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 |  This is my blog & my hope, writing daily will help me see my progress and log supporters. |
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| I'm new to this spirituality thing. I never really believed in God and was happy to sit my proverbial ass on top of the fence (rather than becoming a full-blown atheist) 'just in case'. And isn't it poignant that agnosticism reigns until some type of crisis, like that of the loss of a loved one, pushes us closer towards the hope for something more than nothingness after we die? Just over a year ago, my mother passed away. We were as close as two people can be. I spent the better part of a decade caring for her and I remember well our conversations about God. She was a Christian and I would often lightheartedly mock her and her faith. There were times when I would say things that I would later regret...not only because I feared I had offended her, but because I would often kick my little toe on something hard not long after my indiscretion. I would then apologise to her (and to God) for being a shit. She would then smile that smile, knowing that one day I would fall (or be pushed) from the reticent perch that I felt most comfortable on, and down to one side of the fence or the other. It's easy to believe in God when the plane is crashing down, but a lot harder when it finally regains control and lands safely. Then all the passengers can go back to their normal lives, forgetting the prayers they said in those moments of fear and uncertainty. I swore I would never be one of those people, and that if one day I decided whose side of the argument I was to believe, I would stick with it until the end. Having faith that there is (or is not) a higher power, is not as black and white or as easy to convince myself of as I had hoped...especially when the ghosts I began seeing and thought of as my fun friends, suddenly revealed themselves to be anything but. I am still uncertain about what exactly these hallucinations are, but when demons, or at least, the entities that purport to be demons, began to consistently haunt my life, I figured I had better cover all the bases and my sorry ass, and pray for help. Of course, my prayers have not been answered, and these visions I very much hope are hallucinations, and not the alternative, continue to be a part of my everyday life. At first, when I began to get really scared, I prayed for their removal. The trouble was at that point, I was still using meth, and the ghosts had become an integral and enjoyable part of the experience. It was only later, once the fun was over and the time came to pay for their company (in ways I can only describe as like being in a real-life horror movie), that I would once again pray for deliverance...a cycle that no God would or should put up with. I've often wondered if these entities were sent by God (rather than coming from the underworld), to kick my ass and force me to face up to the reality of what I was doing to my mind and body. Truly, the best thing that happened to me was the arrival of Angel. The trouble is now that I am better, she refuses to leave. I can only hope that I do indeed have a mental illness called drug-induced psychosis, and in time, the symptoms will disappear. And if that is true, so long as I remain on the wagon and stick with the program, all should be well. But I keep thinking, "What if the doctors (and 95% of the population) are wrong, and these things are demonic?" Once upon a time, I would have laughed at the suggestion and agreed with the majority of naysayers...telling me to relax and just take my medication. Angel has already told me what my 'fate' is...to become another one of her slaves, like the ghosts I used to see during my time under the influence. The way I pray now has changed. I used to ask for forgiveness, strength and guidance (amongst other things). I treated prayer like God was my Genie, at my beck and call on anything He could do for me. Nowadays, I spend less time asking for my wishes to be granted and more time talking about things that are important to me. Mostly, I thank Him for every breath I am lucky enough to take. I also spend some time talking to my Mom, and this is something that has helped with the grieving process I have been putting off for the last year. There is one constant to do with prayer that I find curious and somewhat strange. My routine before going to sleep is to sit on the edge of my bed and pray. Then once I am finished, I set a timer for ten minutes, put in earbuds, play some calming music and meditate. The thing is that while I am praying, the entities NEVER disturb me, and it's only once I start to meditate that they come at me. Regardless of the nature of what is happening to me, I have always wondered why this is so. |
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