Out of the Darkness

The path that got me to this point, now in retrospect, seems like a long terrifying nightmare. The damage caused by an abusive childhood shattered me like a hammer through glass. Shame, anger, rage, self loathing: these aspects defined me from then on. My comfort became the Occult: not simply paganism or wiccan, but purposefully evil, dark, satanic magick. The evil that enveloped my home and family due to my rituals goes far beyond what I wish to share. Nearing the age of legal adulthood, I met a woman who I would declare my love for and choose to marry. Despite being shunned and disowned by my family, I took one suitcase and moved across the country to be with her. If only I had known how far she would take me down. 

Just as the sick attract the sick, I had fallen in love with an addict. I had given up everything for the most abusive, cruel, woman I could have found. And yet I stayed. After two months together, she was fired from her job, we lost the house and spent the winter living in her hatchback. From there was the crack motel, our always exciting meth-head neighbor who informed us daily that there were CIA men in the trees, and 2 minimum wage jobs at the local fast food place. We only had one car, her car, that I was not allowed to drive. We moved from one roach infested hovel to another, usually sneaking away at night to skip out on the 3 months back rent we couldn't pay, and pulled 16 hour shifts at whatever miserable job we could find. "Where is all the money going?!!" I would cry to her. The paychecks wouldn't last 2 days. We couldn't afford food...That is something that would haunt me every day for the rest of my life: going hungry. The pain of starving hunger is like nothing I could have ever imagined. Naturally, my body weight plummeted. At a height of 5'9, I withered to 89 pounds. My body started to give up. I quit menstruating and my hair started falling out in clumps. But when personal misery reaches a certain point, you begin to rejoice in your own death; the death of your heart, your soul, and your body.

The more cruel my wife became towards me, the more I believed her when she said, "Its your own fault". Years and years went by. We moved back to my home town. Like a beaten dog still hoping for a shred of kindness from its master, I remained devoted to her. How could it have taken me so many years to realize that she was drinking away our money? That she was eating out while I was home starving. That she was cheating on me the entire time. One night, we went to a party at a friend's house. She announced to a room full of friends that she had a threesome with 2 men (our mutual coworkers), in our bed, and that they were better than I could ever be. She laughed with glee as she made this announcement that publicly humiliated, degraded, and crushed me more than words could ever express.

After she had taken everything from me, she decided I was of no more use to her. She was done with me. She packed up all of our belongings, drained our bank account, and drove away.

And there I was. That was the day I suffered a nervous breakdown. My mother and I's relationship was still extremely strained by hurt and resentment. But my mom watched as her daughter collapsed in the driveway, screaming in agony, shattered into pieces. She knew what happened in that moment. That was the moment when her little girl lost all ability to care for herself. She took me in. She cared for me when I was bedridden. All I could do was lie there and scream, crying so hard I swore my tears would turn to blood. I had finally found hell.

My mom cared for me, as I had now become somewhat of an invalid. She had to help me relearn basic functions, but no amount of time or care could put me back together. The pieces of me were too broken to ever be joined again. Days kept coming and going, and the agony would not relent. I would cry until I vomited and it seemed even exhaustion could not grant me reprieve.

One night, I was in bed crying uncontrollably and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I crawled out of bed, onto the floor, caught one solid breath and screamed out to God as loud as I could. The same God I raged against, the God I once cursed and hated, was now the God I was screaming desperately to for help. I screamed for Him to help me until I had no voice left.

I can't say that in one divine moment, I was in any way whole again. I knew nothing outside of the woman who had left me. I didn't know who I was. What food did I like? What music did I like? What opinions did I have? I had no identity. Very slowly, I began building a new life. I would go from better to worse to better again.

My journey to find God continued. However, going from a pact with the Devil to finding God is not a an easy, joyous, or clear process. It would be the most difficult, trying journey I would ever undertake.