The Evil Inside

(Trigger warning: the following prose touches on suicide)

I am looking the demon in the eye

The one that lives inside my mind

The satanic child, which evil parents,

And evil parents before them, birthed.

The one who thinks it is ok

to behave in terms of me, me, me.

Though I tried to deny it,

Did not want to believe that me

and ‘they’

were one and the same:

There is a reason I cannot go inside small closets

Or airplane lavatories

Or basements

And why I freak out when a dress is too tight on my chest

or the sweater too itchy.

I know why I avoid certain stores at certain hours

And shop online a lot–

For fear of being suffocated, bound up, or caught unaware

In ancient burial clothes in a modern casket.

It is because the evil which was birthed inside of me is suffocating, and killing,

my God given self.

I’m being wrapped in a life-taking shroud

bit by bit

And I know it. Yet I still wanted to deny it.

So I blamed small spaces and past childhood abuses

for all my phobias and excessive needs

And I gave away my scratchy sweaters and too small dresses.

But that wasn’t enough,

To be fully delivered from evil.

I see that I must cut myself off from more than just

‘they’ and ‘them’.

“Be ye separate”

“Do not be unequally yoked”

“What does darkness have to do with light?”

means many things external: sure

For me it means I also must reach inside my heart and soul

My mind

My spirit

and sever a big part of me as well.

I need more than a boundary wall with gates that let the good in and keep the bad out.

I need more than just books on the shelf like ‘not being codependent anymore’

I need an internal exorcism

Of my very self.

 

Which is why I am looking the demon in the eye.

They say it all begins with identification

Admitting there is something bad, no: someone bad, that lives inside my heart.

She is the very same one who denied there was anything evil in there.

She tells me it’s all good, and warm, and empathy

And compassion.

Truth. Not lies.

Lies are the hallmark of evil

And we don’t do any of that deceptive stuff in here

(insisted the demon– from her bedroom in my heart)

She learned in therapy, alongside the righteous parts of me,

That I have rights and boundaries

Needs and feelings that are allowed to be expressed

(Except when it’s not really helpful. Except when doing so is outright mean).

And…Except when the seared child rises up and asserts her satanic birthright.

 

“Your parents are evil and so am I. You inherited me. And now I am your birthright too, to be passed on to others. You can’t live without me. You and I—we are ONE and the same! If I go, you go as well!” She is screaming.

But back when I couldn’t look the demon in the eye, couldn’t quite name what was still wrong,

This is what she said, instead

“I deserve. I deserve. I deserve.” (In a wounded baby voice)

Reminding me of all she’s been through in life.

A hard life. A cold life. Void of love.

Abused in every way.

 

I tried talking sweet to her.

As the therapists all suggested, I wanted to let her grow up, alongside my battered little girl.

But there is no fixing her. There is no pacifying her. She shifts shape and morphs and reacts no matter what I feed her. The trick is to starve her completely.

She deserves the lake of fire, now.

Because she is no innocent child. And my battered little girl, whom she tortured the worst, did eventually mature. She has grown up. She gets it. But even she is tricked now and then by the witch in my own womb.

The symbiotic barnacle on my soul is full of control and contempt

She has abused others, too, in every way. Beloved others. Others who I never would have harmed had she not dwelt inside of me, becoming more and more a part of me.

Father Yah it is time now, to reach in. With the sword of Truth, Your Word, and Your Spirit.

You have been coming to me in dreams and visions

Telling me it is time to surrender. Jesus’ cross looms overhead in these dreams

Urging me to trust it.

I almost gave in the other morning.

I stopped yielding because something told me it wasn’t time yet

That you were merely preparing me for some awakening soon to come.

Today I had the awakening.

I saw the demon inside;

Except I am not sure where the demon stops, and I begin

Because it’s been there so long that the demon is now just a part of me.

And I was horrified.

At first.

Saddened.

At first.

Depressed to the point of just wanting to die.

At first.

And then I got comfortable enough to look at her.

She’s ugly.

I want to cut her out like the deformed growth that she is.

Is this why they were talking about the popularity of Dr. Pimple popper on Christian radio yesterday? And I couldn’t stop listening, turning up the volume and sensing something in my spirit needed to hear it?

“A majority of us get a satisfaction from watching things come out of our bodies that don’t belong there.” The host said with a giggle, as his co-host said ‘eww’ for the hundredth time.

He added that others ‘are completely grossed out by it.’

Indeed. I love popping pimples.

And now I want to watch my own exorcism.

The giant zit has formed a white head, visible to all, and finally: visible to me.

It stares back in the mirror and begs to be pressed in on

Puss and blood will gush out in sweet release

when the witch finally dies

 

Ah, yes, and those recent dreams and visions You have given me

They give me hope

Jesus is calling me forward to the cross

even in this

So long as I move toward Him, so He can put the demon, put me, to death.

He is the doctor who will lance the cursed disease

And rise up in me a new spirit, a new creation

Revealing what He intended for me, to be, all along

He, and I, together, will be like Jael with her tent peg and hammer

Her hand steady enough

to get rid of evil, popped eardrum to popped eardrum, while it slept

on her own lap,

in her own tent,

her own husband colluding with an evil kingdom,

its wicked and powerful soldier-king assuming that she was cut of the same cloth as her husband, thereby trusting in her offer

only to be surprised at his own demise

by a mere woman

 

Ah, Jael, that most blessed of all women in the Old Testament

Who grew up in the midst of evil,

Married into evil

Watched evil get passed again and again

to the next generation

yet she rid her tent of evil just the same.

Can that really be me, as well?
Father, I pray it be so.

Perhaps God reached down to steady her hand

Perhaps He will do the same for me

Because this demon inside is too big for me to kill alone.

I cannot give up the ghost, without Your help. Without first surrendering

Admitting my own powerlessness against the generational curse

The lineage of evil

That was my birthright

 

I can’t return to the womb and go back to the breast, fixing my Oedipal complex myself

Because it is just as the proverb suggests:

The parents eat sour grapes and the children’s teeth are set on edge.

The cards were dealt. It was out of my control.

But this inner demon is no innocent child, no mere product of her upbringing. Like the manipulative cretin she is–now that I am on to her, and the mess she has made of my life, she whispers, ‘Have it over with. People with your ACE score are high risk for suicide.’

She is an ancient ghoul, Eden’s blight, bent on the destruction of anything beautiful that remains in me,

and in my family’s lineage.

Like teeth set so on edge that they tense the jaw and wrinkle an already-stressed face

Father Yah said, centuries ago, “NO MORE shall this proverb be a saying in Israel!”

The soul that sins, is the soul that dies.

The children will not be held accountable

For the sins of the father.

Generational curses only exist; so long as we let them.

So long as we oblige, collude with, or ignore, the evil inside our own bodily tent.

 

No more!

I will watch you be removed. I am not too squirmy for such things.

But no demon on earth, or hell below, is going to convince me that my own death is better than my God given lot in life. God is too good a Father for me to believe that lie.

 

Put the demon in me to death now,

please dear Jesus, put her to death.

I surrender all.

Father, deliver me from evil.

Deliver me – from…me.

 

 

“I love Jesus. I just have a problem with His followers.”

group of sheep at the field

Lest I be guilty of a bait and switch I need to say this before anyone reads any further…this is probably not the post you think it is going to be. Because I do not agree (anymore) with the title of my post. I have heard this sentiment (or some variation) many, MANY, times. I used to say it (or some variation of it) myself. Over a decade ago I stopped calling myself a Christian and said instead that I was a ‘believer’, to distance myself form Christians. When I first stumbled upon this famous quote by Ghandi– I loved it! I felt justified:

“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” (Mahatma Gandhi).

Again: please note: such sentiments grieve me now.

Back when I relished such statements–back when I regularly made them myself, I was not fully understanding who Christ was, or what He did, or His huge, grace-filled, heart for His church/Christians. Oh, I have understood that, in my head, since childhood. But save for one near-death experience in my youth that started a born again process in my heart; it has taken years to truly thaw my frozen heart. And all the while my heart was thawing, I kept looking to other humans, or my own works and personal operating system.

I am not saying I have it all figured out now. Nope. Just that I think I have come far enough in healing from sexual abuse that I am starting to root out the bitterness (toward the church–one of my abusers was a protestant minister) that had me agreeing with, and repeating, such sentiments.

I am also a student of scripture. And as strong as my feelings/emotions and damaged neurological development may be on a certain subject, when I keep seeing the truth written plainly, over and over in The Word, eventually I come around.

The Bible is clear that if you love Jesus Christ, you WILL love His church; because He loves His church. See this list of Bible verses about Jesus’ love for His bride–the church, for proof. (The list isn’t exhaustive.)

It isn’t about us–it is about Him. We aren’t gods in our own rights; God is God. Of course we aren’t like Christ. That’s the entire point. There was only one of Him. No one else’s death and resurrection could ever be powerful enough to save the ENTIRE world (if they but repent of their sins and turn to Him in belief). People who are looking around at the church (filled with human beings) for something which only Jesus can offer them (healing, restoration, salvation…) are missing the point of it all. They will be disappointed. Every. Single. Time.

At times I still fall back into the trap. Because it was humans who damaged me, I still want it to be humans who undo that damage. But I know now that such thinking leads to disappointment, addictions, resentment, unmet expectations, and a host of other ents and ions which make life, marriage, and close relationships, HARD.

When I attended a Christian event expecting the people there to meet my needs (without even fully realizing that’s what I was doing) I came away angry, and justified that my beef with God’s people was…justified. “Everyone there wants to just ‘fix’ me!”  I lamented to my husband.

Yup. Some sure do. It happens. I don’t know why. Maybe they are codependent (though I dislike labels and psychobabble!). Maybe they aren’t quite sanctified themselves. Maybe I have a note on my forehead that says ‘I am bitter at the church, and I have a right to be, and you can be the one to take that away from me if you play your cards right’.  Maybe they have the same thing wrong with them that I have with me and they are mirroring things they want to hear from others. Or, maybe, God is urging them to try and help me heal. Either way, I see now that at times I can benefit from such attempts, if I lean in and ask pointed questions…Other times I have the power to detach and not react to off-based attempts. If nothing else, it’s a reminder of how not to treat other people.

And so it happened again today. After church a woman in my small group interrupted me mid-sentence (she displays some ADHD tendencies–no biggie to me though, I have similar issues!), presumed my motive behind my explanations to a book I was recommending, took what I said about my son out of context, and then told me that she wanted to pray over me and heal me of my doubting, my reactiveness, and my need to apologize for myself.

Yeah. I do all those things. Even though I wasn’t exactly doing them in that moment; the shoe still fit! I also like this woman a lot. She is strange and lovely and childlike and willing to say things that others who are too…. aware of themselves and how they are coming across… would never utter; all of which I adore in another. So I bowed my head and gave her my hands and made myself ready to receive her ministry over me.

By this time we had meandered outside on a busy sidewalk and it was there, in public, that I let her do her thing. She’s a prophet-type of personality who believes she hears from God regularly; I’d gathered that much in the short time I’ve known her. I’d been praying for her since I met her, as we had an immediate connection and my husband and I talked regularly about her, by name.

So when she assumed a prayerful position over me, but then paused and asked, ‘now what’s your name again?’ I felt a sting of rejection. The old insecurities rose up and threatened to take over. The old wounded me, most certainly, would have been lit to the moon; just by that alone. But I want to love Jesus’ church, for His sake if nothing else. And love isn’t ignorant, it doesn’t turn a blind eye; but it does understand. And I knew she was prone toward spaciness, that she had just met an entire group of new people, that my traumatized brain often forgets things as basic as why I just walked into a room. So I gently repeated my name (again).

In her prayer she told me I had been under-appreciated since birth. (Yup.) And that I had a good deal of anger inside of me, but that a good deal of it was…she paused… righteous. (Yup to the anger and good to know it isn’t all bad…). Then she said God wants to give me a new word to replace the word unappreciated….and after a short pause she excitedly said, “Surprising! That’s your word! Because you are surprising and you love surprises and God wants to give you surprises.”

Sure seems I have been given my ‘word for 2019.’ It’s a lot better than unappreciated, and a whole lot better than what I had felt was my word for 2018: abandonment.

She finished the prayer by telling me my heart had been healed and that I would no longer be plagued by reactiveness and self doubt. (or something like that). I just smiled and nodded. Being healed didn’t feel much different than prior. It still doesn’t.

Yet I can’t stop thinking about the word she gave me: surprising. Or the fact that if I believe that I had a real victory; it will become more real. If I doubt it; it won’t.

Right after the prayer I said something which she again presumed meant something else than what I’d said. Instead of asking me what I had meant by it, she said something that belied that she was insecure and doubting HERSELF.

You can’t make this stuff up, folks.

I laughed because, again, you can’t make this stuff up! It also proves that if I take the veracity of this message based upon its deliverer…I will shoot holes all over it; I will be like Gandhi, admiring Christ but shunning Christians, and I will not have the victory that God is trying to give me. The victory is somehow tied up in embracing and loving the flawed vessels through which it is coming.

I saw me; when I looked at her. Boy, did I ever see me.

So I dropped all proper etiquette and playfully cried out “Aha? What’s that? Are you doubting yourself? Did you even listen to what you just told ME about not apologizing for yourself, about not being reactive and about not doubting?” “Physician heal thyself!” I quoted, as I blew her an air kiss. By this point she was getting into her vehicle and I in mine. I saw her laughing and shrugging her shoulders.

It doesn’t always go like that. I’ve received healings and advice before. But I’ve never had the hutzpah to repeat it right back to the one fixing me. This is a new development. But looking back on it all, the greatest moment of intimacy between us as well as the greatest feeling I had of being healed, was when I cheekily quoted her the proverb Physician heal thyself

Well, after that, we went out for lunch. Whereupon God gave me a surprise when I ran into one of my abusers and his wife. They acted fake-happy to run into me. But I intentionally ignored them; as I am trying to maintain no contact. (And some of them make it difficult by showing up in public places at the same time as me; or by sending me cards, etc.) Noticing that I had turned on my heel and walked the other way, the wife gave me lip, claiming I was being uppity. I swung back around and told her that since her husband is a child abuser, he ought to be in jail– not going out for lunch– and so of course I am going to ignore you!

They left in a huff. Her mutterings sounding like something my mother might say, and has said to me a few times too.

I ate my food with shaking fingers. Then shook for a bit after we got home.

Ordinarily a day like this would have wrecked me for weeks. Luckily ‘I’ve been healed now‘, by Jesus, of course. He just happened to work through a woman who seems to be just as fragile and broken as I am.

The End.