Even though I felt better than I had in years, maybe
forever, I still wasn’t convinced that what I’d experienced was “real”. I kept going over it trying to force it to
make sense. I couldn’t. There simply wasn’t a rational explanation. Period. And
although I still wasn’t a believer, I couldn’t shake the fear that perhaps
whatever I’d had would somehow come back.
It did.
The angry arguments crept back into my thoughts, I found it
hard to focus, the actions of people I didn’t even know sent me into a mental
rage. I panicked. I immediately started reciting the Lord’s Prayer and silently
calling upon Jesus, Mary, the angels and any other benevolent forces (all
beings I’d been raised to consider pure nonsense, funny what you’ll do when
desperate) to help me dispel anything evil that resided within me. I had to be
crazy. No other explanation.
Then the nightmares returned. Only now, instead of simply
yelling at them while dreaming I found myself on my knees sobbing… yelling at
the top of lungs for them to get the fuck out of my house, my head and my soul
and literally begging God to help me.
The worst part: I had no one tell. No one to sit, listen,
nod, and then tell me it would all be OK. Who in their right mind would believe
me? No one, not even the UFO abductees and big foot researchers. Never in my
life had I felt so utterly and completely desperate and alone.
I knew I had to go back to the Spiritualist Meetup group.
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