Daughter of Sceva: Set Me Free

By Thomas Taylor

With a life enveloped by the occult from childhood, Taylor dove into forces of the unknown in an attempt to master them. Walking the line of witchcraft and madness, she struggled to find answers. From toddler to adulthood, a continual series of bizarre and horrifying paranormal experiences shaped her life, which she accounts through the pages of each chapter, sharing what was revealed to her with each experience.

This nonfiction book illustrates the connection we all have with an unseen spiritual realm and reveals truths behind the new-age movement and the paranormal. Chilling but never short of fascinating, what Taylor shares will rivet you to the end, making you question your own reality.

Daughter of Sceva is more than a good read; its a shocking, transparent biography full of real-life encounters entangled with spiritual enlightenment. It will bring forth ideas its readers may not have ever fathomed.

This is not a book of new-age opinions or metaphysical answers. Its a combination of encouragement and education, with engaging facts and thoughts on how the paranormal (and all aspects of the supernatural) entangle with each and every one of our lives.

Within the pages of this extraordinary novel lie words of wisdom and miracles, frightening facts, and spiritual enlightenment. What you dont know can hurt you!

For any person seeking penetrating truth or some sort of life meaning, struggling with emotional or health issues, longing for faith or just plain answers, this is the perfect read for any soul searcher and truth seeker. Get ready to read and be shaken up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Aug 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504361606

Thomas Taylor

The translator of this work, Thomas Taylor, is known for his authoritative translations of the Platonists; he was practically the sole source of Neo-Platonic thought in the transcendentalist movement of New England. Iamblichus' Life of Pythagoras was a constant source of inspiration to the transcendentalists and a major influence on their writings throughout the Nineteenth Century. Taylor's work was enthusiastically acclaimed by Emerson, who referred to the translator as "a Greek born out of his time, and dropped on the ridicule of a blind and frivolous age."

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Copyright © 2016 Taylor Thomas.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

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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.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-6159-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-6161-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-6160-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016911147

Balboa Press rev. date: 08/03/2016

CONTENTS

Dedications

Introduction

Chapter 1

Mirror Of Reflective Truths

Chapter 2

Looking Back

Chapter 3

Delusions Of Reality

Chapter 4

The Roots

Chapter 5

Changing Tides

Chapter 6

Scars

Chapter 7

Shadows

Chapter 8

The Black Hole

Chapter 9

Get Beyond Living

Chapter 10

Poison

Chapter 11

Haunted

Chapter 12

Clean House

Chapter 13

In High Places

I’m afraid to write this… what if people don’t believe me?

"You’re not writing it for those who won’t believe- you’re

writing it for those who already know." - GOD

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If I write but don’t write with heart, I’ve already failed. If I

write but don’t write with truth, I’ve written nothing.

DEDICATIONS

I would like to set aside much love & appreciation to the following people, who because of their presence in my life, helped in some way make my dream (this book) possible:

◆ My husband, who if not for his incredible support, this book would not have been possible. I’m thankful for his love and teaching me to stop running when things get tough, and showing me to stand, stay and fight for the things that matter.

◆ My dear friend, Debi, who has always been there for me as a rainbow of godliness, inspiring me by just being herself.

◆ My Pastor and his wife, whom I’m very grateful to for preaching truth and displaying the Spirit of Christ so strong that the Light is always able to be seen.

INTRODUCTION

To understand the title and broad principle of this book, we need to start with the foundation of its title.

Some Jews who went around driving out evil spirits

tried to invoke the name of the Lord Jesus over those who were demon-possessed. They would say,

In the name of the Jesus whom Paul preaches, I command you to come out.

Seven sons of Sceva, a Jewish chief priest, were doing this.

One day the evil spirit answered them,

Jesus I know, and Paul I know about, but who are you?

Then the man who had the evil spirit jumped on them and overpowered them all.

He gave them such a beating that they ran out of the house naked and bleeding. When this became known to the Jews and Greeks living in Ephesus,

they were all seized with fear, and the name of the Lord Jesus was held in high honor. Many of those who believed now came and openly confessed what they had done.

A number who had practiced sorcery brought their scrolls together

and burned them publicly. When they calculated the value of the scrolls,

the total came to fifty thousand drachmas.

In this way the word of the Lord spread widely and grew in power.

This is a story in the Christian Bible (Acts 19:13-20 - the New International Version).

If I could be likened to be anybody, I would be likened to a daughter of Sceva (SEE-vuh). Much like the story of the seven sons of Sceva, I delved into a world I was misguided to believe I knew and mistakenly assumed I could manage. It wasn’t until a vile, demonic spirit took me over that I realized I was powerless among the unseen- and dreadfully wrong in my assumptions!

Those sons of the Ephesus priest thought they had wisdom and power. They attempted to cast out unclean spirits from people. I too, was under a potent delusion I had authority over spiritual entities. This led me to seek out and take on the supernatural world (anything beyond or above nature). It was that dire error in judgment which shaped my young life and led me to a life-changing, horrific moment and altered my perception of reality forever.

In a dramatic unexpected turn, the seven sons of Sceva found out- in an extremely hostile way, that they had absolutely no dominion over the unearthly realm. During one fateful event, the self-proclaimed spiritualists of Sceva were overcome by the very evil forces they aspired to ward off. The result was the men being trampled upon, left beaten and bloody. The power they thought they held was revealed as a near fatal notion. However, through this single episode, many others came to the truths in life.

Preceding the same path as these men of Sceva, I too, dabbled in to spiritual unknowns (this being anything regarding matters of the spirit or matters that are sacred). I attempted to display an authority I did not possess. Through it, I want to share the truths I now am aware of. What truths? The spiritual realities around us. Imagine looking through a lens and seeing a totally different world than what you’d come to know…

Have you ever stared into the eyes of someone whose very core beamed out the spirit of a demon? I have. There are no human words I can write that could remotely describe the depths of sickening terror and crushing despair I felt. What one experiences when faced with an evil entity is a measure of senses mankind isn’t even aware of. It’s paralyzing. It gouges your soul. It will haunt you, and it will scar you.

I look at my many scars to remind me of when I lived in the dark. I could never have known the light- or appreciated it, unless I befriended the heavy chains holding me in an ominous cell I thought was life.

Growing up it always felt to me I was this passionate being living inside a quiet and obsolete bubble, floating around a world of noise and confusion. I was seeing things from a wider perspective than most because I had a viewpoint others did not. I watched as the world went on around me and I remained in my own little domain. With time I grew angry in that place of isolation. It was almost as if I was mute and unable to communicate what I needed to say with others…or perhaps I was able to speak, but everyone else outside my bubble was deaf. Either way, I adapted, but continually clashed and combated with who I was. I learned the hard way a person can never win if they’re constantly battling themselves- especially if they’re bound. My bondage was a scourge handed down to me.

From naive little girl seeing shadows to terrified teen being taunted by spirits; twenty-something mom misdiagnosed bi-polar to paranormal investigator speaking to demons… All my scars I obtained through the tears of moving through a dark field of thorns and crows… and am now coming out fighting!

Throughout the following pages you will experience darkness with the lamp of truth. The words will cast light on things most are blind to and that confuse or frighten… but they empower to help us keep walking on the path we tread, leading us out to be free.

CHAPTER 1

MIRROR OF REFLECTIVE TRUTHS

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then shall I know fully, even as I am fully known.

1 Corinthians 13:12 (New International Version)

A crucial pivot in my life is where I begin, for this night could have been the ending of my story rather than the beginning.

It was one evening in the year 2000. There in my tiny, dark bedroom, I was seated at the edge of my unmade bed, smelling of bar smoke and liquor. The alcohol I’d been drinking for the last four hours allowed my mind to shut out all physical senses; yet mentally, I occupied my thoughts pondering a true conundrum. Despite being dazed, deep thoughts from months of anguish surfaced. I was taking in account of whom and where I was at that very point in my life, considering my past and my future. I was beyond myself with despair and shame.

My eyes were dry and burned. The bloodshot hazel pair may have been open, but my faculty to see ran only the vision of a spinning tunnel. All I took notice to was the array of pills sitting on my nightstand. The consumption of a couple pitchers of beer and few shots of hard liquor placed me incoherent. By all means I was plastered, but I was more intoxicated with hopelessness. Drunkenness could not impair me as much as my life’s madness did. Alcohol was my escape. I longed to be numb to my inner pain, but it was coming to a place not even inebriation was effective. I was running out of options to hide.

Substances I was relying on to freeze my emotions started to be ineffective and have the opposite effect- they were beginning to manifest my true feelings. I was enraged. I was confused. I was resentful. Overall, I was overwhelmingly sad.

My entire twenty-nine years of life came to this particular, dire point in time. I knew it. I could feel it. I was on a merry-go-round for so long and it was coming to a stop. The question was: Would I get off and walk away scathed- or fall off and be thrown to crash in the dirt?

Situated in a calm, tanked stupor, I rested in utter despair at the end of my mattress. The windows throughout my apartment were open and the soft summer breeze blew in; transparent lavender curtains gently flowed in front of my face. Time seemed to slow down and the scene appeared rather beautiful, making it almost poetic. The only noise I heard was from outside: the muffled sound of cars driving by on the busy intersection- some beeping, some screeching a turn; a Harley roaring through every now and then; faint sounds of police sirens… Distant voices of chatter and laughter from bar-goers by the corner pubs were overridden by the deafening pounds of my anxious heart. I was aware of every thump pulsating blood through my veins. My ears rang a deafening sound.

I glared at the medications next to my bed… some prescribed for depression, some given for anxiety, some stolen for pain- none of which helped me, but they’d been my only prospect for relief. I know now no mind-altering drug can numb the soul from aching- they only dull one’s reaction to it. At the time, I, like many, was under a false notion medication can improve- if not take away- emotional pain. They don’t do either. They suppress it like hot water in a tea pot on a flame. Heat applied to something contained under pressure will eventually blow.

Most of my life I felt like a mute and deaf child in a padded sound-proof cell, screaming to get out, but no one could hear me. I was imprisoned in darkness. Funny how one night something did hear me- and it was the very darkness that entrapped me.

I was alone in my bedroom, but heard a present, yet unseen voice whisk by. In soft, scratchy tone it whispered to me, It’s time.

There was no confusion as to what the voice meant. It was time I ended my pain. What I believed was my torment was never going to stop. I felt I had no choice but to end my life. I was sure it was the only way to get the agony within me to cease. Moreover, I knew what the voice was, and I could no longer stop it from invading my life. I was going mad. No more was I able to elude with people or alcohol, pills or fake smiles. Those powers and principalities were a formidable factor as to why I was where I was, and they weren’t going to leave on their own. It’s said some have skeletons in their closet and we all have our inner demons. I had an abundance of both, only my demons were not an allegory. They were incarnate.

The voice I heard that evening was not my own, but I agreed with its unction. It was the voice of a demonic being which thrived on a soul’s anguish and a heart’s decision to give up. Dark influences had been with me for many years and they thought their victory was at hand.

I was convinced there was nothing decent left of me. Anything remaining in me or of me was tainted and depraved. Persuaded there was no hope, I saw tomorrow only brought more of yesterday, and yesterday’s strong point was that it was not today. I was at the heart-wrenching point where my hope was death. It was a crushing realization- like the last few seconds before driving full speed into a brick wall. Blackness finally encompassed me in totality and my spirit was no longer able to breathe. I was being spiritually suffocated by something. I placed my own hands over the hands which were tightly around my soul. I blindly assisted in the strangulation.

Contemplating reaching for the bottles of pills and pouring every one into my hand, I rewound and played back in my mind certain parts of my life. Evil stomped on any memories of joy with thoughts of the dismal days leading up to where I was that very moment- saturated with alcohol, crime, violence, promiscuity, witchcraft, lies, etc… My soul was being corroded, inch by inch. Sinister principalities blossomed with my life’s circumstances. I was wilting away for years. I would have cried out to be set free but didn’t realize I was in prison until it was too late. By then I lost my ability (or the initiative) to call for help.

Hot tears streaked down my face as I blubbered with regret and shame. I was too far gone in my mind to identify faith. Faith was there, but I’d chosen to be a part of the darkness for so long, I couldn’t see any light.

I was very angry at myself for giving in and doing so many things wrong, making bad choice after terrible decision. Disgrace encamped me. I fully believed there was no turning back and there was no future ahead. I had pushed good people out of my life and wouldn’t let anyone in. I stood alone, unfeeling and hardhearted, wallowing in remorse.

With a huge sigh in procrastination, I looked to my left, where my dresser sat. I saw my reflection in the mirror- what a wretched case I was! My long red hair was matted like a bird’s nest. Black mascara pasted my tearful swollen eyes while long black lines ran down to my jaw line. My lips were blotchy and smeared red from cheap, runny lipstick. Dirt rested on my neck and chin from tripping onto the pavement upon coming into my apartment. Who was this person in the mirror of reflective truths? Certainly no one I ever thought I would become. I wanted so much more. I was revolted at what I chose.

I hate you. I told myself in disgust.

Suddenly, I saw something that devastated me. Not only was I a troubled rogue in the physical realm, but in the spiritual realm as well. I never considered my spiritual self before, but I was allowed to observe what repugnance I reflected in a supernatural capacity and what my soul looked like in the spirit realm. It was even more repulsive. I set my sight on a pale yellow face. I had sunken eyes lamenting desolation. My hair was thread-like and scraggily, lacking luster and pigment. Disgusting thin patches of flesh clung to my ashen bones and deep dents took over parts of my body. I watched in revulsion as pieces of skin on my arms withered and fell off to the ground like dry leaves on a fall day. My face resembled that of a hundred year old woman, sickly and forlorn. Although this was not me in the carnal world, I knew this was who I truly was: someone who was sick from the inside out, slowly dying from the outside in. After I witnessed my true self in the mirror, it was difficult to catch my breath. I was in shock.

A dark shrouded being materialized behind me. Its presence was captured only by the mirror and took form for my benefit. It was something I was acquainted with. It had come to me many times in an assortment of ways. It made itself known as an innocent little girl, sometimes as a faint voice, other times as horrific images, and even stints as a friend. It was a familiar spirit.

I was too weary to react to the black figure. I was tired of trying to figure out why I was seeing things no one else did. I was sick of hearing voices and no one else heard. I was frustrated with not being normal but pretending I was. I was angry having always to conjure lies to layer my true disposition. I’d been so exhausted from trying to live, the image of death didn’t startle me- it comforted me. That’s a difficult concept for anyone who hasn’t been through it to understand, but there are innumerable people who can relate. I welcomed its offer of release. It fed off my desperation, and this time I could sense its desperation for me to give up, just as much as I could feel my conflict to end my suffering.

Then, I heard many voices swirl around the room like blasts of wind. They came from near and far- some clear, some jumbled. They whispered in a chant-like manner, from the corners of the room to my ears, Do it… do it… do it…

Inner demon is a term used to employ personal struggles in one’s mind, which we must fight on our own. I can attest how more often than not, they are actually outer demons infiltrating our mind and lives. They make the battle more difficult and lethal; especially when we are unaware there is a supernatural power with dark principalities at hand. When we latch on to the false belief that it’s merely a mental instability, we have forfeited the victory.

I was responsible for my own choices and their outcomes, but I also knew there were forces at hand which drove me to the condition I was in. Without valid knowledge or full truth, I was helpless to fight it.

I physically felt a cold, clammy hand on my wrist, coaxing me to pick up a med bottle and start swallowing my pills. I didn’t want to end my life- I simply wanted to end my sorrow and torment. Suicide comes when one feels they have no place to go; they’re sure all the paths of expectation have ended. Windows to love are locked. Doors to optimism have closed. Confidence is gone. Courage is lost.

I cannot recall how the idea of suicide entered my mind. I believe evil submerged it in my psyche, because I hadn’t ever thought about ending my life before. That wasn’t even on my mind when I went out for the night. Upon unpretentiously noticing my pills sitting on the nightstand in a moment of self-pity, I am convinced the enemy of my soul nudged the idea to me. I hopped on to the suggestion because I was fed up pretending to be alright and sick of taking artificial substances to freeze the hurt. I realized no pill we swallow is competent of dulling the aches of the soul and no drink we hammer down could erase the damage to one’s mind. Darkness drowned out hope. Rebellion folded over faith. Nothing I did was covering up the gaping emotional wounds or uncertain spiritual turmoil I walked. I saw no alternative to finality.

I thought of my young son…if anything, I wanted to live just to be there for him. However, thoughts swam through my head that he’d be better off without me. Most people viewed me as cold and uncaring, selfish and angry. Sadly, all of it was all true- but not because I chose to be that way- it was due to the fact something wicked and despicable had a hold of me tightly. I was under its harsh grip. I wasn’t able to feel anything else but the nastiness it was made of.

My face fell into my hands and I softly cried my son’s name. The adversary of our soul doesn’t have the capability to know our thoughts, but he hears what we say and is finely tuned to actions of desperation. He has access to us by our words. When I cried out my son’s name, the foe knew my heart and he was ready to pull it out. Like sirens, evil echoed off the walls how my son didn’t love me and was better off without me.

The dark figure stood waiting… waiting for me to buckle to its suggestions.

The room filled with blackness; a spiritual shade of gloom. Shadows blacker than night poured out of a hundred windows from another realm and demonstrated themselves to be quite enduring. Evil moved freely throughout my entire apartment as a current of water flowed in a river. I could hear the tide of their energy. I picked up indistinct, unbearable wails fading in and out. Damned phantoms howled a mournful anguish, ingesting my misery. As death seemed my hope, I was a life force for death.

Among the supernatural chaos taking place, there was another spiritual company present. Hope was present (I just didn’t know it). Small but strong flashes of bright light emitted through the dark, sparking like mini-strobe lights. It was an unseen spiritual war engaging around me. I had no knowledge what was taking place but am fully convinced there was a battle for my soul that night. Angels- those of light and those of darkness- waged war for a life. I would ultimately be a deciding factor in the outcome.

I reached for the collection of prescriptions in my possession. I took hold of not a will to live, but of man’s common answer to survival: retreat. I grabbed each bottle and loaded my right palm with as many pills as it would hold. I fought my own self as my hand shook putting them in my mouth. Somewhere unknown, compelling voices were breaking through, desperately and lovingly pleading me to stop. In parallel, I heard robust bidding for me to follow through. My instinct was to not take the pills. I needed a push of strength to swallow them. The irony was, if I did accomplish the feat, I would truly be the weakest I’d ever been. The motivation I needed to do the task somehow came. It was in an instant. I spontaneously acted. I practically threw inside my mouth dozens of pills, even dropping some onto the carpet in the frantic deed. I chugged a full swig of old, warm beer, followed by a second gulp to make sure everything went down. I swallowed all I could. My throat hurt from downing so much at once. I then sat in silence. It was surreal. I couldn’t believe I just did it. That was it. Finality had never been so real! I fearfully waited, wondering what death was going to be like. I was positive those were the last moments of my life. Once I closed my eyes, they would never open again.

I glanced, and no longer saw a dark being in the mirror. It had become a part of me right then. My despair blended in the bleak atmosphere. The dark presences circling about departed as well. I was all alone. I’m unable to illustrate to par how absolute isolation and hopelessness feels, but when evil walks out on you- you are in total contemptibility. It was the most terrifying and secluded instant I ever experienced. Death is not something that happens- it’s something you become a part of, and feel. Life never seemed more valuable to me than in those minutes, because soon- I would never "be" again. I sobbed.

My mom taught me there was a God and I always believed in Him, although faith was thin at that stage. I was never closer to finding out the truth of His existence than during that particular second. I was pretty convinced suicide was a sure way to disqualify myself from any heavenly reward. In a dwindling, pitiful instant, I spoke to God. I told Him I was sorry; sorry for taking it upon myself to end my life and for everything I’d ever done to get me to such a disturbing and shameful place. I apologized for being a disappointment. I expressed how I wished I could have done right by Him and by my son. I didn’t hear back from God in what I felt was the most desperate breaths of my lifetime. That frightened me more than any shadow ever did. If pure goodness discounts your words- that is the worst it could get. Nevertheless, it was my choice to turn away from goodness. It didn’t leave me- I abandoned it many years prior.

That is when I conceived what I just did! I was in disbelief of my actions. I envisioned my son seeing me lifeless. I was a horrible mother! I continued to weep. I already was lifeless inside, but had been playing it off on the outside pretty well. The ruse would be over as they lowered me into the ground. Then and there I realized I wasn’t ready to die! I changed my mind! I wanted to take it back! I didn’t want to give up!

No, no, no! I yelled.

In regret and panic, I did the first thing that came to mind- run to the bathroom, drop to my knees at the toilet and try to force myself to vomit what I just ingested. What I sought to do was a type in shadow of what I needed to do spiritually- reject out what I had taken in, which was the occult.

The attempt to expel the over-dosage was ineffective. Nothing came out, despite a good effort to reverse my actions. My immediate flustered and emotional response was to beg for divine help. I thought I had no one and nothing to turn to (lies I was fed by the devil for years and ignorantly believed). I begged God to save me! I proclaimed I did not want to die! When no savior responded, I sobbed profusely. Aimlessly I went back into my bedroom in a stagger. I knew I had no choice other than to wait- and die.

In despair I cried, telling God I was sorry. I spoke aloud with feelings, thoughts and words of desolation to a God I knew of, but ultimately didn’t really know. I had a strong feeling He knew me, though.

I wasn’t sure how long it would be until my eyelids fell shut for the last time. I was terrified what was behind those lids.

I resolved to write a letter to my son. I wanted to at least let him know I loved him and my last thoughts were good ones of him. I loved him more than anything and how I felt about leaving him was unparalleled remorse. Hand trembling, paper drenched with tears, I began to write my goodbye letter. The words consisted of apologies for every mistake I ever made and for every harsh thing I ever said. I explained I wanted life… just not my life. The one I sought was free from the dark shadows haunting me. I kept the pen busy until I could not write anymore. My breathing was dawdling and came to an unprecedented sluggish speed. My mind finally shut down. With pen in hand, I fell into a state of lifelessness whispering over and over, I’m sorry. Not able to finish the letter, my eyes forced themselves closed holding a notebook like I held all I ever loved. I fell asleep under a shadow of dejection.

I’ve wondered if anyone can truly appreciate life to the utmost degree if they haven’t encountered the very last second of it. When you are fully aware your next breath depends solely on the succeeding beat of your heart while you’re merely sitting there praying for it to happen… this increases the caliber of many aspects we all take for granted. Life comes to a whole new viewpoint when lagging in the pit of death.

A life of shadows always seemed a part of me. I thought I chose it, but on the contrary; in time I would come to see it in fact chose me, and I basically became a willing participant. I beheld images of spiritual beings no one else viewed. I perceived the hum of supernatural entities echoing a distant reality. I intensified both with speaking to unknown powers, creating a gaping hole in my spiritual safety. It became so large, legions entered, tainting my natural state of being. I could sense the faint hint of evil’s breath on my neck, yet I was considerably blind to reality. I was misled by people and deceived by the unearthly. I got quite lost along the way of my spiritual journey. I never knew my part in the exploitation of my beliefs and practices. I wasn’t aware of evil’s capacities and how it feeds off our pride, ignorance, weaknesses and insecurities. It accentuates the slivers of fragilities and creates a crevasse of bad. Admittedly, I didn’t care to go any deeper into truth to broaden my life, which is why I’d fallen prey. In retrospect, I only sought answers that quenched my human curiosity. I see now I had a spiritual longing which inadvertently thwarted into an interest, an inquisitiveness that transformed into attitude. I was positive there was a spirit realm interacting with our physical world, but had no foundation to my belief other than mysterious experiences. In pride, I was closed to anything else, although there was no credence to my take on such profound realities. I chose to do whatever, believe whatever. Ultimately, I was responsible for my time in darkness.

Unlike most people, darkness was present even after I opened my eyes in the morning. The day after I thought I closed them forever, they yet again opened, and that present darkness was still lingering. I was shocked when I woke up- but I was grateful! I didn’t know how I was still alive, but I was! The loud buzzing in my ears, heavy dizziness in my head and sharp cramping in my stomach were a small price to pay for a second chance at life. Only, I didn’t know how to live. Regardless of that, the entire event proved to me- even up to our very last breath- it is never too late to get right!

Despite my life troubles with the law, relationships and illnesses, I was so heavily involved with witchcraft; many practices of the occult. It was killing me. When poison becomes part of the bloodstream, at what time does it take over and become too late? At what point does one even realize it’s present? Ordinarily, it’s detected when it begins to affect the body, but by then it’s usually way past due to dilute. If a toxin is injected slowly and skillfully, it’s not even sensed. It has an efficient period