Alone, but Never Alone: One Woman's Journey to Spiritual Enlightment

By Linda M.

At the age of 33, Linda M. found herself recently divorced from her husband of eight years and terribly, terribly alone. She realized that if she were to die, no one would know the wonderful ways in which God had revealed himself to her in her life. These are those stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463424381

Linda M.

Linda M. prefers to remain anonymous.

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© 2011 by Linda M. All rights reserved.

No part of this book shall be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

For information, visit http://www.alonebutneveralone.com.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/16/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2417-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2438-1 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011910927

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

The Beginning of the End

The State Hospital

New Year’s Eve

Treatment

My 18th Birthday

Principles to Live By

Snowy Days

Moving Out and Moving On

Motorcycle Al

My Official Clean Date

Making Amends

R.D.

Grace

The Living God

Loneliness

Walter Church

Juan

Terry

Electricity

Marriage Proposal

Baptism

Theology

Prayer for Kathy

Facing The Past

Divorce

Forgiveness

My Poem

Coincidences

Passion

Grief

Alone, but Never Alone

STORIES—

The stories are true. The names are pseudonyms.

The Beginning of the End

April 4, 1978. That was a day I will never forget. It was the beginning of the end for me. I had just turned seventeen and had dropped out of high school for the second time. I was working full-time at a fast-food burger joint. I had a car, money, and was a practicing drug addict—mostly pot, but I would use anything I could get my hands on. My long-time teenage buddy, Kathy Burton, and I had plotted to attend a Jimmy Buffet concert in the city about an hour’s distance from where we lived. I had stolen $20 from work so we could buy some magic, psilocybin mushrooms. They made you hallucinate and were supposed to be even better than LSD. I had taken LSD a couple of times but never seemed to trip really good. I was anxious to get off—to really trip. Kathy was dating Victor Matthews and had been for a couple of years. We hung out with Victor and his friends. They were all older than we were by at least seven years. We were going to go to the concert with Stephen Davis, who was a musician himself. Stephen knew all these guys but really wasn’t a part of the crowd.

Just before we arrived at the concert, Kathy and I ate the mushrooms (they tasted horrible) and followed them with a beer chaser. I was excited. I figured since Kathy was already dating Victor, then maybe Stephen and I could get together. Wrong. When we got inside the concert, Kathy and Stephen sat together, and I ended up sitting someplace else. I don’t even remember who I sat with. It got worse from there.

At first everything just seemed more intense. The colors were brighter, the sounds were clearer. And then everything became very distorted. Jimmy Buffet was singing, but it sounded like a 78 rpm record being played at 33 rpm.

I started thinking about God and the universe. I’ve always been a philosopher, and it was just something I thought a lot about. There was a great humming noise, and then, all of sudden, the concert arena was transformed into a throne room. Instead of Jimmy Buffet down there singing on the stage, God was sitting on his throne. But it didn’t feel right. It felt hollow and empty, and I got the impression that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wasn’t supposed to be there—not yet. And then it seemed that I wasn’t in heaven at all. I was in hell. It wasn’t God sitting on that throne, it was Satan. What a sickening feeling. I felt trapped and cheated. I had played the game and lost.

The next thing I knew the scene faded away. Jimmy Buffet was back on stage, but it was like he was just standing there, not singing at all. I felt like he could hear what I was thinking. Not only him, but everybody in the whole arena could hear what I was thinking. I felt like Linda, the center of the universe—again. I really got tired of feeling that way.

Man, it took hours for the drugs to wear off. We made it back to town, to Stephen’s place. I left. Kathy stayed. I went home—I still lived with my parents, and I just kept tripping. I couldn’t come down. One moment it would be great; I would feel on top of the world. The next moment, it was dark and scary. The insanity and the paranoia that appeared that night never really left me. I suffered from all kinds of delusions. I thought I was pregnant—they call it the Mary complex; every Catholic girl has visions of being Mary at some time in her life. The next morning I was filled with embarrassment and shame for even having thought it.

Over the next two to three months, it became increasingly obvious something had cracked. Every time I smoked pot, or used any other kind of drug, I would pick up on this nightmare trip exactly where I had left off. I felt like I was the center of some great spiritual battle. God and the devil were fighting it out. It was all I thought about. I became obsessed with it. I really felt like I was supposed to have committed suicide the night I took the mushrooms, and because I didn’t I was screwing everything up. I really felt like I was screwing things up simply by being alive.

I got to the point where I couldn’t work. I would be working the cash register during the lunch rush there would be dozens of other people at the other cash registers. In my line there would be only one or two people. Nobody wanted to be in my line. I was terribly slow—I was too busy thinking to work. And do you know what the worst part was? I still thought everybody could hear what I was thinking. I knew they knew. Logically, I knew this simply wasn’t the case, but I still felt it.

I went to Elaine Bentley to talk about it. She and her husband, John, were our connection. They provided us with a steady supply of pot. She was also our mother figure. When I told her what was happening, she said I needed help. She said they weren’t going to sell me any more drugs, and I should go home and talk to my mother.

I was desperate—I did what she recommended. I told my mom that I needed help. I had become suicidal. She called