My Testimony

Some well meaning Christians over the years have told me I “glorify Satan” when I give my testimony. I am going to have to rebuff that. Know that is not my aim and never will be. My aim is to expose lies and darkness of the enemy of our souls by the truth of God.

Not all of us grew up in a church setting, nor have been sheltered in one way or another or gone to a seminary to be taught by man the things of God. Some of us, through our own rebellion and wrong doings, have had to learn things a different way. Usually through the pain, loneliness and hard knocks we got along the way by thumbing our nose to a Holy God. That was my case.

I get no pleasure in sharing my past. As my past is just that, my past. It is not one that I am proud of or have any desires to go back to. I would much rather jump in with both feet and tell you right away about my Jesus. But I can not. You must know me “before” and “after” Jesus.

I remember a story of an elderly lady who stood up to share her testimony. She stood up among a group of young people and said something like this, “Jesus saved me from smoking, drinking, sex, rock n roll, gambling, prostitution, drugs, prison….” She fired off every vice and sin there is! Of course she had the young peoples’ attention. They thought she was going to get into the nitty gritty of things and they eagerly leaned forward anticipating her every word expecting her to share with them the horrors of evil. But instead, she went on to explain something like this, “Yes, Jesus saved me from all of that. I decided to live for Him at an early age and he kept me from doing those things.” Well, I imagine those young people slumped in their chairs. But that wise woman went on and was able to convey the message of the cross to them in a way they never heard. My message is the same as hers. Our stories are different but we have the same message.

I have noticed that some in the church seem to idolize certain testimonies over others. As if the greater the sin in your life before Jesus, the greater your testimony. I abhor that. There is no badge given to those of us who have lived a wicked and evil life. There is no distinction before God. “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. There is none righteous, no not one.”

If you are one that has not lived what you may think is a “wicked” life, then be glad that God kept you. But, don’t you dare judge anyone who may have lived a little worse in your eyes. You too, still need a Savior. And for those who may have a testimony similar to mine, remember your deliverances and from Whom they came. Don’t let anyone make you believe you are somehow “special” because of your past. Because just like me, you are not. There is no special trophy for us. It is not about us. It is about Him who saved our soul from hell. Let us not forget this.

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Jesus Christ, the Son of God and God Himself, became very real to me in 1976. This is our story on how and when He came into my life.

From the age of 12 to 19, I studied and practiced the occult. It started with Astrology and then went on to phrenology, numerology, palmistry, astral projection, witchcraft, tarot cards, Ouija board and trying to communicate with the dead. But before I get into all of that, go back with me a little further.

When I consider Your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
The moon and the stars,
which you have ordained,
What is man that you are mindful of him…
-Psalm 8:3

It seems like I always believed there was a God. My father began teaching me about Him when I was very young. Sitting on my daddy’s lap in the back yard on moonlit nights, he would tell me, “Baby, see that moon up there? See all those stars. God made all of them.” I would gaze at the sky because even back them, the heavens were every bit as awesome to me as they are now. My father would say, “Baby, if you wink at the stars they will wink back at you.” With my thumb in my mouth, I would wink at the stars and sure enough, they would ‘wink’ back.

Daddy would tell me there was a man on the moon and if I looked hard enough I could see him. I looked and looked and eventually I did see him. I still can see him. The awesomeness of Gods’ work to make a planet that actually looks like a face, tilting ever so slightly peering down at the earth still amazes me.

My mother too, taught me there was a God. She did this by teaching me how to pray at a very young age. Night after night of “God bless…God bless…God bless,” everybody I could think of while she waited patiently for me to finish.

But I never knew the name of this God. It would not be until years later that I would find out his name is Jesus.

At 12 years old a girl at school turned me on to astrology. I thought it was cool because of my previous fascination of the planets. I began to read everything I could on the subject and the next thing I knew I was studying numerology. By the age of 17 I had gone from just a child-like curiosity to a deep searching for truth. I longed for truth and sought it in the occult.

I had a very unusual experience one night. After studying for a few hours I finally went to bed. I was not sleepy or tired because of insomnia. A couple minutes went by and then all of a sudden I heard a rushing noise in my ears. I will compare it to the waves of the ocean. There was also a sound of buzzing in my head. I opened my eyes and I was floating over my bed watching myself lay in bed. The emotion going through me was incredible. One of complete peace and freedom.

I decided to go into my parents’ room to see if I could wake them up. I went through the hallway to their room and hovered over their bed watching them sleep. I called out to them but they did not move. I then went to my brothers’ room and did the same thing. I got the same response. Then a voice spoke to me and said, “Go to (a friends’ house) she will see you.”

I started to go through the exterior wall of the house and then a much greater voice spoke, “EVIL!” That voice shook me so terribly that I found myself back in my body, sweating, trembling and paralyzed. There was a sensation like a rubber band trying to stretch something out of my body. I fought it. I became more afraid at not being able to move. Finally, after what seemed hours I was able to move a finger or a toe and I was able to move. I got out of bed and went to look at the clock to see the time. Twenty minutes had passed by. Just twenty minutes. I was shaken but very curious about this. At the time I did not know what this experience was.

A few months later, I found out what it was called when I bought a book at a used bookstore. That experience is called astral projection.

I ignored the voice that spoke “EVIL!“ to me that night. I added astral projection to my studies and began to practice it at will.

A righteous man regards the life of his animal,
but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.
-Proverbs 12:10

A few months later at the age of 19, I got my own apartment. Someone gave me a cute little puppy and I named him Sancho. He was my constant companion. I loved him, yet something in me began to treat him horribly. Especially after trying to read the Bible. I would try to read the Bible late at night, but the words in red made me angry. I could not understand it. I would throw the Bible at the wall with a rage and if Sancho happened to be near me, I would pick him up and throw him across the room. The poor little dog would let out a whelp and then go hide behind the couch. Even now, just remembering my cruelty, sickens me and saddens me greatly. Thankfully, he never got seriously hurt.

And for those readers who are animal lovers and would be angry with me, I too am an animal lover today, I no longer treat animals that way, and not only that, but I have been forgiven. I do not say that lightly or flippantly. I still live with the shame of what I did to that little dog. I believe we can be forgiven, however, I believe sometimes God will allow us to remember certain things we did so we do not repeat them. Such as in my case

My cruelty was not only towards my little dog but also my little sister who is ten years younger than me. Before I moved into my own apartment I enjoyed tormenting her. There were times when I am sure she was terrified of me, having to share a room with me!

Oddly enough, though, it was the love I had for my little sister that kept me from taking my own life many times. There was another Voice, One that was not greatly familiar to me, but never-the-less, spoke to me. This Voice would say, “Do not kill yourself. Think of your little sister. What would she do if she did not have you in her life?” I was torn on how I could be so cruel yet feel such a deep love for her. This Voice would remind me of how my little sister came to be; how I prayed every single night for two years for a little sister. I was eleven when she was born and how excited I was that this God with no name heard my prayer!

I began to hate myself knowing there was something very dark and evil in me and I didn’t know what it was. How I hated it, yet it kept telling me it was my “friend.” It told me that I needed it; in order to know what people were thinking as it would help me “read the thoughts of others.” The thoughts this thing helped me to read were never kind, encouraging, friendly or helpful. They were harsh judgments telling me things like, “they are not your friend, you can not trust them, no one likes you, you are too weird, you are evil, you will not be happy until you die,” and not to say the many vile names I heard them call me.

My relationships with others were good enough. I guess most thought I was a little odd if not weird. As they did not know any other witches. I had one friend who was more special than the rest. I will call her Audrey for now. Audrey saw me during so many bad times. She saw me in the times of complete weirdness of shutting down, and such times of despondency were as frightening to her as to me. There would be times where I could do nothing but sit and stare listening to the voices. She would not know what to do other than put her arm around my shoulder and cry for us both. Oh, and how she would weep. However, I could not and would not be moved by her tears. Something would rise up in me and hate her for her “weakness” as the voices would call it. Many times I felt myself holding myself back from wanting to hurt her. But something always stopped me.

Audrey was a very special friend. She loved to laugh. She had two more friends she introduced me to. I will call them Cathy and Debbie. They too loved to laugh. They were the first people I was around that taught me what a natural high was. These three taught me how to laugh. They could find humor in the most simple things. And oh how I loved them for it.

At first it took me some getting used to because I thought they were always laughing at me. But they weren’t. They just had a way of enjoying life that I was not familiar with. But even that was not enough for me

How can one be happy and yet feel sadness?
Is it a sort of madness?
-Hippie-

And I set my heart to know wisdom and to know madness and folly,
I perceived that this also is grasping for the wind.
For in much wisdom is much grief,
and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow.
-Ecclesiastes 1: 17-18-

It was a sort of madness. I could not understand why my thoughts and emotions did not line up with one another. I began going to a psychologist and she diagnosed me as schizophrenic. I saw her every week or two at the beginning. She wanted to put me on medication and I refused. Until one day in her office I had no other choice. Back then in the 70s, you could smoke in a doctors’ office. I lit up one day and caught my long hair on fire. It was burning and I could not move, I felt nothing. My doctor jumped out of her chair and slapped the fire out. I still just sat, not expressing anything. She sat back in her chair and said, “You need to go on medicine and if you don’t I can have you committed right now. You need help.” I kind of argued with her but knew she meant business. I decided to take the medicine. She was able to obtain a couple of prescriptions and sent me home telling me to come back every week or so. I believe this was in the month of September of 1975. I took one drug to help me sleep at night. The other drug was an anti-psychotic. I did not notice any change other than I could sleep a little better. The voices and bad thoughts were still in my head, constantly tormenting me.

I never questioned if my study of the occult had anything to do with the voices. I kept on studying late at night and would not go to bed until dawn, as night time was increasingly becoming more fearful. Sometimes, when not seeking it out or not wanting to, I would astral project. One time (and I do know this will be hard to believe) I went to the home of my psychologist. I could not wait for my next session to tell her. When I began to share my experience with her she looked dumb-founded. I told her what her home looked like to the details I could remember. But instead of her being alarmed, she thought it was “cool” and wanted to hook me up with a friend of hers during our next session. She said her friend was into “stuff, just like you are.” I met her friend the next go round and sure enough, she also was a believer in the occult. We chatted about things, but I can not remember what. I don’t remember the purpose of even meeting her. I am sure though it was meant to draw me deeper into the occult.

But when I looked for good,
evil came to me;  
And when I waited for light,
 then came darkness.
 -Job 30:26-

As the sun went down, nighttime became unbearable. I hated the dark of night. I usually stayed up until daybreak waiting for the sun to come up. I began to have panic attacks at night. Many voices would be speaking in my head at the same time, sometimes shouting, calling me names, accusing me, speaking ill of others and telling me to take my life. I heard whispering around me and my name being called. Terrified, I would call certain people at night telling them I could sense an evil all around me. These precious friends would either listen to me or come and pick me up in the middle of the night and take me home with them.

One night after studying, I decided to try and get some sleep because I had to go to work the next day. One of the voices came to me and said, “What would you do if the lights went off in the middle of the night?” It was a taunting voice. Panic rose up in me. It went on, “You know you would be scared. So you better get a flashlight just in case.” I did what the voice said. I ran to my kitchen cupboard and grabbed the flashlight.

Leaving most of the lights on in my small apartment, I went to bed with the flashlight on my nightstand. I drifted off into a fitful sleep. A couple hours later I woke to find all the lights off. I could barely see, it was so dark. With a sense of dread and foreboding, I got out of bed, fumbling around in the dark, feeling for the flashlight. A slight sense of relief washed over me as I found it and turned it on. I looked out the window. All the apartment complex was dark. There had been no storms and I was puzzled as to what could have caused the power failure.

One of the voices came to me and said, “See. I told you, you might need the flashlight. See what kind of power I can give to you?” My fear of the dark went away for that moment. I went back to bed wanting more of this power that could tell me of future events.

There were times when I was compelled to hurt myself. One night at work (I worked at a Pizza Hut) I was in the back washing dishes. Something like a trance came over me and was allowing scalding hot water to run over my hands. Something told me to stick my hands in the water and let them remain there. I felt no pain as I watched my hands get redder and redder. One of my co-workers and a very good friend, Mary, thought there was a fire with the steam being so great. She rushed into the room and saw me. Alarmed, she called my name. I heard her. But could not move. She ran over, grabbed my hands and said, “What on earth is wrong with you!” My movements were slow, almost robotic. I felt nothing. I was in a sense, dead. I don’t remember much more about that event. However, I do thank God, Mary came in when she did.

Before I moved in the apartment, I began trying to communicate with my dead grandmother. “Little Maw” died when I was 11 and for some reason I found myself missing her. I began to have experiences of seeing her. Whether actual dreams or not, I still do not know. The first time I was still at home. She was in my parents’ room and looked so much younger than I remembered her. On my parents’ bed were laid out all kinds of pictures; photos of my past and photos I had not never seen. I asked her, “How did you get here?” She said, “They sent me in a box.” Hunting for the box I looked around the room for it. I saw no box but I did noticed for the first time the room had a bluish-whitish glow. There was a little bunny rabbit with the same glow around it. I laughed at the thought of a bunny rabbit coming from “heaven” with my grandmother. I asked her why she came. She said, “To warn you about driving, drugs and alcohol. I have a friend whose daughter was killed in a car wreck from drinking.” At the time I did not drive a car. And when I did go and try and get my drivers’ license many times over the years, her words haunted me. Causing me a terrible fear of driving. I did not get my license until I was about 36 years old.

I asked her what the pictures meant. She did not answer. She just looked sweetly at me. There was a picture of a beautiful young woman and I asked who it was. She said it was her. For some reason I can not explain I became angry and said, “That is not you! That is not my Little Maw!” She spoke gently and sweetly, “We all change when we get there.”

Another picture caught my eye. It was one of a young woman with long blonde hair, wearing a brown fringe jacket facing what looked like to be a mountain. I questioned her about this but she did not answer. (It would be a few months later as I was walking to my therapist that I would remember that picture. I was walking up the hill leading to the place that was in the midst of a country like setting. It was autumn and I had just gotten a leather brown fringe jacket I was so proud of it. As I was walking, I noticed the hills and then I saw the picture. It was me looking at what appeared to be mountains. The emotion I had at that time was both frightening and exhilarating. I began to believe I was receiving more of the power I coveted.)

I stepped forward to hug her but then I “woke” up. I opened my eyes and was able to see in my parents’ room. The event was so real I was for certain she was still there. But all I saw was a slight breeze blowing through the shear curtains in the bedroom.

After this, I began to question more the mysteries of death. I really believed someone or something was giving me a power. I wanted to believe it was the God with no name. I tried invoking my grandmother many times after that experience. I even began praying to her asking her to take my prayers to the God that had no name. I asked for her help in living. The more I talked to her, the more I wanted to be with her. The more I wanted to be with her the more I wanted to die.

By the time I was out on my own, I could fairly guess the astrological sign of others. I used it to help me decide who I would let in my world or not. I found out I was beginning to read tarot cards and could read palms fairly accurately. I was becoming more of a believer that the occult was where the power and truth was. I was convinced the meaning of life and my purpose was in this and nothing more.

I went to the apartment laundry mat one day and started up a conversation with two women who were new tenants. I began telling them about the occult and I asked if they would like to come over one day for coffee. They took me up on it. They noticed my tarot cards on the coffee table and asked if I could read the cards for them. I said sure and began to do so. I did not know anything about these women yet I began to read to them what the cards said. They either went along with me or either there was something going on there. They seemed surprise. I did too for that matter. A voice spoke to me, “Do not be so surprised. Just believe and respect this power and I will give you more.”

I began to get more proud believing the lie that some great gift of the heavens was being bestowed upon me. As the days grew into dark nights I nurtured the power by studying and seeking even more though all forms of the occult.

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The movie “The Exorist” had been out the past few years. I had already seen it once. Tripping on LSD the first showing of it in 1973. I went to see it again taking my little brother who was 13 years old at the time. I could hardly wait to see his fear of the images on the screen. Something in me loved to see terror in others as much as I dreaded it in myself. I became ecstatic seeing his fear. I felt a bizarre grin taking over my face. Something told me it was it was wrong but I could not control it. It was if it were right under my lips wanting to push itself out and distort my whole facial expression. When alone, I would actually run to a mirror to see if my face had yielded to it. Sometimes it did.

At the movie as I watched my little brothers,’ fear, a great sense of power and energy surged in me. It was like a drug. I laughed and laughed at him, mocking him, ridiculing him. It strengthened me in some strange way and caused me to have no compassion or empathy towards a little boy scared out of his mind. All I cared about was this “high” and keeping it.

That night alone in my apartment, I felt as if I were coming down from an acid trip. My morbid desire to see others afraid would vanish as I began to sense a fear that almost crippled me. That night I stayed up and studied the occult until almost daybreak. I was sleeping in my bed when I had a nightmare. Upon waking, I couldn’t remember anything the dream. I just felt a great sense of evil and terror all around me. Getting out of bed, I went and laid down on the couch after turning every light on in the place. I believed that the light would drive the terror away. But it didn’t.

As I lay on the couch, listening to a soothing radio station, my eyes heavy trying my best not to fall back to sleep lest some great terror come upon me, a chant began to take over my head; “Something is going to get you. Something is going to get you. Something is going to get you even with the lights on.” Over and over it went in my head, taunting me, like it was almost singing.

A poster of Buddha hung on the wall. The eyes appeared to be glowing at me. I became paralyzed with fear. I made sure I stayed awake until day light. The next morning when the sun finally came up, I felt foolish for being so afraid of a mere poster. Everything seemed better during the day. But when the sun began to go down, fear would begin to grip me again. Night after night.

The next few nights began to get worse. I dreaded being alone. I asked the young man I was dating at the time to come over and sleep on the couch. I thought his presence would be enough to make the terror flee. But I was wrong. As I lay in bed I began to get horrible images of him coming into my room with a knife. I tried thinking of others who I knew and trusted, tried to see their faces. But their faces had the same images. Images of hate and murder. All of them coming at me with knives in their hands. I wanted to get up out of bed, take all the knives in my apartment, bring them to the bedroom and put them under my mattress. But I couldn’t. I began to have thoughts and images of the knives floating in mid-air by unseen hands, lingering over my bed, teasing me with my own fear until they had their fun and decided to plunge me with the blades.

Terror and a sense of insanity began to take hold of me. My shrink really was not helping me much. The drugs she had given to help me were useless. Friends were beginning to not know how to deal with me. I was being compelled to distant myself from everyone.

I came to the conclusion that I had no other recourse than to make a pact with the one whom I finally understood was giving me power; Satan.

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Therefore I hated life 

                                                              -Ecclesiastes 2:17-

As the next couple weeks went by, every fear became magnified and practically crippled me in every way possible. Life had no meaning and it was not fun, anymore. And I hated it.

Over the past few years, I had an obsession with the number 9. I can not remember exactly how it came to be. Probably through my study of numerology. Numerology works in such a way where the digits are added up until you get one single digit. Each number represents something in the occult. For me, 9 represented death. I don’t remember how I came to that conclusion. However it came to be, it caused me to be afraid and extremely superstitious. Sometimes, if a license plate added up to 9, I would not get in that car remembering the warning of my Little Maw of a car wreck. But if for some reason I felt exceptionally brave on any given day, I would venture out. Still being apprehensive until I got to where I was going. On the 9^th of each month, I would be so overcome with anxiety wanting the day to end. For I thought surely I would die on the 9^th in some tragic accident.

As a small child, I developed an obsession with death. At the age of 17 the obsession grew worse when the girl who introduced me to the occult, ended up missing and found dead six weeks later. It was a tragic time for all of us who knew her. When the murderers were caught and shown on the local news, I began to become disillusioned with the hippie movement. The murderers were two young men in their late teens. They both had the typical long hair and blue jeans from that era. They looked like any other normal teen-age boys. I can still see them and can still feel the surprise and horror at seeing them. I had expected some old creepy middle aged man as her killer. But, instead, they were of my generation. For me, the days of “peace and love” began to die that day.

 

One night, I called Audrey, telling her I was afraid I was going to die. She came right over. We sat outside on the porch stoop. I just sat in a semi-catonic state–yielding to the lying voices telling me, “Audrey is not your friend. Do not trust her.” I wanted to express what was going on in me, but couldn’t. Like other times, she did not know what to say and she would just weep greatly for the both of us. I hated her silence. The voices told me she was “weak.” I could hear them mocking her somewhere inside of me. 

 

It would not be until many years later that I would learn just what that did to her. Neither of us knowing Jesus at the time knew how to fight the demonic forces at work in me, she was as terrified as I. Maybe more so, in not knowing what to expect from me. But she never left me. It was a love that surely God had put in her just for me at that time.

I began to get more paranoid, not trusting anyone. My therapist wanted to begin taping our sessions. Whatever for, I don’t know. Maybe she wanted to take our sessions home with her or to someone else. I don’t know. Whatever her reason, it only made me more paranoid! Our sessions did not go very far. I kept seeing devil faces everywhere; on the floor, on the cracks in the wall and on the ceiling. When I realized my therapist could not see them, I clammed up and would not work with her.

Being afraid of everything and not being able to sleep brought horrible stress. I quit my job and let the young man I was engaged to take over the bills. Having nothing to pre-occupy my time other than the occult, I studied it with an intense fervor. I felt as if I had all the time in the world yet no time at all. I did not think I would live to see my next birthday.

Ironically enough, this is about the time I picked up an old Bible and began reading the book of Revelation. I had an overwhelming fear of the end of the world since I was very small. It stemmed from my father telling me about the end times. I would listen intently as he would tell me the moon would turn to blood and the world would burn with fire. Reading the book of Revelation brought back those fears. Strangely, as hard as I would try, I could not read any other part of the Bible. There was something about the words in red. Something that drew me to them, yet something that angered me when my eyes rested upon them. I didn’t know Jesus was speaking the words in red. I didn’t know, I just didn’t know. When trying to read those words in red, a rage would overtake me, causing me to throw that Good Book violently across the room. My poor little dog would go hide behind the couch during these times.

I began to see by looking at the faces of other people and noticing their smiles, that I just was not normal. That something was very wrong with me. Oh, how I wanted to be different. I wanted to be like everyone else. Normal, with no voices or fear. Yet, I begin to believe a voice in my head telling me this darkness was something I needed to go through for some special purpose. As if it had a grand purpose destined to full fill some great plan. I can’t remember the plan other than it was a lie.

Finding a new used bookstore that specialized in the occult, I found a book on Astral Projection. My out of body experience had a name now. The book taught how to astral project. The strange thing about it, yet not so strange, is that somehow I already knew how to do it before I even knew it had a name. I began practicing it more after getting the book. It was not a hard thing for me to do at all. It came easily. Sometimes, a terrible fear went along with it. Like when I was not wanting to do it. A buzzing or a humming would come to me, a very heavy weight would make me paralyzed and then the next thing I know I would be half way out of my body looking at myself sleeping. It felt like I was going to die. I would panic thinking, what if I die, where will my soul, the part of me that is sitting up next to my sleeping body, go? One night I was out (I hate to use this word, never the less there is not other way to put it) flying in the field behind my apartment complex. I can’t begin to describe the exhilaration. Then all at once, the fear came and the next thing I am swooping down in my bed.

One night during astral travel, I went to my therapists’ home. I told her about it during our next session. I told her what her apartment looked like. Little things laying around and where certain things were. She thought it was something neat and treated it as something special. Whether she was being truthful or not, only God knows.

Any one of my readers can honestly and rightfully ask me if these events were dreams. Honestly? I can not tell you. I can only tell you they were very real to me at the time, that I do believe in such things and I believe it happened to me. However, no one is obligated to believe me.

During my sessions with my therapist I began to withdraw more and more. She wanted me to look her in the eyes. I couldn’t and wouldn’t. I began to hate her for not being able to help me. She would tell me I had anger stored up in me. From what I don’t know. If I knew at the time, I was not going to open up to her as she had threatened to have me committed. I resented her for that. She told me it was ok to be angry and I insisted anger was evil and God didn‘t want me angry. I began to believe God didn’t want me to feel anything. So at times I became very apathetic, feeling like a stone.

I began having thoughts of taking my life. One day while out walking I sat on a tree stump looking at the cloudy December skies. I began to talk to my Little Maw telling her it would not be long until I would be with her. I told her how sad I was and so confused. “I wish you were here to tell me what to do,” I said. “I’ll be with you soon, when God tells me the right time to die.”

“I have yet to understand the misinterpretation of life, because I have misunderstood the interpretation of death.” -Hippie- January 1976

“The wicked, through the pride of his countenance will not seek after God: God is not in his thoughts. -Psalms 10:4-

Feeling as if God did not love me or even care about me, I planned to give my soul to Satan on February 13^th. This simple decision seemed to bring a type of peace. A type of calm came over me for the next few weeks leading up to the 13^th.

A voice in my head began speaking to me, “God doesn’t love you but I do. I can give you power beyond anything you can imagine. Trust me. I will protect you.” Believing I had some little secret from the whole wide world, I began to entertain that thought of having all kinds of power. I told no one about my plans.

As the days started passing by and the day approached, I began to feel a little uneasy. For some reason there was an apprehension and I asked myself, what if something goes wrong? The voice was there to reassure me, “Nothing can go wrong. Trust me.”

The closer I got to the day, I began feeling a distaste and almost a hatred towards anyone who may have been skeptical of my powers. My powers being everything I had been learning in the occult. I foolishly believed I knew what everyone around me was thinking about me. (Which always were negative thoughts, never anything positive or edifying.) This kind of thinking made me pull away even more from people and made me more suspicious. Another power I enjoyed was being able to instill fear in others in one way or another. Either by jumping out of a closet and scaring them half to death or telling some recent creepy experience and watching the expression on their face. These things were wicked. Even though I knew they weren’t exactly holy, I refused to believe they were evil. After all, it was all in fun.

I began to believe people were thinking I was becoming insane and I too, wondered it myself. But, I would hear from within myself something like this, “I am far more advanced than any of you. I am on my way to a higher form of consciousness. You can stay in the boring plane you are on but I am moving on. I am on my way of receiving power none of you have a clue about. No one will stop me or get in my way. The day will come where you people will not mess with me. You will understand and know I mean business. I will show all of you.”

An evil force or forces (and I do not say that lightly) began to take control of my every thought. It began to consume me causing me to hate others, ridiculing their innocence, feeling such coldness, mocking them secretly in the darkness of my heart. They (meaning the spirits/demons) especially turned me against Audrey. There were times when I felt hate towards her and did not know why. A battle would be raging in me to think good thoughts but they were nowhere to be found. There were times when the spirits/demons would cause me to be terribly afraid of her. Once again I tried to find good thoughts. But they were as allusive as trying to catch a moonbeam in my hand.

Alone at night with nothing but the morbid thoughts in my head, the voices would come to me with thoughts like this: “Stay with me and together you and I can conquer those who never believed in you–I want you for my own–You have a lot to offer because you are so special–God does not love you but I do–Listen to me–I am the truth–you have no real friend but me–they hate you–they think you are weird–show them you mean business.

Other times they were not so friendly. They said things like –you are a real *itch!–people hate you!–you are a (blanking) weirdo–no wonder people do not like you!–look at you, you are pathetic!–no wonder God does not love you!– who do you think you are?–You are nothing special–you are never going to heaven!–you are on your way to hell!–haha!–something is going to get you!– don’t sleep without the lights on!–You must not listen to people–Audrey is not your friend!–no one is your friend!–Randy really does not love you–don’t answer the phone, it is someone you can not trust!–don’t go anywhere today or something bad will happen! On and on they would go, causing me to both cry and laugh hysterically at the same time.

I no longer tried to make sense of the voices. I no longer tried to argue with them. I was out numbered. I let them take over. It seemed to bring a sense of peace by letting them have their way. The confusion, in some strange way was being lifted. Or was it that I just simply broke? I don’t know. I just know I had reached the end of myself and my only recourse was to go ahead with my plan for the 13^th of February.

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