My Own True Story

[Karissa]

Repressed Memories

 

 

I must have been about 10. I remember waking up early in the morning and knowing I was going to throw up- something I had grown to hate more than anything. I got my mom, and she came in there with my Grandma. Next thing I know, they start praying over my stomach, and saying things I don’t want them to say. The words whirled around in the air; their hands grew hot on my abdomen only increasing the nausea. I moved under the mothball scented sheets and stared up at the old ceiling of my grandparent’s house. My mom and grandmother were still going at it, saying to God that in the “name of Jesus” they commanded any spirit out of me- of disobedience, stubbornness, all the things they thought about me but only had the guts to mention during these exorcisms- or so it seemed. I really did not want them to say these things because I knew that the spirits would have to come out of me, and I feared more that Hell itself that it would be in the form of vomit. I held my teeth together tightly as my heart pounded faster and faster and the room began to spin. I finally got up and ran into the bathroom across the cold pink and white tiles and stuck my head over the toilet. The prayer brigade followed right behind me with one holding my hair back and the other pressing their palm into my already tense back. I felt it coming up. I screamed because I was so scared, but it could scarcely be heard above their demon-ridding words. Then it happened. It was so horrible, worse than I thought it would be. They started saying, “Hallelujah” and “Praise you Jesus, Thank you Lord” as my stomach was coming out of my mouth. As soon as I could breathe again, I joined in, just thankful to be alive and ridded of whatever had made me feel so terrible- the stubbornness or prideful spirit. I didn’t know any better. I thought it was my fault that I was sick- didn’t consider I could just have a stomach bug. Sickness was a punishment, and I knew I must have done something to deserve it. I hoped I could escape being possessed in the future because I sure as hell never wanted to vomit again.

 

There had been other times in the past that I had been told I was bad for throwing up. Once, my mom and grandmother were hugging in the bathroom, and I went up and threw my arms around both of them. Then I left the room and went to lie on my bed; my throw up preceded my body on the comforter. They came in there and told me it was the spirit of jealousy because I hadn’t been included in their hug. I believed them. Of course, I guess the spirit of jealousy would make someone run a fever and have flu like symptoms. I had to have brought that on myself.

 

After these episodes, or maybe a little while before it, I started to really hate people praying over me. I was so terrified that I might have to throw up whatever spirit they were praying out. I can recall countless times when people have wanted to pray over me and I have told them no. They of course, only thought there was something more wrong with me sense I obviously was refusing “help.” A couple of times I even faked “falling out in the spirit” so that I could get out from under their chants. The words would mix in my head and the heat from the bodies and denture breath would suffocate me and induce a sense of panic. Of course, I thought this was all part of being “cleansed”. This was normal. I would be better for it. And it was the only way.

 

My grandmother used to tell us stories that would scare the shit out of me. She would recall people being pushed down stairs by evil spirits that were inhabiting their homes or of people casting out spirits and seeing a person scream and convulse as it left. I’ll never forget being scared to walk down the stairs of my house without clinging to the banister for fear that some demon was there and would knock me down- sometimes I am still fearful of that very thing. As I became more aware of other things in the world, I started to think maybe these fears weren’t normal. After all, there were people that didn’t know about all the spirits lurking around and they were just fine. But I couldn’t get rid of the thoughts that I might have a demon in me. Any time I behaved badly, my mother would say that I needed to get rid of the spirit of disobedience that was making me act that way. Whenever I would have a headache, she would quiz me on anything I might be holding back from the Lord or anything I might know in my heart that I was doing wrong and needed to confess. She would pray over me. This always made me sicker than I already was. I can’t count the times she would kneel by my bed and place her hands on an ailing body part. At some point I refused to let her pray over me anymore. I was too scared. I would almost always feel panicky and upset when anyone would start praying “in the name of Jesus.” I was terrified that God might show them to pray over me and they would just start doing so, being compelled by the spirit and all. And how would I get out of that? I couldn’t tell them no because it just furthered their opinion of me being demon possessed. Fears were being shoved down my throat as I was convinced I was a possessed child that needed saving.

 

Despite all of the psychotic aspects of these cultic acts, I continued to embrace the idea of spirits, demons, and praying in God’s name. Even when my mother had a Manic Episode, I was behind her 100 raying over all of the objects in the house that could be possessed or evil. We threw out countless toys, games, and movies as she would proceed to pray in tongues over them and tell me if they were good or bad. I would bring her my things and say, “Here mommy, tell me about these.” I brought her my set of fairies that were in a little plastic clock and pleaded to have them prayed over. She spoke in that language that made no sense to me and then told me they were okay and what their names were. She told me what each of them thought and did in the little clock all day. The scary thing is I think she actually believed it. And when she ran out of the house screaming that there were demons in our chimney, I gathered everyone up for a prayer in the driveway and led it, casting out the spirits like I had always seen my mother do. I brought her inside and prayed over more things in our house. I went to bed thinking I had done the right thing- that I had ridded my house of evil and that my father was crazy for trying to tell mom she was out of her head. Didn’t he see them?

 

I awoke the next morning to see my grandmother and grandfather in the kitchen. They told me my mom was in the hospital, that she was sick. I didn’t really understand it all until much later on in my life when the true story would be revealed. She was out of her head. She had been for days. And I had been oblivious. I thought she really saw things from God and that I was helping her get rid of all the bad things in our home. But in the end, it just left me feeling horrible for not knowing any better and silly for going along with her. I also never knew if it maybe was real and everyone else was just crazy for not seeing it.

 

The next few years, I was okay with God. I eventually even got into praying every Thursday night for a few hours with people from church. They would always pray and tongues and sometimes pray over other people. I would attend even though I would sit there, scared to death that I would be their next victim. However, I thought that it was just Satan talking, which fueled the idea that I had some evil living in me that didn’t want to come out. I still hated being prayed over more than anything, but felt unable to express it.

 

I have been scared to vomit since I can remember. Anytime I feel nauseated, a fear grips my throat. I can almost hear my grandmother praying and feel my mother’s hot breath in my face. That’s enough to make anyone sick.

[pandora]

Wow.... religion IS abuse. I am sorry that you were made to suffer through that, Karissa... I am glad you are now free! So what was it that helped you make your final break?

[Karissa]

There really wasn't one final thing. I kind of gradually begin to see, by taking myself away from the religion long enough, that it was bad for me and very wrong for me as well. I did a lot of research as to the history of the Bible, and I also had already read the whole Bible and was finding contradictions in there as well. Realizing that my panic attacks were hooked to the religion made me feel even better about my decision to no longer be a part of it.

[Taphophilia]

I think you are a wonderful writer. Have you written more about your experiences?

 

Taph

[Young Mother Atheist]

I think you are a wonderful writer. Have you written more about your experiences?

 

Taph

 

I should probably clarify that this person is me...I had to create another name because I left for a while and forgot my username. I haven't written much more about my experiences, but I am now thinking about it. I don't think right now I can write much on THAT topic because it makes me pretty upset, but I am considering some other topics. My experience with speaking in tongues was interesting...crazy stuff.