(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
were one and the same:
There is a reason I cannot go inside small closets
Or airplane lavatories
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
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
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.
Depressed to the point of just wanting to die.
And then I got comfortable enough to look at her.
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.
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.