Angels and Demons

I’m going back to when we lived with DB. There was so much chaos. She was so physically abusive to my sister and me. I know I’ve mentioned this already, but a lot of the hate I used to harbor towards females was because of DB. I would think of her as pure evil after we moved out of her house. I wouldn’t associate with women of the same name as her. I couldn’t stand woman who would instigate and play victim. She always threatened to call the cops, and there was never anything done…Just another domestic dispute, and my dad’s charming and charismatic talk persuaded the authorities that this woman was crazy, and he’s a victim, and all is well. Meanwhile my sister and I are starving, or afraid of what will happen after they leave.

It wasn’t often my dad would come into our room at this time. DB, however, would come into our room and scream and yell at us. We were between the ages of seven and maybe ten. She would make my sister cry and she’d end up hiding in her closet. I made a little fort in the back of my closet, and it would be my escape. I loved reading, and most of what I read was fantasy, mystery and as I got older crime dramas. I would read in the back of my closet and imagine I was a character in the story. Most of the time I was the hero who rescued themselves…

I remember feeling like the house we lived in was haunted. There were always creepy noises, and there was a crawl space entrance in our room that was used for storage. I remember I would constantly hear footsteps. I never really felt scared. Intrigued maybe, but never really scared. I’ve had several encounters with the supernatural, not really understanding what it was at the time. One night, I remember being upset, and I remember feeling lost… it was indescribable at the time. I just remember feeling really bad.

The only thing lighting up my room at the time was a nightlight at the top of the stairs, that separated our rooms. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, I wasn’t afraid. I felt that this “spirit” meant no harm, and that I was ok. I felt like something was watching over me. I remember seeing the room illuminate, it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, it was so bright. I saw a figure in that light, and the room went dim again, and only my nightlight was lighting the room. I remember seeing an indent, like someone sitting on the edge of my bed near my legs. I felt calm, the presence was safe. I heard, “everything will be ok”. I don’t remember what happened that day, but I do remember feeling safe and calm, and that someone was watching over me in that moment.

I now believe it was angels watching over me, encouraging me and reassuring me that I will be ok. I think every spiritual encounter I had was God showing himself. As I got older, and my situation was getting worse, I would start to pray, I prayed for God to make it stop. I asked “why” so many times, I don’t think I’ll ever get an answer. As mentioned, I would become very angry. It wasn’t an outward anger, it was internal. That would be when I would start cutting myself. I would take risks I never would have, and I didn’t care if I got hurt. The pain meant I was still alive. That I was still real.

I became angry towards God, and at one point I hated Him for putting me through what I was going through. Why Me? What did I do? Why can’t I have a normal life? Does God hate me? I had such questions for so long, that it would physically hurt me. I would feel guilty for being angry at God and then I would feel the need to beg forgiveness, I still loved Jesus, I just didn’t understand. I wasn’t considered “saved” at this point, but like I said, I always believed. I always prayed, and I would always pray for Him to take me away.

I hoped and wanted there to be something so much bigger than me. That I was meant for more than just a grown man’s plaything. I wanted more out of my life, or I didn’t want to live. I became rebellious, defiant, and ran away from home at sixteen. I skipped school that day, and I walked to a friend’s house. I didn’t realize how many people “knew” my dad. I was at my friend’s house for a while, we both skipped school that day. I was terrified, and when I heard on the scanner that my dad had police and dogs looking for me, I had to hide. My friend decided to help me the best she could, but I didn’t want her to get in trouble.

I hid in the woods and ended up near a train track. I heard dogs barking, and just decided to head back. A police officer found me walking, and I tried to tell him. I said ” I don’t want him touching me anymore” several times, and there were quite a few cops there… I wasn’t even interviewed. I told my stepmom, who was there at the time the same thing, she said “I know, but I can’t do anything about it now” I said, why, there’s cops right there… But it didn’t matter. They didn’t even ask me why I ran away. My dad made it seem like I was a rebellious teen, and I was mad about something petty… I hated that the cops just blew me off. They didn’t even try to hear what I was trying to convey… My dad took over the conversation, and I was to be an obedient child while the adults were talking.

My dad essentially broke me. I become distant and compliant just to keep the peace. I didn’t see a future, there was no mental image. I had plans, but what was the point in keeping them or going for them if all I got was shot down, and made to feel worthless, and useless. I was never good enough. I couldn’t trust anyone. I despised women for some reason. I kept everyone at arm’s length. I wasn’t going to let others in only to hurt me and use me and eventually discard and leave me.

Everyday felt like a battle, I had to be careful what I said or did. No one understood how isolated and afraid I was. I tried to make it seem like I was ok, but inside, I was dying. I didn’t see the point in planning for a future if I couldn’t see one…

It was around this time where I was getting deeper and deeper into a dark place. If the people who are supposed to help me, and see the signs turn me away, then what’s the point. Who will hear me? Who would help me if I was painted as a troubled child. Who wouldn’t see me as a nuisance? If family members who knew were too afraid to speak up; If the authorities wouldn’t help me, if the people I tried to tell weren’t going to listen, who would? I was alone. I was trapped. I had no escape. I would eventually believe that I would never be able to get out, that I was destined to live this way for however long I was going to be around. I had no hope. I became numb. I shut down, went inside myself. I was on autopilot for so long, that I truly don’t remember a lot of my childhood… most of it is dark, like a commercial break that takes too long to load.

There was this one night, it was after a particularly bad fight with my dad. We were in the trailer when this occurred. I eventually got a loft bed for my room and had a desk under for schoolwork. I was sleeping, and there was no light on, and the curtain was drawn. I had woken up with this feeling of not being able to breath. I opened my eyes, but I couldn’t move. I was scared. I felt this presence holding me down. I was laying on my back, and I looked up, and I saw two red eyes, and a demonic figure with long black claws, and a wispy body, straddling me. Holding me down.

I felt fear, dread, death, and pure evil like I’ve never felt before. I felt like I was being sucked into a dark void. I tried to scream, and I couldn’t. I tried to call out for someone, and I couldn’t open my mouth. I felt these claws digging into my wrists, holding me down to my bed. I started to pray. I closed my eyes, and I began calling on the name of Jesus, begging to be free, and to wake up.

I slowly started gaining movement in my hands, and when I called on Jesus again, it was like a breath of fresh air. The weight lifted, I felt safe, and a lightness and sense of peace and warmth came over me. I very much believe it was the enemy sending demons after me. Taunting me. I didn’t belong to him, and the enemy knew that. Calling on the name of Jesus is the only reason I was able to wake up… even though I was physically awake. I do not believe it was a night terror. I’ve never had one before, or since, that I can remember. I still remember what it felt like to have that thing on me. I remember being able to breath, and thanking the Lord for saving me… I think that was the start of me wanting to be serious about praying. God answered. Even though I was angry, and questioning God, he still answered when I called. I had to go through some more heartache, fights, and near loss of life… before I would cry out with everything I had in me.