police breaking into Mark’s house. The officers, who had been shouting to get down, were now heard, in reverse, shouting, “I’m the guy with the knife, the guy with the knife.” The next scene showed Mark in a hospital bed, beaten and with a deliberately inflicted wound on his arm.

I saw another video of Mark and Venus talking on Skype, where Mark said, “If they want to catch you, they’ll catch you.” I believed the police were working for the Illuminati and were searching for anyone who threatened their world order. I thought they were looking for me as well. First, they’d caught me with the weed. Then, I saw the same police officer on the night of my brother’s suicide. 

Then one day, I had lunch on the balcony with my dad and Uncle Benny. I saw a police officer entering the police station wearing black gloves and carrying a black garbage bag. I think my dad and Uncle Benny had gotten a little drunk, and everyone was happy. They offered me more meat and potatoes, even though I didn’t want any more. Immediately after I saw the police officer, they insisted I eat a little more and then remarked to each other that I should feel good. 

I believed that if I burned my sigils, the police would invade my home, torture me, and kill me. I felt that I was being persecuted not only by the police, but by the entire world, with the exception of the 144,000 good people. 

At night, while I was drawing sigils and organizing the development of the table, I would hear the sound of police cell phones near the police station. 

One day, while sitting on the balcony on the 5th floor, I saw a man in the square walking by wearing a hat with a black and white checkerboard pattern. He looked up at me and pointed at his hat. I believed he was a member of the Illuminati, as the checkerboard pattern is associated with them, and I interpreted his gesture as a warning to “be careful with my actions.” 

One night, while cycling around the peninsula, I noticed a couple walking ahead of me. The guy was on the phone, and as I passed by, he said, “yes, he just passed us.” I thought he was talking about me, but I also wondered if he had seen someone he knew. As I continued my ride, I didn’t see anyone else until I finished my route. I concluded that the guy was part of the Illuminati and was intentionally messing with me. 

I felt a strong calling to create the sigils on the table, believing it to be a sacred act that no one else in the world had done, either before or after me. While there might have been some copies of the table I was making, I wondered if anyone had ever drawn all the sigils that I had drawn. 

I would stay up all night, drawing as many sigils as I could, sometimes falling asleep at dawn. I’d wake up around noon and watch new YouTube videos. One day, The Angel of Death released a video with a heavy-metal song in the background that included the words, “Are you with us or against us? Choose your fucking side!” I thought he knew I had fallen asleep, and that this was his way of criticizing me. 

Mark Braun claimed that he was the Devil and that he held the Spear of Destiny. A few months ago, he started learning the plumbing trade. I believed he and I were connected, especially because of my time spent drawing sigils. These sigils had triple borders painted in black, red, and green. Mark, who had been an apprentice plumber, worked on projects called “ground rough,” where he would dig trenches for future pipes. Instead of using spray paint on the ground, he would tie red and green ropes in perpendicular directions to outline the trenches. These ropes resembled the patterns of my sigils. I began to think that the world was a game, and I was a special player, along with 144,000 others, including Mark, Venus, and The Angel of Death. 

In mid-May, I completed all the sigils and one morning, I cut them all out for further burning. Each sigil was 6”x3”, and there were 96 A4 sheets with holes of the same size in the middle. After cutting them all out, I felt a sense of accomplishment because there were times when I had to repeat a sigil due to ink smudges or mistakes, forcing me to start over. Once I finished, I arranged all 96 sigils on the floor in the shape of a circle, and the dimensions of the table seemed adequate for the display. 

The next step was to create a table made of wax. I bought several large candles with the intention of melting them to form the table. To shape the borders, I used L-profiles made of plastic, planning to pour the melted wax into them. I melted the wax using small candles as the heat source, placing the wax on a metal plate. There were numerous times I failed to create the table, and once, I even burned the wooden floor of my room with a small candle that continued burning after it had finished. 

Mark appeared on a Florida radio talk show, and he later posted the audio from the show as a YouTube video. You could hear both his voice and that of the hosts. During the show, Mark talked about the concept of Heaven on Earth and the idea of Blood over intent. The host commented that even though Mark’s language was vague and filled with swearing, she could still feel love radiating from him. Towards the end of the interview, Mark asked the hosts if they knew what was the most secret thing. When they asked him to elaborate, he responded by asking, “Who has Satan’s direct e-mail?” After they admitted they didn’t know, he answered, “Nobody,” and a large green exclamation mark appeared on the YouTube video. 

I believed I was that “Nobody” because, from my point of view, all the things that seemed like coincidences were actually signs pointing to something much deeper. 

One day, I was by myself at home and decided to undress. I faced Jerusalem while reading the Bible, believing it was necessary for bringing Heaven to Earth. 

One day, I came across a forgotten chapter that led me to conclude that my wax table was a positive thing, and I decided to cut some of my hair to burn it along with the sigils. I read Psalm 119, verse 119, which said, “You cast away all the wicked on earth like slag; that’s why I love your laws.” The Croatian translation interpreted it as: “… therefore I kiss your laws.” After reading that, I literally kissed the Bible in front of me. I also came across another verse that warned those who lean on their elbows while reading the Bible should be ashamed. From then on, I was always careful not to lean on my elbows when reading, whether sitting or lying down.

The next day, while my mom was working in the afternoon, I practiced burning my sigils. I used giant tweezers to hold and light the old sigils, burning them in my room. 

Suddenly, I heard sirens outside, and I thought that my sigil-making days were over. But when I looked out the window, I saw it was just a fire truck passing through the neighborhood before leaving. I thought someone must have called the fire department because of the smoke from the sigils. I quickly returned the sigils to their secret place. 

I went to the bathroom and cut my hair with scissors, collecting it in makeshift paper bags to burn along with my sigils. Afterward, I hid the bags in their secret place. When my father came home from Spain, he was shocked to see that I’d cut my hair in half. He asked why the hallway smelled of smoke, and I realized the smoke from my burning sigils had filled the hallway, leading someone to call the fire department. I told him I was lighting something, and we managed to avoid discussing the real reason behind my haircut. He went to a neighbor to get shaving foam, then covered my head with it and shaved off the rest of my hair, leaving me bald. From that moment on, I stopped looking at my face in the mirror. 

There was a YouTube channel called “Evil Reflection,” run by someone who opposed the Blood over intent community. I believed he was part of the Illuminati and knew every thought and move I made. There was also a young German with his own channel called “ANTICHRIST.” He initially participated in Blood over intent but later became an enemy of it. I thought he was aligned with “Evil Reflection” and on the same side against me. 

I told my father that I was working on a table for an experiment. A few days later, my parents informed me that we were going to move out of our apartment so we could rent it out to tourists. I saw this as sabotage to my wax table project, but I didn’t explain the full backstory behind the table to them. 

We rented our apartment to tourists, so we had to move. My parents were planning to relocate to a different neighborhood in Split, but I decided to go to the suburbs. The day after we packed our things and were expecting our first guests, I was in the apartment lost in thought. My mom then mentioned the exact same thing I had been thinking, and I became convinced that she and everyone else could read my mind. I started to panic. My mom and I left the apartment to wait for the guests. When they arrived, I became convinced they were paid actors, and I felt uneasy watching them shake hands with my mom. I was particularly scared because I had heard about the Masonic handshake.

I became convinced that everyone in the world was part of the Illuminati. We brought our guests to the apartment and then went to my grandfather and uncle Benny’s house in Split for lunch. I took my Bible, sigils, and cut hair with me in my bag. While waiting for lunch, I wrote “Do not touch” on a piece of paper and placed it on top of the Bible, thinking they might search my belongings. During lunch, we were all talking, and then uncle Benny said, “It’s all in the details.” I believed this was a subconscious message that they were all Freemasons, revealing their control over me through subtle details. The saying “The devil is in the details” came to mind. 

June 

After my parents moved to another neighborhood in Split, I decided to stay in the suburbs. My grandmother, aunt, uncle, and their children lived downstairs in the house where I had once lived, and my uncle with his wife and children were upstairs. I visited for a day and eventually asked my grandmother if I could stay there. She agreed, so I brought all my wax table-making equipment and tried to explain to everyone what I was working on. One afternoon, I was setting up the table in the garage, and even my uncle helped me with it. 

I had a notebook where I recorded and sketched all the important aspects of my search for truth. One of the things I drew was the Eye of Horus, along with its connection to the human senses.

I wrote statements such as, “Bringing children into this terrible world makes no sense. Only a fool would do that.” 

One day, I borrowed my parents’ car and drove to the hardware store to purchase a large 6’x6’ plywood board. I managed to transport it back to the suburbs and placed it in the garage. My plan was to melt wax onto the board, using L-profiles to contain the melted wax. My father provided me with a small electric cooker, which I used along with an old pot to melt the wax. This method was much quicker than my previous approach of heating small candles under metal plates. 

On June 14th, I decided to create a new YouTube channel called “t h i c c,” inspired by the phrase “Blood is thicker than water.” For the profile picture, I chose an image of the fat Bugs Bunny meme.

I still hadn’t achieved the desired result with my wax table. Meanwhile, the Soccer World Cup kicked off in Russia. On Saturday, June 16, 2018, my aunt, uncle, and their children from Split visited the suburbs. They seemed a bit shocked when they saw my table, and I was sure they had questioned my grandmother about why she allowed it. My uncle and cousin asked if I would watch the World Cup match between Croatia and Nigeria. When I responded with a casual “maybe,” they seemed confused. After they left, I decided not to watch the game. 

That evening, while working on my wax table, I could hear firecrackers and fireworks going off every time Croatia scored a goal. We won 2-0. I was in the garage, and my uncle’s female dog stood behind me, squealing, confused by the noise. I went to comfort her—she liked me. 

Five days later, on June 21st, I decided to take a break from working on the table to watch the match between Argentina and Croatia. My uncle rode his motorcycle to Stobreč to watch the game. We secured a glorious 3-0 victory, and I thoroughly enjoyed the match. That same day, my uncle fell off his bike and injured his arm. In the days that followed, I had to take his dog for a walk every night. The first time we went out, she pulled on the leash so hard that a joking neighbor asked who was walking whom. We settled into a routine, heading to my old school before continuing along the river. 

July 

I was still working on the table, but I struggled with getting up early at 6 or 7 AM to work on it before the “morning chaos” began. Instead, I would wake up around 9 or 10. The “chaos” referred to my little cousins, my aunt’s children, waking up at that time. I spent time with them during the day, mainly to help my aunt, who had to balance work and being a mom. Even though I wasn’t focusing on the main reason I had come to the suburbs, I later appreciated the time spent with my little cousins as they grew up. 

Meanwhile, I was unemployed, and my savings were slowly running out. I had also stopped smoking weed, but occasionally, during my evening walks along the river with the dog, I would come across a local drug addict. If he was smoking, I would ask for a little, and he would share it with me politely, which always made me happy. 

On July 14th, I stayed up all night, believing it might somehow help Croatia win the World Cup. In the morning, I rode my bike to Split to attend confession and Holy Mass. Later, I went to a hill in my neighborhood around 10 or 11 a.m. and practiced sungazing, staring at the sun despite the bright daylight. After that, I returned to the suburbs. 

On the afternoon of July 15th, Croatia was set to play in the final match against France. I fell asleep and I woke up just when the game started. Croatia had lost 4-2. France won the World Cup, and Croatia took second place. Even though we were all hoping for gold, we were satisfied with silver. I felt angry with myself for not staying up all night as a form of sacrifice for the Croatian national football team. A few days later, there was a massive welcome in Zagreb, with around a million people lining the streets leading to the city center. For the first time in history, even the news was postponed for an hour or two to honor our football players’ achievement. The whole nation celebrated, while in France, there were riots.

After the celebration ended, I went back to my desk and kept documenting one failure after another. The burden of the table was too much to bear. I needed a new approach. While watching videos from The Angel of Death, one in particular stood out where the narrator mentioned “large stone slabs” when discussing ancient ruins. This seemed to validate my belief that some people in the world were aware of my actions and were following me, especially since I too had been dealing with “large slabs of wood and wax.” I still avoided looking at my face in the mirror. 

Occasionally, I would experience déjà vu. I’d have a dream about something, and then it would play out the same way in real life. One afternoon, while I was in the garage, I looked toward the house door and thought, “My aunt will come out right now.” And she did. I was left wondering how déjà vu was even possible and what the odds were of it happening by chance. 

One evening, my grandmother suggested we go to church to pray the rosary and attend Holy Mass. I drove us there, and first, we attended the Mass. Afterward, we prayed the rosary. When the prayer ended, the priest brought out the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, which was a small metal structure containing the sacred holy wafer. 

After we all knelt and prayed in silence, I endured the pain of kneeling despite the discomfort. The mosquitoes started biting me, but I was determined to persevere, believing it was a sacrifice for God. The pain and the mosquitoes lasted for about half an hour, and then the priest took the Holy Sacrament of the Altar, signaling the end of the ceremony. Afterward, we left the church, and my grandmother suggested I talk to the priest. I agreed, partly because of her encouragement, and went to speak with him in his office behind the church. I shared with him about the wax table, the sigils, and my desire to bring Heaven to Earth. He calmly told me that only God could bring Heaven to Earth, and cautioned that if I continued with my wax table, I might end up in a psychiatric hospital. But I didn’t care. 

While watching The Angel of Death’s videos, I heard a narrator mention something I had forgotten, but the phrase “Try to look at the little details” stuck with me. I thought it was a message directed at me regarding the wax table. I decided to rewatch Quasiluminous’ videos and took another look at the table, even though I had examined it countless times before. It was only then that I noticed the wax table was actually small and rested on a larger table with four borders. This realization made me understand that my desk didn’t need to be 6’x6’; it could be smaller. I felt foolish and stubborn for not noticing this sooner, but I also realized that my persistence, even through my mistakes, was what kept me going with the sigils and the table in the first place. I watched the video about the wax table once more, trying to determine the right dimensions for it. After some thought, I decided to make it as a square wax plate with measurements of 16”x16”. One afternoon, I melted some of the wax I had and poured it into a mold to begin shaping the new version of the table. I allowed the wax to cool and harden overnight, and the next day, I had a square piece of wax that was exactly what I needed. I punched four holes through the corners and managed to insert four candles into them. To keep the candles in place, I placed a few nails under the wax board. I then engraved some lines and the names of the four great archangels, which were easy to carve into the wax. I also engraved the pentagrams, just like the original table had. To make it resemble the original even more, I bought a gold marker and filled in the carvings, giving it a striking resemblance to the table I had envisioned. 

I took the old square metal table that was behind the house and divided it into four parts, similar to the original table beneath the wax one. I gathered a few spray paints and went to a quarry in the suburbs to paint the old table. Once I finished, the table had red, green, yellow, and blue fields, with triple crosses painted on each of them. Inside each cross, I added a letter in Phoenician, with each letter representing the word of God or Yahweh. 

I created four corner borders out of wax, closely resembling the original design. Using an electric saw, I cut the plywood board into four pieces, ensuring they fit perfectly on the painted table, with the small wax table placed on top. 

The final design ended up being about 95% similar to the image below.

When I looked at this picture later in life, I noticed something had changed. It appeared that an additional circled line had been added.

August 

Once I had finished the table and prepared all the sigils, I was eager to burn them. I tried to explain to my grandmother that I had created a table and some papers with positive intentions, and that I wanted to burn them in the garage. She wasn’t fond of the idea, so I needed to find another place. I decided to visit my family in Split and spoke to my dad. He thought my experiment was childish, but he still offered to help. After returning to the suburbs, I decided to move to Split. On August 15th, we celebrated the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, and the following day, I packed my bags and said goodbye to my grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I left the table and all the materials in the suburbs, taking the sigils with me, and cycled to Split.

A few days later, I took the family car and drove to the suburbs on my own. My dad didn’t come with me, as he wasn’t on speaking terms with anyone from the suburbs due to conflicts that arose during the division of property after my grandfather’s death. 

I gathered the table and all the utensils and completely moved out of the suburbs. I then drove to Split to meet my dad. He mentioned that we would head to our village near Drniš, about an hour’s drive north. He also told me not to tell anyone, especially my mom, that we were going there. Once we arrived, I told him that I planned to record the entire process of lighting the sigils and upload it to YouTube. 

We arrived at a village where we had an old, abandoned house where my grandfather from Split was born and raised. I took out all the equipment needed for the experiment and started setting up the table in the run-down house. I struggled to get everything together and considered stopping and heading back home, but my dad insisted that we finish the project. I pushed through and somehow managed to assemble a larger table made of four wooden boards that I had cut from the original larger plywood board. I secured everything by placing a colored table on top of the assembled structure. Then, I positioned the four corners of the table, followed by the wax table, which was supported by four candles. Around the table, I placed about 24 crystals, with Danny’s crystal positioned in the center of the wax table as a substitute for the crystal ball. I lit incense sticks and placed them under the wax table. I then stacked all 96 sigils in the middle of the wax table, one on top of the other. By the time I finished setting everything up, it was dark outside.

I decided to go barefoot and prepare myself for the ceremony. The reason I chose to do this was because I had read a chapter in the Bible where Moses encounters a burning bush, and God tells him to remove his sandals because he is standing on holy ground. I recalled the verse from Exodus 3:5: “Do not come near,” God said. “Take off your sandals, because the place where you stand is sacred ground.” 

For me, everything around the table felt sacred, so I chose to do it this way. I lit four candles, and once they were lit, there was no turning back. I turned on my phone to record the crystals surrounding the table. After filming one circle around the wooden table, I captured footage of both the wooden and wax tables together. Then, I zoomed in on the wax table to highlight the names of the four great archangels, the smoke rising through the holes, and the sigils at the center. I paused the recording, attached the phone to an old flashlight, and set it up in landscape mode. I filmed the four lit candles and the wall behind the table to set the scene, intending to capture the moment when the sigils would burn. 

I repeated the words I’d heard in the Angel of Death’s videos: “It’s adav kedavra, all you’re gonna fuckin’ die, you’re dead!” My intention wasn’t to harm anyone, but I felt compelled to say them as part of my ritual. I began the process of lighting the sigils. 

Using large tweezers, I carefully held each sigil so my hand wouldn’t be visible, and also to avoid getting burned. I moved the sigils from the center of the wax table and placed a pot in the middle to catch the burning sigils, preventing the wax table from melting. I sat down beside the table and pressed play on my phone to keep recording.

I took one last look at the stack of sigils before they were consumed by the flames. They were so intricately made, and I could have admired each one for hours. There was a certain beauty in the colors, lines, curves, letters, and numbers, all perfectly symmetrical. And beyond the visual appeal, there were all the positive intentions and hopes for a better world that each sigil represented. 

I lit a fifth candle next to the pot and carefully held the first sigil with tweezers. I showed it to the camera, then set it alight. The flame gradually consumed the sigil, and I continued holding it with the tweezers. Once it was nearly gone, I placed it in the pot. I picked up the next sigil and repeated the process. With each one, memories of their creation flooded my mind. After burning about 10 sigils, the task became routine—take a sigil, show it on camera, burn it, place it in the pot, and repeat. By the time I reached 20 or 30, I was growing tired, but I remained determined to complete the ritual. My father let out a heavy sigh midway through. 

After about 35-45 minutes of burning the sigils, the ritual was finally complete. I stopped recording, blew out the candles on the wax table, and put my shoes back on. I felt relieved to have completed such a significant personal endeavor. My dad asked how I felt and what I thought about it, to which I replied that it seemed like a childish experiment, thinking that was what he wanted to hear. But deep down, I knew I had taken a step closer to becoming something greater.

We made our way back home in the middle of the night. 

The next day, I created a new YouTube account called “II II.” I chose the four “I”s to resemble “Nobody” as much as possible while still fitting YouTube’s naming rules. In the video, “Nobody” was shown burning sigils, and no words were spoken. I edited the footage, which ended up being about 45 minutes long, and uploaded it with the title “.” and the same description. 

I went to a café with my dad and tried to convince him that the Earth was flat and that he should do Blood over intent. He couldn’t understand what I was talking about. Then, he mentioned that my uncle from the suburbs had read my notebook, where I wrote and drew about everything I considered important. My uncle then told my mom that I should go to a mental institution. 

A few days later, I decided to stop avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I walked into the bathroom, looked at the sink, and slowly glanced up at the mirror. For the first time in three months, I saw myself again. It felt strange to see my bearded face after all that time, but nothing extraordinary happened in terms of gaining superpowers. I was still the same person. Interestingly, I went to YouTube afterward and watched some videos by Mark and The Angel of Death. On the same day I looked in the mirror, I watched one of The Angel of Death’s videos. While the video itself was nothing extraordinary, the description caught my attention—it said, “On this day x years ago, my father died.” I couldn’t shake the feeling that he somehow knew I had looked in the mirror, and that the event had coincidentally occurred on the anniversary of his father’s death. It felt like a strange, yet pleasant, coincidence. I interpreted it as a “hidden” message: “Today, your ego died because you stopped believing in that ‘Nobody’ nonsense and accepted yourself for who you truly are.” 

One afternoon, I went to the gay beach to swim with Ava. It was a windy day with rough seas, and she generally didn’t like gay beaches, but she agreed to go with me. We swam naked, as usual, in the shallow water. I wanted to have sex with her there, but the waves kept getting in the way. We left the water and spread out our towels. I told her to lie on her back, and then I penetrated her. We had sex while people walked by. They were mostly homosexual or bisexual. It felt good to have sex on the gay beach that day; it was a great experience. Towards the end, something got in my eye. It was irritating, and I felt like something was trying to sabotage a really good moment. We stopped, I washed my eye out, and we left the gay beach. 

I received a call from Uncle Benny, who was having drinks with a friend at a hotel located between the gay beaches and Split. I went to meet them; it was already evening. A movie, The Reader (a 2008 romantic drama starring Kate Winslet and Ralph Fiennes), was just starting on the TV.

The film follows the story of Michael Berg, a German lawyer who reflects on his past. As a 15-year-old in 1958, he had a sexual relationship with an older woman named Hanna Schmitz. 

I started to believe that everyone knew about me and Ava, and that the powerful Illuminati had somehow referenced our situation on TV to provoke me. The resemblance between Ava and Kate Winslet only deepened this suspicion in my mind. 

September 

I kept pursuing my quest for truth and my vision of creating Heaven on Earth. While watching one of Mark’s videos, I came across information about a secret society called Skull and Bones. Also known as The Order, Order 322, or The Brotherhood of Death, it’s an undergraduate secret student society based at Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut, USA.

There were supposedly hidden meanings behind the number 322, the most significant being a reference to Genesis 3:22: “And the Lord God said, ‘Man has now become as one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” 

I began to suspect that my younger brother’s death on March 22nd was not a suicide, but a sacrifice orchestrated by the Skull and Bones or the Illuminati. His birthdate, September 11th, led me to believe he was a special person targeted by the Illuminati. 

I began to realize I was deeply immersed in conspiracy theories and needed to take a step back. However, at the same time, I found it intriguing to try and solve some kind of life puzzle. I was greatly motivated by my mother’s belief that God had something special planned for me, something I had to discover on my own. 

Uncle Benny and his friend invited me out for drinks again, and I accepted. Uncle Benny’s friend smoked weed, so he and I went behind the café to get high. We returned inside to join Uncle Benny, and we all talked. At one point, Uncle Benny told me that “a political party is following me.” I initially dismissed it as just a figure of speech, but then I began to suspect he was part of the Illuminati. 

At the end of September, I received a job offer selling mobile phones, laptops, tablets, and digital packages that included mobile data, internet, and TV. I was scheduled to start at the beginning of October. The store, called VIP, was one of many across Croatia. It was located in a mall near my building and the mall was called “Joker”. I noticed a number of billboards around the city advertising something new and still unknown. 

October 

On October 1, 2018, I started my new job at the VIP store, only to find it had been renamed A1. It was an interesting first day, learning the ropes of the job. When I got home, I noticed all those mysterious billboards had been updated to reflect the A1 branding. I wondered if this change had anything to do with me. This was the first job where I signed a contract, and I had the feeling the Illuminati were aware of my every move. I connected the “A” in A1 to the first letter of my name, noting its resemblance to a Masonic pyramid. The “1” in A1, I interpreted as a reference to “The One,” like the main character in The Matrix. 

I continued to work there, but I didn’t catch up with all the information. I worked with one girl and she mentioned Freemasons several times. I thought she and everyone else were after me. I was given some simple tasks like cutting little papers containing prices of the products using scissors. After I got home I saw that YouTube channel “ANTICHRIST” uploaded a video of himself standing in front of a graffiti. The graffiti contained a word “Joker”, the same name of a mall I worked in. At the same time the guy was mimicking scissors cutting motion using his hand while grinning. I didn’t like the job, so I quit about two weeks later.

As time passed, I grew weary of all the perceived “coincidences” and assumptions. I wanted to escape that mindset, but I still felt a strong desire to save the world. I reflected on the world’s cruelty and how not only people, but also animals, suffer. While I initially wanted to save every human being, I shifted my focus to saving every animal. I researched how humans use and abuse animals, and it was sickening to realize that animals were being killed so humans could eat them. I watched videos of animals being tortured and slaughtered; cows could clearly be seen crying moments before their deaths. I wanted to fight against this powerful, imposed norm by not eating animals. 

After further research, I discovered it wasn’t just about meat. There were also eggs, milk, honey, various sweets, and other animal products to consider. 

All of these contained products of animal origin, and it seemed pointless to fight against the current. I decided to go vegan and eat only plant- based foods. I didn’t want to take anything from animals. I felt bad about even eating plants, so I explored breatharianism (living on air) and sungazing, hoping to minimize suffering in the world. 

One day, I took it a step further. I consumed only water and bread for an entire day. I felt grateful for even having bread and water. I hoped God would notice my sacrifice and bring Heaven to Earth as quickly as possible. The bread and water tasted exceptionally good to me because they were the only things I had to eat and drink. By the end of the day, I felt weak and sick, so the next day I returned to my vegan diet. This experience made me appreciate vegan food even more. I avoided butter and used peanut butter and plant-based butter substitutes instead.

November 

In November, I considered joining a monastery and spending the rest of my life in prayer and solitude, away from this terrible world. I researched different monastic orders and learned about the Carthusians. They were one of the strictest orders, and the only issue I found was that they raised and ate fish. However, I was intrigued by the fact that there were groups of people who chose to live ascetically. I watched a documentary about French Carthusians. I felt a calling from God to join the Carthusian monastic order and learned of a Carthusian monastery in Slovenia. I emailed them, and they replied that God calls us in many ways and that I was welcome to visit them. 

I looked for something closer and discovered a hermit-style monastery on the island of Mljet, about 60 miles south of Split. I emailed them, and they invited me to visit in February 2019. I was excited that something so special was so close to me, and I eagerly awaited February 2019. 

I began attending Holy Mass daily and participating in Holy Communion. I frequently confessed my sins to priests; even sinful dreams were confessed. A priest explained that we aren’t responsible for what happens in our dreams. I prayed the rosary devoutly, reciting prayers like the “Our Father” and “Hail Mary.” I asked my mother for a rosary, and I would go to my room, turn off the lights, kneel down, and pray. Kneeling was often painful, but I viewed it as a way to atone for my sins and sacrifice myself for Heaven on Earth.

I would wake up at 4:30 in the morning and go for a walk while praying the rosary. Afterward, I would attend the first Holy Mass of the day, which was at 7:00 am. There were usually only a few older people present, and I was always the youngest in the mostly empty church. I always arrived 15 minutes early and waited for the vicar to ring the bell. Then, the priests would enter the church and stand before the altar. 

I thought about the times when Mark Braun said in his videos that Catholics unconsciously make an upside down cross when they cross themselves. All participants in the Holy Mass would cross themselves, saying: “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen”. I would watch the priests as they crossed themselves and they would really make an upside- down cross pattern from the forehead down to the chest and then to the shoulders. 

I looked forward to the daily Bible readings and always found what I believed to be hidden messages directed at me. The sermon, usually part of the mass, was omitted due to the small number of attendees and the early hour. 

After Holy Mass, I met an elderly man who, like me, attended church every day. We walked home together, as our paths were similar. I told him about my desire to join a monastery, and he spoke to me about the importance of God. He did most of the talking and was a bit tedious. I recalled the Bible verse Matthew 5:41: “If someone forces you to walk one mile, go two miles with him.” Instead of going straight home, I would walk him to his place, listen to whatever he wanted to say, and only then would I go home. I hoped that God would see how diligently I followed His word and bring about Heaven on Earth sooner.