Easter

For me, Easter has become an annual reminder of one of the darkest moments of my life.

Today, I want to share that moment with you—not to dwell on the pain, but to show that even pain can become the beginning of something new.

It happened many years ago, during the Easter holidays.

To this day, every detail of that day remains etched into my memory with astonishing clarity.

Sometimes, when I think back to it, it feels as though I am living it all over again.

As they did every year, my parents were getting ready to visit my grandmother in Trenčianske Jastrabie.

It had become a family tradition.

A tradition filled with laughter, the aroma of homemade pastries, and the comforting feeling that, for a little while at least, everything in life was exactly as it should be.

They asked me if I wanted to come with them.

All I had to do was say yes, and I would have spent a peaceful holiday surrounded by the people who loved me most.

But I said no.

I told them I was tired.

That I needed to rest.

That I wanted to spend some time alone, perhaps watch a movie and unwind after a demanding week at work.

But none of that was true.

Deep inside me, an obsession had already begun to take root.

My thoughts revolved endlessly around betting odds, football matches, statistics, and betting combinations.

Even before my parents left the house, I was already building betting slips in my mind—calculating which matches would surely win, how much money I would make, and how everything would finally work out.

Something inside me was already boiling.

And somewhere, deep down, I knew that if I stayed home alone...

nothing would stop me. So I stayed.

The door closed behind my parents, and I sat down in front of my computer.

In that moment, my entire world shrank to the glow of the screen.

My salary had just been paid into my account.

It was a good salary.

At the time, I was working abroad as a delivery driver.

Money wasn't the problem—or at least, that was what I kept telling myself.

My bank card was ready.

The betting website was open.

Inside me was a strange mixture of anticipation and excitement.

Back then, I didn't recognize it as fear.

I called it adrenaline.

It was that intoxicating feeling that convinces you you're part of something exciting...

that you're in control...

that you're making smart decisions.

Only years later did I understand what it really was.

It wasn't adrenaline.

It was anxiety...

disguised as excitement.

A silent alarm my body sounded every time something deep inside me rebelled against what I was about to do.

I placed my first bet.

€100.

I was convinced I had chosen the perfect matches.

This has to win, I told myself.

The very first match failed.

One of the selections I had considered a certainty collapsed.

So I built another betting slip.

The same matches—

minus the one that had already lost.

Another €100.

That one lost as well.

And then...

everything began to spin.

A carousel with no way to stop.

No chance to breathe.

Just another deposit.

Another bet.

Another ticket.

And another. The money disappeared from my account faster than I could comprehend.

My mind raced without stopping.

How do I turn this around?

How do I win at least some of it back?

How do I reduce the damage?

But the more I lost...

the deeper I sank into panic.

And the deeper I sank...

the more irrational my decisions became.

Until there was nothing left.

My account was empty.

My entire paycheck was gone.

Only silence remained.

The silence that suddenly filled the apartment was not peaceful.

It was the silence of an ending.

The kind of silence that roars in your ears.

The kind that leaves you frozen.

The kind in which you can hear your own life falling apart.

That was when the thoughts began to arrive.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

Relentless.

How am I going to pay my phone bill?

Back then, it was unusually high because I regularly increased my mobile plan to cover the expensive roaming charges that existed in those days.

How am I going to pay for the trip back to work?

What am I going to tell my parents when they discover that I have reached rock bottom?

And what will I tell myself when there are no excuses left?

I walked into the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

I looked into the mirror.

For the first time, I saw myself differently.

Not as a confident young man who simply enjoyed gambling.

Not as an adult who believed he was in control of his own life.

I saw a broken man.

A desperate man who had just lost everything.

And along with my paycheck...

I had lost a part of my dignity. Somewhere deep inside, I knew that something had broken.

Something had collapsed within me.

At the time, I could not have explained what it was.

Today, I know.

That was the turning point.

The moment I completely lost control of an addiction that had already taken hold of my life.

From that day on, everything spiraled into madness.

Today, I am no longer the man I was then.

I do not pretend that I have won.

But I keep walking.

One step at a time.

Every single day.

Now, when Easter comes, I no longer remember only the day I lost everything.

I also remember the day that, without me realizing it, became the beginning of my journey back to life.

So if you are falling...

If you are drowning...

If you are losing...

If you are lying...

If you are hiding...

I hope these holidays become the moment when you finally say:

Enough.

May they be the days when you allow yourself to be completely honest with yourself.

May they become your own season of resurrection— not of the body,

but of your dignity.

Not of religion,

but of hope.

Not of someone else,

but of yourself.

Because you can rise from the darkness.

A new person can emerge from the ruins.

That is not a cliché.

It is reality.

And I—together with many others—am living proof of it.

– JK –