Becoming Multidimensional

By Amanda Shepherd

Amanda Shepherd will never forget the day she was thrown into a mental institution at twenty-two. Who would imagine that the Child Star, Emily Binx, would be near death? Through a twist of fate, Amanda knew how to save herself through the power of Divine intervention. It would be a thirteen-year journey of healing. She would surrender her life to God's Divine will. In doing so, she would discover her supernatural abilities through her multidimensional nature. She would be scorned, rejected, and ridiculed for her abilities, but she would always have Spirit to guide the way. She knew God had a plan for her that exceeded her wildest imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667873817

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© 2022 Amanda Shepherd

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66787-380-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66787-381-

I dedicate this book to my father, Michael Allen Shepherd.

Contents

1. Test at See

2. Are You Real, God?

3. A Mission from God

4. Green Witches

5. Healing Hands

6. I Can See

7. I Can Speak

8. ANGELS

9. I Know When

10. Egypt

11. Miracles

12. Mt. Shasta

Chapter 1

Test at See

How could I live with myself now? Twenty-two years old, and stuck in a mental institution. Life was already difficult for me at that point. I couldn’t even handle a regular job. How was I to convince everyone at work, that I was okay? How in the world did I pull that off; when all I did every day was write, enslaved person, on each day of the work calendar?

Either way, I lost it. I lost my mind. There was no other option for me; but to drive to the emergency, where the doctor asked me, When was the last time you slept? I didn’t know for sure, by that point. I told the doctor, I haven’t slept in at least a week. By that point, I was also bulimic. I had been since I was sixteen. I also indulged in alcohol and drugs, which I felt were all coming to a head. The doctor briskly walked away, after he had assessed me. I then saw that my mother had arrived. This didn’t make anything better; since the doctor pulled her aside, and spoke to her privately. I knew this was serious. I knew that my life was about to change forever.

After being in the emergency room, I was rushed into an ambulance truck. I watched my mother screaming and crying, as they drove me away. I could have sworn they were going far beyond sixty-five miles per hour. I arrived at the destination; in what seemed to be a matter of minutes. I knew I was far from the hospital, and even further from home.

It was traumatizing to be in an environment where people were screaming, crying, drooling, and aimlessly staring at a wall. It’s even worse when they treat you like everyone else; who were either overly medicated, or looked like a vegetable. That in itself can make one a nut over time.

They quickly took my weight. They checked my blood pressure; and then wholly took away anything else, as if I had carried narcotics or a gun. I later learned, that anything with straps, was a potential hazard. Many people were highly suicidal. They could try to choke and harm themselves. I was then taken to a room, that I had to share with another woman. She cried for three days straight, until she was moved.

Everyone waited in line, to receive their medication that evening. It reminded me of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. When it was my turn, they refused to give me the medication I had taken for years, for anxiety. You can’t just take away someone’s medication. I knew that if this medication were ripped away from me, this mental situation would rise to an entirely new level. How could it not? How could I also not suffer from extreme withdrawal, besides not sleeping? This was going to be even worse than I could ever imagine.

The first night in the loony bin was the worst night of my entire life. I was trying to sleep in a bed that was as hard as a rock. I wanted to burn the blankets; because who knows how much vomit or blood hit these sheets, in the past. People were screaming and crying, all through the night. I lay my head down, knowing there was no way in hell, that I would be able to sleep. That was the entire reason I ended up here! How on earth was I going to be able to rest here? This place was the definition of a nightmare.

On top of that, I didn’t have my medication for anxiety, so I was also going through terrible withdrawal. I demanded something, to stop my legs from shaking, and all they did was hand me an Ambien. As soon as I downed that sucker, matters got much worse. I started feeling explosions go off in my brain. It felt like my brain was getting electric shocks. One explosion after another.

At that moment, I understood why they had confiscated any belongings that could be a danger to oneself. I felt I was becoming like them. I was shaking and screaming, wondering if I would even make it through the night. The next day, I no longer felt like myself. Something dark had taken over, and it wasn’t me. I could feel the energy of my body, matching everyone else’s; and similarly with my state of mind. I remember thinking a million times, about how this happened to me. Where did it all start?

I was taken back to the memory of myself a couple of months back. I was in a new relationship. It was thrilling. At the time, I was very much into the gothic culture; and was a proud atheist. He was very gothic, with a heart of gold. I was smitten by his model looks, black nail polish, style, and makeup. He was also the most talented artist I had ever met. I loved how he carried his darkness, in the most alluring and magical way. His eccentricities made me fall in love with him all the more. His bed looked like a hospital bed, and he had a coffin as a dresser. He collected old Ouija boards and had the most interesting old trinkets. He also had the most extensive old record collection; of anyone I knew. Every horror movie I could think of was tattooed on his body. He also collected old penny-farthing bicycles; that looked like they were from an old circus, from the 1900s.

Not only was this boy different aesthetically, but he also had a very old soul. It was so different from mine. I never stopped observing and analyzing. I remember how excited he was to purchase a 1930s Hearst, which was fitting for him.

It wasn’t until we began sleeping together, that I noticed that my sleep was progressively worsening. By the first month, I wasn’t sleeping well, but I still managed to get by. Around the second month, his horror film tattoos weren’t as attractive, as I had thought. They were beginning to scare me; because I knew something deeper, was lurking, but I could not identify it. I also couldn’t justify it at that age; because all I saw was a beautiful, eccentric, caring, loving human being.

At that time, I had no idea about positive and negative energies. Nor did I have any idea who I was. I was young, and constantly chasing after the thrill. I was addicted to love as if it were my oxygen; that somehow killed me simultaneously.

I slowly began to look at him differently. I asked him questions about his motivation for the old and the dark. I never could get the truth out of him; as if a negative force was moving through him, that he somehow agreed to, with open arms. It was far beyond me initially, but I was on the verge of figuring it out. I also noticed what terrible luck he had. Everything around him seemed to always go wrong, in very mysterious ways. The more I began to understand positive and negative energies, the more everything amplified, whether positive or negative.

I’ll never forget a picture he gave me, that I was almost reluctant to take. Scary enough, he said he felt like it gave him bad luck. I went into denial; took the picture I didn’t quite understand and hung it on my wall. I stared at it, trying to capture the deeper meaning behind it. Perhaps I should have just taken it at face value.

The photo was comprised of a picture of a large tree, roots, and earth, taking over a disintegrating car. I was too young to understand the concept, yet I knew there was profound meaning; that now I believe was ahead of the times. I asked him what it meant. He said, No matter what man tries to create, nature always wins. I didn’t quite understand the importance of that explanation until now, in this day in age. It makes perfect sense—the battle over technology and humanity.

After I hung that picture in my room, by the third night, I was having terrible nightmares. I knew I had to get rid of it. How would I tell him, that a picture was the cause of my nightmares? I was already beginning to feel like I was losing some kind of grip on reality.

At the same time, I was working for an escrow company. Suddenly, it began to show itself to me, as some kind of slave agenda. I was changing, and I couldn’t stop it. I felt my boyfriend’s dark energy, was beginning to take me over; but I could not handle it. Nor did I want it there.

At that moment in that escrow office, I knew I had to break it off with my boyfriend; because something was way off, even if I couldn’t put my finger on it. For some reason, I became terrified to break it off; and still, I didn’t know why. My sleep got even worse; until it was nonexistent.

Well, here I was back in the loony bin. I was aware that my mind had wandered off. I somehow gained little satisfaction in finding blame, at another point in time for reference; as that did not help my situation. What I will say, is that there was one thing I knew for sure; and that was that energy doesn’t lie. There is good energy and bad energy, and we can easily be affected by these invisible forces. Physically I felt like I had lost so much sleep, so how could I correctly reason and trust my observations and assumptions? Spiritually, I felt that my boyfriend was the crypt keeper. The negative entities surrounding him aimed to ruin all the souls around him yet keep him solid and alluring.

What’s even scarier is that the following night in the hospital, thankfully, I had the room to myself to see out the window. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was HIM. My scary boyfriend! The one I was blaming all day.

He was outside my window, walking with friends into a nearby house. I shook my head, thinking maybe I had begun to hallucinate. Thankfully I hadn’t; as I received confirmation later on from him, that he was there attending a party. I thought, Here, his girlfriend is in a mental institution, and he is attending a party next door! The old me would have been sad, but the newly aware me was not surprised.

Another night of NO SLEEP. At this point, there was no telling how much longer I could live like this. One thing I could sense, though, was that I needed to take care of something; that had been slowly chipping away at my life. It was bulimia. For some reason, I promised myself I would never throw up my food again. I knew then that if I lived, I would NEVER fall back into that specific black hole, again. I remember always telling myself; every time I threw one up, that someday, I would have to face all my emotions and deal with them. Well, here I was. I was ready to deal with them.

Oddly, I suddenly got a call from the nurse’s headquarters that I come to the front desk. I was very dizzy; so, it took me some time to find it. When I got there, I was told there was a gift for me. The nurse handed me a teddy bear. There was a note attached to it. It was from my boyfriend, with a message saying he would call me in two hours. I took the teddy bear, put it in the restroom, and shut the door. I certainly didn’t want any lousier ju-ju, so I refused to put it on the bed.

Precisely two hours later, I received a phone call from him. I was terrified, yet happy to hear from someone in the land of the living. He told me that he had put a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in the bear. He wrote that I would have to rip the bear’s head off to get to the cigarettes. Creepy but thoughtful, I guess. I can’t deny that I enjoyed sneaking cigarettes into the bathroom and smoking them. I ripped his head off, for those cigarettes.

Later on that day, I met an adorable girl. I had no idea why she was there. She looked perfectly normal. I asked her, "What brings you here to such a marvelous place?" She said that she was there to receive shock treatment.

I had heard of shock treatment in the movies, but I had no idea it still existed. It just felt wrong. In my terrible position, I should have been worrying about myself; but I thought I had to distract myself, in any way just to cope. I felt awful for this beautiful young girl. I wanted to tell her to run, but she seemed like she was just going to the doctor, for a regular checkup. It couldn’t be further from the truth. It felt more like an appointment with Hitler or Dr. Kevorkian. The young girl very cordially excused herself to go into the torture chamber. I had nothing better to do than to wait for her, and see what the results were for this type of therapy.

I was stunned. She walked out slowly as if she had weights on her ankles. Her energy was completely different. She also didn’t remember me. She acted paranoid and accused me of staring at her. Perhaps I did. What can I say? I was shocked! (Figuratively). Her speech was prolonged, and she seemed irritable.

She stayed there the next three days and seemed very afraid of everyone; and I would see her randomly, nod off like the others. It suddenly hit me. Many, if not all, of these people; were highly overmedicated, and most unnecessarily received shock treatment. Don’t get me wrong; I do believe that medication most definitely saves lives.

I’m also certain that shock therapy may be beneficial in extreme cases, but I just knew these avenues of treatment were severely overused.

Once I became aware of that, I began to ask each patient if they would mind sharing with me what they were taking. I found out that 90% of the people in my unit were on eight to fifteen different medications. The rest were on at least four drugs. The worst was on more than fifteen medications.

To distract myself from my misery, I tried to SAVE the others; I felt were worse off than I was. I saw many of them talking to themselves. I went straight for the ones that I could tell were struggling, silently. Each one I spoke to, told me they were hearing voices; or were highly suicidal after a doctor had added new medications or changed medications. I also learned that around 80% of the women also had a thyroid issue. Was I helping? No! I took them to the nurses and doctors who had put them in this position. They were just watched more carefully after me. Suddenly, I felt I had betrayed myself and them.

It was time to start focusing on myself. I was terrified to face myself. I knew everything would come crashing on me very soon if nothing changed, but I was also afraid to try anything; because I didn’t trust the doctors and was also beginning to feel mentally fragile.

I knew I would be doomed if I tried a new medication that hit me the wrong way. This wasn’t my first rodeo, regarding trying medications. When a pill hit me badly in the past, it was enough to make me want to jump out of a window. A constant feeling of wanting to crawl out of my skin. I swear that if I had listened to my doctors, family, or anyone, I would be dead right now. Thank God I’m stubborn. However, I regret following my own counsel at this point.

I knew that if I lost yet another night’s sleep, I would begin to unravel quickly. My mind was starting to race, and I was beginning to feel inflammation throughout my entire body and brain. All I wanted was anything to help me sleep!

The doctors refused to give me the antianxiety medication I was using for sleep. The medications offered to me were antipsychotics, including Lithium, Depakote, and Ambien. I was terrified more than ever to take anything, especially after the Ambien incident. I refused all medication, as I knew that it wasn’t treating the root cause of my issues, which were anxiety and insomnia.

When the doctors saw me progressively get worse, they tried to give me shock treatment, which I refused, no matter how hard they pushed me. I kicked and screamed; and for the first time, cried out to God.

Speaking of God, my atheism was wearing thin. I felt helpless and hopeless. It became tough to keep it together at the institution as time passed. Why on earth would I try to keep it together here? Perhaps, because I was always trying to keep it together most of my life. If anything, this was the place to let it all out, in all its horror and despair.

I’ll never forget a couple of people that I met there. They were crazy but still had their wits about them. The first was a girl who told me her name was Sin. I wanted to ask her if she was born with that name; or if God gave her that name. I wasn’t going to get there with her.

She told me what she thought about me, which was somewhat pleasant. She said I reminded her of Winona Ryder, in the movie Girl Interrupted. She said I wasn’t crazy but would need some meds. She also told me that if I didn’t take meds, I would end up like her; and be there at least three or four times a year. For some reason, I listened to her. It struck a chord, what she said. I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t that crazy, even though her name was Sin.

I also met a man who was a brilliant engineer. He seemed the most normal out of everyone. I asked him about his life, and I found it fascinating. All I wanted to say to him was, What the heck brings you here? He didn’t tell me the traumatic event, that happened, before these odd episodes. I wasn’t going to ask. He just told me that he liked creating buildings, only to destroy them. He said it very shamefully as if he was embarrassed by his secret pleasure. After that reveal, I was no longer thinking about what he was doing here; I was wondering why he wasn’t in prison!

Poor guy came in every so often for shock treatment, which he said made him