They came for me in the wee hours of Sunday morning. The Dark Man, the Old Crone, the Bald Man, the Black-toothed Man and the Witch, they are the Shadow People who normally come when I am in a deep depression. I have not been depressed lately. The past couple of weeks, I have been feeling pretty well. But, they can anyway.
This time they called my name, waking me out of a deep sleep. I saw them fully, and smelled them in their dirty stinking rags, their breath like death. I saw the hands like bones, covered with a thin, oozing layer of skin. The long broken yellowed nails with who know what kind of dirt under them.
"Come with us" the Dark Man said. I did not go. I pulled the covers over my head so they couldn't see me. Like a child, I figured if they couldn't see me, they would go away. They called my name again, then they went away.
When I woke up, they were no longer standing around my bed. It was daylight. and they don't come out in the daylight. When it's daylight, they linger in the corners. If I look closely, I can see them in the corner of my eye. They are demons, come to take me to the deep pits of the netherworld. They hiss and whisper lies to convince me that God is not real, that there is only them. I have been working to strengthen and increase my faith. I recently signed up for an hour of Adoration of the Eucharist. I have been praying the Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary every night. Is that why they came? Did they come to shake my faith to the point of utter despair? They wish me to turn my back on God, and go back to the way it was before I found the Church.
When they whispered to me before, I used to listen. I would stay in bed, crying, feeling worthless believing that no one, especially God could love me. I was lost in the storms of confusion, and lifelessness. But, I am not that person anymore. I think I made them angry. That's why they came.
I am going to see my psychiatrist tomorrow because this was a new experience. I never saw them all gathered together before, and they never called my name.
I went to my mother in the morning, and told her "they're back". It had been such a long time since I heard them, and I was terrified. I don't want to go on some horrible anti-psychotic medication, and I am definitely not going to the hospital again, unless I have no other option. I made my mother cry. I could hear her weeping to my aunt in the other room. I hate it when my mother cries. I hate causing her worry.
My aunt convinced me to go to 12 noon mass with her and my mom. So I did. I took a clonazepam, and took a hot shower. It was a different church than the one I attend, but it is a catholic church. I received communion and felt replenished. Something about Holy Communion makes me feel complete and gives me courage. I guess it's because I feel that the Lord is truly inside of me. I felt better after mass. I called my dad later and told him what happened. He wasn't home, so I left a message on his machine. I called him today, and we talked about it. He is going to call me on Wednesday to see how my doctor appointment goes.
Mental illness impacts not only the person with the disease, but all those around that person. That's why it's so important to have a good support system in place. I have a good one. For that, I am truly thankful. This only strengthens my resolve to follow in Christ's footsteps. It did not break me. I won't let it. The Lord has work for me to do. I intend to see it done.
Peace, Joy, Love - B
No comments:
Post a Comment