Jolts woke me up at two in the morning and the presence of Shiva loomed over me. I shook under my blankets, fearful of more tremors from persecutions in my past. A name came up, a man who took me to a bar and left me as fresh meat in the front lounge as he walked to the backroom and met his "friends." I was afraid this morning, and was reminded of how demanding he was towards me that night.
Every instant of my life, I thought of what I should write on strange days and strange moments. This was one I didn't know how to explain, only expressed in few words to confine my embarrassment that would spiral down to frustrations later. Spiritual warfare was my first thought, but my second was discouragement and failures. I felt the dark presence pulling me to surrender my life, to forget my goals to write my books, and to give up on true love and to withdraw from society. The dark kept pulling me as I felt my chest became heavy and every short breath I took had a oxygen cap never allowing a full breath into my chest cavity. I didn't know what to call it, but I felt it and it kept pulling me lower and lower as if a force was pushing me down to the grave.
I took myself out of bed and turned off my alarm because it never went off. I turned on the lights and took myself to work for my graveyard shift. I thought of them, the people who wanted my death because I was a survivor, and the persecutions replayed inside my brain. Could I transform these energies into something positive? I wasn't sure, but I knew that if the devil wanted my demise, I was up to something holy, beautiful, helpful to the world, loving, fruitful, and benevolent.
Since I was young, these dark spirits lingered above me, always pushing, bullying, demanding, abusing and labeling. These dark spirits were real human beings, and also memories of the past. The thoughts of how I would help those who were hurt through my writing, my blog, and my testimony might be the cause of their hate. But, they were not in the room with me, nor in the car, nor in my life, and I had nothing to lose. I had the right, and it was mine alone. Whatever dark spirits from whatever presence or religion, it didn't matter. What mattered was my belief, my decision to pursue my dreams and those evil presence had nothing to do with me, it was those jilted men.
I sometimes wished I knew dark magic, or even white magic, and during Hallow's Eve, I would cast a spell upon their souls to be cast out to hell and to never come back. My rational brain, although distraught and hurt, never once wanted to harm their lives the way they hurt me. God avenged for me, perhaps not this instant, but I knew He will. For now, I took myself to the Psalms again and the Romans again, and the Corinthians again. The battle was never ending, and all I hoped for was for me to be given grace and mercy in due time, for I fought this battle long and hard, even while injured and broken inside.
My spirit kept going, anticipating glory down the road. I believed.
Just write.