Many of you believe in Heaven and Hell. For some it is metaphorical; others it is real. For some it is in the mind; others it is in reality. For Me, it has been all of them. I have walked through the Gates of Hell more times than I care to remember, and have brought back a demon every time.
The idea of demons stirs up much imagery. Stories of fallen angels, entities from a different realm. Some are angry, some are sad, some harmless and some malicious. These "stories" are far more realistic than most give credit for. Trust Me, I know first hand. But demons aren't always fallen angels or the henchmen of Lucifer. Sometimes, they are much worse...
My demons are vast and strong. They come from the depths of Hades, they come from the depths of My mind, they assail Me daily from more directions than humanly imaginable. Of late, they have been non-stop. Hell, they've been beyond non-stop. They've attacked Me in My sleep, in My waking hours, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, anywhere and everywhere they can. I know them. Personally. They are real demons, sent from places the human mind cannot comprehend. They are memories from times and places far gone. The former I can deal with. The latter on the other hand, well they've come to feel like another way to die.
As I said, I know them personally. All of them. Could I name the ones sent from the netherworld? Absolutely. However, this is not about them. This is about My personal demons. My personal journeys to, and through, the gates of Hell. Get your popcorn, your Black Wine, whatever you need for this show, and strap in. It's a bumpy ride. I call this show "The Devil in I".
This show starts about 42 years ago. When I was 9 months old. I was put up for adoption. As was My older sister. This is where the demon of abandonment was borne. They went back for her, but not Me. Am I thankful? Yes. They gave Me life, then gave Me a life. But I am plagued by a question unanswered...what the fuck did I do so egregiously wrong at the age of 9 months that they didn't want Me back. Why was I not good enough to be retrieved? That question will likely never be answered fully, as the one I call My "incubator" can't seem to get her goddamned stories straight. Either way, I spent 9 months in foster care. I hate the fucking system. Of late, memories of a time before memory have returned in My slumber. Some call them nightmares, some call them flashbacks. I call them demons born of Hell. Memories of abuses suffered, horrors lived through. Being shunned, beaten, left in soiled garments, given bottles to silence My cries for attention needed. Made to sleep in a closet, on the floor, with a sparse blanket and pillow to cover Me. Have I mentioned how much I hate the system?
Now, the show moves along to My childhood. Two wonderful, loving parents and an older brother that would beat the ass of any picking on Me. To quote him, "I'm the only one allowed to beat My little brother up". From 18 months of age to 18 years old, I can say it was the best of times and the worst of times. I had sparse friends, quickly nicknamed "Ricky the Nerd". In My neighborhood, when I stepped outside, bully radars went off for a 5 mile radius. I spent the vast majority of My time indoors, playing video games and reading the dictionary/encyclopedia. Just to avoid having My ass, and My glasses, handed to Me in pieces. Fast forward to the age of 10. This is where the demon of self-loathing was borne. When I was molested and anally raped. Yes. Am I a victim? No. I'm a fucking survivor. I survived that shit. And much more.
But wait, there's more! I was raised in an upper-middle class Christian home. I attended a private Baptist high school. Religion abounds! I should have turned into the good little Christian boy, right? Well, I tried that schtick for a bit. Choir boy, altar boy, the whole nine yards. But, as religion was jammed down My throat, and up My ass sans lube, I started to run from it. It was, as a child, forced upon Me. Here is where the demons of confusion, and the real demons from Hell itself, were born. I turned to Satanism. I danced dark. I danced strong. It almost killed Me. On more than one occasion. While doing this, I also turned to marijuana and alcohol. To try to numb, and escape, the overwhelming self-hatred growing within. That's what happens when Worlds collide. That was from 13 to 17.
Are you ready for the next part? I hope so, because there are no intermissions here. No 7th inning stretch, no half-time shows. Here's hoping you've got a good gallon of Black Wine, Raktajino, or whatever you're drinking. Now, let's tune into the part of the show where I'm 17 and in a psychiatric center for My demons and to detox. Did I mention how much marijuana I actually smoked? About 8 times a day, 7 days a week. I smoked enough for you and half of your family. And alcohol? My liver isn't far behind Ozzy Osbourne. When I was 19, I drank a half gallon of Jack Daniels. Straight. In one sitting. I should be Ozzy, or Keith Richards, by now. Regardless, back to the show. I spent 30 days in a place called Taylor Manor (now Sheppard Pratt). During My stay there, I tried to kill Myself. I was placed on a suicide watch for a week straight. To the point that they would not let Me flush the toilet after I shat. They wanted to inspect it for signs of chemical inductions. My first night in there, I punched an orderly in the dick. This man was built like Odin! I was told to take out the biggest one, then the others would back off. That was wrong!!! I took down Odin, then got manhandled by Thor, Balder and Freyr. Quickly hogtied, thrown into a room with just a metal gurney for a bed wearing nothing, spent the night there. That room was kept at a balmy 45 degrees year round. I got to talk to Loki the next day. Or should I say, Doctor Loki. He asked why I punched "Odin". My answer? "He pissed Me off". I call him "Loki" because he tried to tell Me what I was feeling. My response to that? "Fuck you. you're not in My head, you don't know what the fuck I'm feeling".
Hold on to your hats, folks. This ain't over yet. Allowed to smoke once an hour, for 15 minutes at the top of every hour. That was when I was allowed to make phone calls. I decided to call My at-that-time-girlfriend. We talked a bit, and ended the phone call by the 15 minute mark. However, it ended with her saying "I do love you, but I can't be with someone who is crazy", and she hung up on Me. Never spoke to her again. I learned a few things in there. I learned all about My demons of rage and anger. I also learned that as long as you know what the truth is, it doesn't matter what other people think. I also learned not to pick fights with Nordic Gods...
Buckle up, folks! The ride will be moving much quicker now...
I got kicked out of high school. Having a pound of marijuana in your pocket, calling a vice-principal racial slurs, almost starting a race riot and bringing a wood hatchet to school to attack someone? That'll get you there real quick. Got My GED, though. So there's that. Met a woman. Fell in love, got married. To a woman twice My age, When I met her, I was 18 and she was 36. Had a son. He bears My Name, poor lad. Suffered more horrors at her hands and words for 15 years. You hear in the news about those of Us who abuse women, but not about the women who abuse Us. I made what I call the "stupid parent decision". I decided to stick around in a dying, abusive marriage for the sake of My son. I made it until he was 14. I couldn't take it any more. It was either he lose his Father for a little while, or I take his mother's life and he lose Me forever. So I ran away. Again. It wasn't cold, but I spent months afterward feeling like I was living in a cold November rain.
Before I continue, I must backtrack slightly. While in this hell, I found a new level. Another nervous breakdown. This time, I spent 8 days in a state mental ward. That was...fun. I watched a woman eat aloe vera plants, and stayed with a black Jesus wearing a sombrero. I also watched said woman get tasered and get "happy juice" injected into each ass cheek. The screams still haunt My "dreams". While there I did not bathe, sleep, or use the restroom. I was too scared to do any of those. Again, I was called crazy. Maybe their right. Maybe I am...
This time, I ran to Texas. And straight into another relationship. Where I was, once again, abused. Not physically this time, but abused nonetheless. That lasted 5 years before I finally got fed up when she told Me, and I quote, "I'm jealous of Your son".
DAFUQ?!?!?!?!?!?!?
That became an 8 hour fight that ended with Me on an airplane back to Baltimore. A one-way trip. I said many things to her at that time. Things that I have no intention of ever apologizing for. I clearly remember saying "Excuse Me?!? you be jealous of God, Satan and Jesus for all I give a fuck. Don't you EVER be jealous of My son! you have three children, whom I see 5 times a day some days. I've seen My son one time in 5 years, and you're jealous of him? That's unreal, you (insert extreme Hispanic slurs) bitch". I proceeded to down a longneck of Bud Light, and smoke a cigarette, in about 3 minutes. Got another of each, and went back into the bedroom where I lit her up for another 2 hours. At one point, I truly thought she was My Texas angel, but she was just another demon in disguise. So I went the only place I could think of from there. Back Home. At the age of 41, I was living on My parent's couch again, still recovering from shoulder surgery. I went through a couple relationships, if you can call them that (they were short lived), before settling down yet again. This time with some one more than half My age. She was 19. It was good...while it lasted.
During that last relationship mentioned, I decided to try My hand at polyamory again. While things went phenomenally on My end, not so much on hers. While I was not abused, per se, I was cheated on mentally and emotionally. During that time though, I wound up in a relationship with two other wonderful young ladies. they have been My rock, My everything. They have been there through thick and thin with Me. I will admit to My doing a dumb, however. Things got hectic at Home. That happens when you have 5 adults and 8 children in a 3 bedroom house. I couldn't handle the stress, so I released one of them. Then went radio silent on her for months. While I can only imagine the Hell I put her through, I know the hell I put Me through. I have her back now, but it is rocky at times. And that is My stoopid fault. Yes, that spelling error is intentional...
Are you ready for the last part of this show? The closing act? The grand finale? I hope so. While we had all those people living here, attachments formed. 3 of them moved out (one adult and her 2 children). We still have contact with them. Two of the kids went back Home to their Mom (they were only here for the summer). We still talk to them. Another adult moved back Home. We still talk to him. No problems there. One of the adults left, leaving behind his two teenage daughters. He no longer speaks to Us, and I don't give a flaming Bosk shit. However, he made it that We are unable to the two teenage daughters. Until they are 18. They are now 16 and 17, respectively. Thus was borne a new demon.
For the last 2ish months, I have apparently been suffering a slow nervous breakdown. Again. For the third time. The stress of losing two people I had grown attached to has taken it's toll. Add to that worries about finances, health and much more? That is a perfect storm in the making. I woke today, December 27th, and couldn't grasp reality. I shook. I couldn't focus on anything. Mentally or physically. I was scared of everything, and everyone. I couldn't stop crying about anything and everything. Yes, I cry. Moving forward. My girls helped Me realize something...love is what I need to help Me know My Name. I have spent the majority of the day going up and down in My head. However, the day has improved slowly. I am returning to what I once was. I am evolving, yet again.
At the end of the day, any day, We all have demons. Be they Lucifer's henchmen, or Our own devices. How We handle them, and what they bring, is what makes Us...well, Us. You can let them win, let them destroy You, let them make You their bitch. Or, You can stand Your ground, stand up to them, and make them Your bitch.
Am I crazy? Yes. Very. But not in the way that most think of it. We are all a little bit crazy. And that is okay. It makes Us unique. Be crazy. Be you. But don't be a bitch to Your demons. Personally, I'm nobody's bitch. Personally, I am Indestructible. After all, I've survived 2 strokes; 5 heart attacks; a TIA; Bell's Palsy; a broken back; and now 3 nervous breakdowns...
