When Evil Is Your Salvation

I'm going to start this back in January 2019. That isn't the true beginning of it, but when it became very apparent that something was not right with me, and I was becoming more depressed. Normally, I can pinpoint a reason for any down mood and work my way back from it, but this time was different. I'm not sure I can aptly explain it, but the cause wasn't coming to me from the physical or spiritual planes, in other words not something I was picking up from a past event or someone close to me (empathy) or from an event in my life (like someone dying, or loosing a job) but there I was tottering on the brink of that infamous rabbit hole, without rhyme or reason, and no amount of shielding was helping. In March I visited my doctor, who did a full blood panel. Result: I was 'dangerously low' on vitamin D.

I know, right? Sounds silly that a basic vitamin could be playing havoc with my mood. However, it is one that reacts like a hormone and affects everything from your immune system, to emotions. One of the symptoms is depression. Couple that with negativity at work, and at home emanating from the roommate -recipe for disaster. I didn't expect miraculous results - as in over night, but thought 'AHA! There's the reason!' I was wrong. Over the following months it became worse.

I've spoken of my roommate before, and there was an almost tangible shift in him. He became increasingly secretive, and more prone to tantrums, which often turned violent. His 'disabilities' were rapidly becoming excuses for not doing anything he didn't want to do, including basic hygiene (which he blamed on his weight, claiming he had great difficulty and couldn't climb into the shower/tub, however he had no problems if he was going out...) He became quite slovenly, to the point I stopped having even the occasional friend in for coffee after work, as I didn't know what we'd be walking in on. Somedays, it was literally trash everywhere, even on the furniture, which he had basically broken by plopping down on it instead of sitting, or with an explosive act of rage - that even the most innocent comment might trigger. I won't delve into the details, but things were definitely not good. It was as if the last 10 years of growth he had gone through never happened, even the social graces I had taught him went out the window.

I tried to 'read' him and saw blackness and felt almost ill. Whatever he was up to was bad, real bad. It saddened me that I was probably going to have to throw in the towel and advise his State Guardian, that he might need institutionalized, given that he was failing to care for himself, and the out bursts becoming a bit of a threat to my safety.

Both his Guardian and I searched for doctors that would take his state insurance, and then came the battle to make him continue seeing them.

I know what you're thinking - none of this is paranormal, it is however the ground work for what happened to make sense.

It was November of that year, and that old rabbit hole had become even deeper. I took no joy in anything any more. My world had become a dark abyss, age old personal demons raising their heads and stirring.

This particular afternoon wasn't even as bad as most of them had gotten to be. I was off work, in my jammies, sipping a soda pop in front of my computer, trying to talk myself up (sometimes in life you just have to be your own cheerleader) when from the direction of my closet a voice spoke. A voice I knew all too well. It was my father's voice intoning that horrid laundry list of my faults and failures, just as he did when alive. I sat there and took it. Just as I did all those years of growing up. I was devil spawn and worthless. No one could love me, not even God. I should do the world a favor and kill myself. I was just wasting space and no one would miss me... I felt myself nodding agreement as I began to think that maybe he was right. I want to be clear, I was hearing him with my ears and not inside my head.

I don't really understand what happened next, only that quite suddenly I felt as if I had been struck in my chest by a charge. My hands flew up to cover my ears, even as my head raised and I stared at the closet space. I heard myself speaking, "Shut up! Shut up! You're dead and gone and can't hurt any one any more. You couldn't break me then and you won't now!" I was shaking, and that charge in my chest area seemed to be pulsating strength into me. Silence. Blissful silence.

Now, I don't claim to know a heck of a lot of things, but I do know that when you start hearing voices telling you to hurt yourself or others and you come even remotely close to listening to them, it's time to call in the cavalry. Doesn't matter where you think the voice came from.

I went for an evaluation. Being truthful about the whole thing was really hard, but you can't expect solid help with half truths. I knew/feared it could mean being admitted for a bit (I wasn't), but better that then dead. I just didn't want to be on a bunch of drugs. I wanted my joy back. I was diagnosed with PTSD and depression, and see Dr. G weekly. I'm getting stronger, and the rabbit hole is getting shallower.

January 2020: I'm not at liberty to give many details on this, but it is pivotal to my account. The darkness from the roommate was enough that I often felt ill just being in the same room as him, and avoided touching anything even around him as much as possible. The images that I'd get were too disturbing. I had warning visions and dreams concerning him. I strengthened my shields as much as possible; I didn't want to believe what I 'seeing', and blamed my depression for a large part of it. I wasn't 'well' yet, and my psyche was coloring it darker than it was. Oh, I so wanted to be wrong - but I wasn't. Second week in January the cops showed up with a search warrant, and that was the end of my roommate.

My landlord worried about what it would do to my financial dynamics. I told him I would probably get another roommate, but first I wanted to take advantage and overhaul the apartment (paint it, replace the busted furniture, etc.) He was quite amiable on it and asked how long I thought it might take. Dr. G placed me with a case worker that specializes in such cases; helping others get the help they need. The roommate's room is just down right nasty. I curse myself for respecting privacy so dang much. It's so bad, I even turn down the caseworker's offer of help to clean it.

During this time the ghosties started waking up. Small happenings, but helpful. I have to admit, I kind of missed them.

March: Covid strikes and I get laid off. I also figure a new roomie at this time was not the wisest move, besides I'm still trying to get the apartment back in order, and with finances being tight, it's quite the challenge.

April-October: This is a compilation of activity in those months. My landlord decided to renovate my kitchen. Cabinets, counters, sink, floor - even a new LED light fixture! Now, I had planned to paint the kitchen, and I knew the ghosties agreed because items were getting removed from the walls without my touching them. Example: I had one of those expandable racks with pegs (looks like a bunch of exes) on the wall holding coffee mugs. It's hung there close to 18 years with no problems. I came out one day to find it and the mugs carefully laid on the counter.

Bathroom: there's this UGLY long towel rack spanning the far wall - I've always disliked it, as it's in the most illogical place - clear across from the facilities. I decided it had to come down. It was there prior to my moving in, and I think it dates back to the 70s, since no one ever removed it, but painted around it, it was now part of the wall. A real bugger to get off - actually took part of the wall. I'm staring at it and hear a male voice say "Got (word I didn't catch) putty?"

A bit later I'm wondering out loud if I should paint the cabinet as well, and hear the same male say, "I would."

Living Room: I'm up on the small ladder when it wobbles, and suddenly stops as if steadied. Male voice "Careful - I got you."

Now I'm working on my bedroom. Some day I'll tell you all how much I HATE painting ceilings! Especially here, where they are geometrical nightmares. Lol

I won't lie, there are times this all seems a bit over-whelming, especially since work seems postponed indefinitely. Now and then, I'll feel a pat on my shoulder or an one armed hug. I'll hear someone walking around. I've furniture I've been waiting on since August, very frustrating. One day I was bemoaning the fact, semi-out loud, when I heard a voice say, "How many chairs can you sit on at once?" It made me smile a bit. "Smarty,' I murmured to the air. Right though, I can only sit one place at a time.

November, a year since I had scraped bottom, and I've been wondering. If my father had not spoken to me so, given the downward spiral I had taken, and the events that followed, would I have had the safety net of support that I've so desperately needed? Would I have kept my own council and simply bulldogged my way through, and remained miserable? My dad always knew that gotten mad enough I'd fight back, and if scared enough I'd ask for help. Maybe, just maybe what I saw as evil, was intended as my salvation from myself.