I never discussed the experience with my mom, though she obviously knew something was wrong. My brother conveniently side stepped the issues, simply from never being confronted with anything. I felt singled out and really didn't have the means to be taken seriously. I knew if I opened up and began describing the events I witnessed, all rational explanations pointed back to effects of my medical condition, or possible hallucinations from the medication I took. I knew the things I experienced weren't products from an overactive imagination, or any other form of hysteria that caused them to happen. The only defense to avoid scrutiny became silence, as I decided to deal with the happenings on my own and suppressed the fear that came with them.
The occurrences became an integral part of my life, almost to the degree of an expectation. My religious upbringing multiplied the effects of my worst fears. As scary and unimaginable the experiences were, they came sporadically without warning. Weeks or months often passed without incident, then when I least expected it ... something happened. Little things became easy to shrug off.. like watching a glass move across a counter by itself, or to see a rocking chair move back and forth on its own then suddenly stop. I simply accepted the suggestion of my eyes playing tricks on me since it offered an easy dismissal that didn't prod for any further investigation. The things I saw remained unnerving, but they never impacted me to the degree of hearing things or being touched. Those memories still stay with me. Through the progression of time, I noticed subtle occurrences with everyday activities that seemed downright strange and out of the ordinary. As with the occurrences that truly frightened me, these unworldly added bonuses happened in the same manner.
My mom bought a copy of William Peter Blatty's "The Exorcist", the perfect family companion guide that every God fearing Christian home should never be without. The introduction of a story based on actual events of demonic possession didn't offer much comfort, yet my mother shared each disturbing highlight in great detail. This perfectly entertained the discernment to the living nightmares I dealt with. I still grappled with the uncertainties of being right in the eyes of God and heeded the thought that the Holy Spirit dispatched upon me to scare me into righteousness. The most profound realization I connected with in the story became apparent through understanding the similarities described in the pages to my own experiences. Although possession never posed to be an issue, most of the preludes leading to that event in the story remained comparable.
Understandably, I lived in an era where taboos remained prominent forces in modern culture. Anything that upsets the balance to the moral fiber against the majority views of a society constitutes a taboo, but the whole concept reeks of implausible notions to me. Many of these are tagged with blind sighted biblical misinterpretations from people too afraid to solely accept natural nonconforming realities that exist. I always felt like I lived among a group of cowards, too fearful to upset the comfort or confines of their safety by simply addressing the elephant in the room. It became apparent that I lived in a world of disillusion, where people with great intellect chose to dismiss the things they didn't understand or didn't want to believe. The most preposterous and borderline sacrilegious utterance given to me came from the new pastor the school hired. He welcomed my classroom to openly ask any question regarding religion to him. When I asked him about the relevance between the Holy Spirit and ghosts in general, he laughed at me like I was a fool and said "There's no such thing as Ghosts." Granted, I can share my beliefs and interests with others, but my experiences solely come from what I live through alone... and feeling mocked by a man of the cloth confirmed that silence remained my greatest asset.
The occurrences became an integral part of my life, almost to the degree of an expectation. My religious upbringing multiplied the effects of my worst fears. As scary and unimaginable the experiences were, they came sporadically without warning. Weeks or months often passed without incident, then when I least expected it ... something happened. Little things became easy to shrug off.. like watching a glass move across a counter by itself, or to see a rocking chair move back and forth on its own then suddenly stop. I simply accepted the suggestion of my eyes playing tricks on me since it offered an easy dismissal that didn't prod for any further investigation. The things I saw remained unnerving, but they never impacted me to the degree of hearing things or being touched. Those memories still stay with me. Through the progression of time, I noticed subtle occurrences with everyday activities that seemed downright strange and out of the ordinary. As with the occurrences that truly frightened me, these unworldly added bonuses happened in the same manner. My mom bought a copy of William Peter Blatty's "The Exorcist", the perfect family companion guide that every God fearing Christian home should never be without. The introduction of a story based on actual events of demonic possession didn't offer much comfort, yet my mother shared each disturbing highlight in great detail. This perfectly entertained the discernment to the living nightmares I dealt with. I still grappled with the uncertainties of being right in the eyes of God and heeded the thought that the Holy Spirit dispatched upon me to scare me into righteousness. The most profound realization I connected with in the story became apparent through understanding the similarities described in the pages to my own experiences. Although possession never posed to be an issue, most of the preludes leading to that event in the story remained comparable.
Understandably, I lived in an era where taboos remained prominent forces in modern culture. Anything that upsets the balance to the moral fiber against the majority views of a society constitutes a taboo, but the whole concept reeks of implausible notions to me. Many of these are tagged with blind sighted biblical misinterpretations from people too afraid to solely accept natural nonconforming realities that exist. I always felt like I lived among a group of cowards, too fearful to upset the comfort or confines of their safety by simply addressing the elephant in the room. It became apparent that I lived in a world of disillusion, where people with great intellect chose to dismiss the things they didn't understand or didn't want to believe. The most preposterous and borderline sacrilegious utterance given to me came from the new pastor the school hired. He welcomed my classroom to openly ask any question regarding religion to him. When I asked him about the relevance between the Holy Spirit and ghosts in general, he laughed at me like I was a fool and said "There's no such thing as Ghosts." Granted, I can share my beliefs and interests with others, but my experiences solely come from what I live through alone... and feeling mocked by a man of the cloth confirmed that silence remained my greatest asset.
