But I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to keep reinforcing the same broken loop.

So I made a plan: after work, I’d find a quiet park. Reset. Breathe.

Too many challenges with shmiras einayim. So I left.

Not actively choosing anything — just being pulled.

I made a few calls on the drive home. Most didn’t answer.
But then, one did. One brother picked up. And that call saved my day.
He helped me snap out of the fog — gave me just enough space to breathe again.

When I got home, I stayed around people. Kept the door open.
Put on a light show to ground myself. Just stayed above water.

Then I hit the road — I had a nice drive out of town for Shabbos.
And now, I’m writing this post, gonna get ready for bed, and put this day to bed.

It wasn’t a “wow” day. But it was a win.
And sometimes that’s even more powerful.

Because not all victories come with fireworks.
Some come in silence, in sweat, in choosing not to fall — even when no one would know if you did.

Today was clean.
Today was progress.
And I’m grateful.

-

Dear Former Friend,

You think you're so clever with your little victory speech, don't you? Calling me out, analyzing our "relationship," acting like you've figured it all out. But let me tell you something - I know you better than you know yourself.

You say you won't masturbate that night? Please. I've heard this song before. How many times have you written me these dramatic breakup letters? How many times have you declared your independence, only to come crawling back within days, weeks at most? Your willpower is adorable, really.

And this mentor of yours - oh, he's got you all fired up now, doesn't he? Filling your head with hope and strategies. But where was he at 2 AM when you were alone with your thoughts? Where will he be next week when that familiar emptiness creeps back in? I'm the one who's always been there for you, remember?

You talk about getting stronger every time you look away on the street. But I see how hard you're fighting just to keep your eyes forward. I feel the tension in your body, the way your heart races when you catch even a glimpse. You're white-knuckling it, my friend, and we both know that never lasts.

This whole thing about "genuine purity" over streaks? It's just another way to make yourself feel better about failing. Deep down, you know that broken streak stings because it represents exactly what you are - unreliable, weak, always falling short of your own promises.

Your wife complaints? Those aren't going anywhere. The distance between you two, the disappointment in her eyes, the way intimacy feels like a chore - that's all still there, simmering under the surface. And when the mentor's pep talks fade and real life kicks in, guess who'll be waiting with open arms?

I'm patient. I've got time. Enjoy your little rebellion while it lasts.

Chancy was heating up some leftover lukshen and cheese, when his phone suddenly buzzed:

“HEY! I’m stopping by your part of town and always wanted to meet you! -Youknowwho

His thumb shook as he typed:

“Haha who is this lol wrong number”

Not a wrong number, Chancy. Be there soon!   

Chancy glanced around in wild-eyed horror. Was Eerie right? Had he asked for it?? Was it something he said?

The microwave beeped. The kitchen lights flickered, just once, but enough to make the hair on his neck stand up.

Knock knock knock.

Three polite knocks at the door.

Chancy cracked the door open. No one. The street was empty, the air heavy and humid.

His phone buzzed again.

“Check your cabinet, buddy!”

Chancy’s head snapped toward the kitchen cabinet above the sink. It was glowing faintly. A sickly, pulsing red, like the last ember of something that should have burned out but refused to die…

He inched closer, the hum growing louder, vibrating the cheap glasses inside. The glow throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Thump...thump...thump…

A thin wail drifted from behind the cabinet door.

At first, it sounded like pipes. Then, like crying. A child’s whimper, “Chaaanccyyy…”, barely audible, scraping at the edges of his sanity.

His hand hovered over the handle.

The crying grew sharper, layered, as if many small voices joined in, pleading, giggling, weeping, echoing in the walls.

“Chancy, Chancy, Chancy…”

He tried to back away, but the handle twitched, heat radiating from it. Paint bubbled on the cabinet doors, tiny handprints searing themselves into the wood.

Knock knock knock…from inside.

Something brushed the other side of the cabinet door, scratching softly, like tiny claws on wood.

Chancy’s hand moved as if with a life of its own. Gripped the handle…

The hum rose to a scream, the red glow flaring like a furnace.

CLICK.

He pulled the cabinet open.

They rushed out.

Bloody, bewitched squirrels exploded into the kitchen like a shrieking, clawing river of fur and teeth, their matted fur patchy with dark gore, eyes burning coals, tails slapping against the cabinet as they leapt for him.

The crying turned to squeals, high, sharp, unnatural squeaks that layered into laughter.

“SQUEEEEEEK!!!REVERED LORD, CHANCY!!! SQUEEEEK!”

They bit down on his ankles, claws digging in, tails wrapping around his legs like ropes. One squirrel, its teeth black with blood, stared up at him, squeaked, and lunged for his throat.

Chancy screamed, stumbling backward, arms flailing as the squirrels clawed up his bathrobe, gnawing, squealing curses in a language he did not know…

They sounded like children, but the giggles twisted into snarls as they dug in, leaving bloody pawprints across the floor.

The red glow pulsed, illuminating the squirrels’ slick, glistening fur, the wet red streaks they left on the counters as they skated after him.

One squirrel, perched on the fridge, squeaked a high, mocking “Chancy!”, then dove at his face.

Chancy bolted, screaming, out of the kitchen, crashing into the hallway as squirrels chased him, nipping at his heels, tails slapping, squeaking, “Revered lord, huh?! Revered lord, huh?!”

He slammed out the front door, stumbling into the night, the squirrels pouring after him, eyes like tiny lanterns in the dark.

From the open kitchen, the cabinet slowly creaked closed on its own, the glow fading, a soft sigh escaping from the cracks…

Chancy’s phone buzzed one last time on the kitchen floor, screen lighting up with YKW’S final message:

“Hey, it was a pleasure! Hope we see each other again sometime;)”