The future looks bright today,
although I know,
is to decay.
The future looks bright today,
although I know,
Satan is coming to play.
Fifteen years after the medical examination room, I had forgotten it, and
barely remembered the hospital. I had survived childhood and made it to the age of seventeen, and was a student in High School
looking forward to the rest of my life. The hospital was like an old possession stashed in the attic and hardly remembered,
and wasn’t a part of my life. I had moved on, or, so it seemed. Unfortunately, the passage of time, the emergence of
adolescence, and the years of denial opened the door to the attic, and allowed the terrifying emotions to rush back into my
world and take on a life of their own, like demons, and become mind-controlling. THEY RETURNED LIKE THE GHOSTS OF A HORROR
MOVIE. They behaved as if I had returned to the medical examination room, and there was no convincing them otherwise. I had
no control of them. I tried to gain control, but the feelings were too strong. Several powerful images protruded into my mind;
I named one smoke because it blinded me to any hope in the world; and another I named lava because it capriciously popped
onto my forehead and burned like fire. Below documents that although I forgot the medical examination room, the terror returned
and slowly ruined my life. Many difficult moments are described. Yes, the images and feelings from the age of two were forgotten,
but they were nonetheless present, and I began to make decisions based upon them and react to them. Sounds crazy, but, due
to Christ’s influence, I was able to stand above the wall of feelings and intruding thoughts, and figure out how to
overcome the emotional scars. I didn’t get therapy and didn’t take drugs. I only had the vision of a better future
solidly fixed in my mind. I hope that by studying this book, your mind will become illuminated, as my mind was freed by the
power of the universe; and, I hope that you will begin a journey of self-discovery, and become closer to God.
On Jan. 13, 1976, fifteen
years after the hospital test, I wrote: “I can’t think. It’s because of the emotional scar from Christine—I
think. I can’t remember things—especially not in school. My mind feels like a cloth singed by a hot red iron.
There’s a smoldering log stuck in the front part of my mind. It burns and burns in front of my eyes. I guess it’s
my fault. But it hurts. I’m trying to feel better, but it doesn’t work. It’s almost like God wants me to
suffer. It’s like God wants the thorns of my life to come up and poke me. So they’ll hurt more. So I will bleed.
So my wounds will become infected and gangrene will set in. So I will hurt—I have hurt. I have hurt to the deepest soul.”
The hospital test was long forgotten, but the images, feelings, and thoughts, like an old movie replaying over and
over, chronically projected into my consciousness. The fifteen years of denying the fear and terror festered in my mind and
burned on my forehead, just like the feelings backed up onto my forehead at the age of two. The pain felt like it was getting
worse and worse, and seemed like a physical substance. I thought about getting a knife and cutting it out of my head. I worried
that if the pain got any worse, I’d have to kill myself.
It became difficult to interact with people. Sometimes
when I looked at them or thought about them, the pain intensified. I didn’t know what thought or action would cause
the feelings to worsen. I thought if I could solve the problem with an old girlfriend, the pain would go away.
I tried to get another girlfriend, but was unsuccessful. I was pushing everyone who wanted to be my friend away, and
looking for friendship with those who would reject me.
“Another girl has evaporated in front of me. Who will be the
next? This one seemed so sure, the surest of them all! Yet she turned out to be as cold as the coldest—or maybe not
that bad, but still she poked into my life, and tore into my mind—and now she’s gone—just like Christine.”
I became more and more confused, and thought God said he’d
find a replacement girlfriend. When the replacement didn’t come, I felt betrayed. This brought on feelings from the
hospital; only then I thought it was God who had abandoned me, God who had stabbed me in the back, and God who had forsaken
me! I thought God lied. I couldn’t understand how he could lie. I reasoned I couldn’t rely on anyone, not even
How did I overcome the emotional trauma?
Keep reading and I’ll explain!
leaving the hospital, the traumatic feelings never left my mind, and as time passed, as the shade of memory dimmed, I saw
the hospital differently every few years, like riding down a road and seeing a mountain from different angles every few miles.
I saw the hospital differently at age three than at age six, differently at age nine, differently at age twelve, and so on…
At the age of seventeen, the several views exploded into a frightening image, recreating the experience in my mind. I was
once again at the hospital, experiencing the test. It had taken fifteen years for the feelings to go full circle. At
first, there was some success in denying the feelings, then, slowly, I gave up more important things, and finally, it was
taking everything. The smoldering log stuck in the front part of my mind was immovable, like a solid object, and was like
a separate thing, apart from me. The molten log couldn’t be denied, for it lived and thrived independently of my thoughts.
It lived by its rules, not mine. It wouldn’t leave me alone. No longer did it inflame because of personal relationships—it
exploded on a whim, or no whim, for no reason. Its presence was the norm—It had infested my mind like a demon.
did this happen? The hospital was like an open wound that wouldn’t heal. Like a physical pain, the longer it was
there the more it seemed to gain strength and demand attention. Like a toothache that starts slowly, the throbbing pain became
less and less bearable, every moment demanding attention and causing more and more time to be spent on how to avoid the feelings.
At the age of seventeen, it was a fifteen-year toothache, and had gained momentum, and I became obsessed with avoiding it.
I desperately wanted to think about something else. It seemed like it was my fault that I couldn’t stop thinking about
the feelings. It seemed like I must have done something wrong, but I didn’t remember the hospital, I only felt
it: “It’s my fault, it’s my fault,” I thought. “I’m guilty, okay, I’m guilty, but,
for what? What did I do?”
I felt the feelings of thinking my mother was dead, but didn’t remember thinking it. I justified the guilt by
thinking about God and how I mustn’t be good enough. I didn’t want to give my life to God. I figured Satan was
making me think this, and Satan was thinking my thoughts. That’s why on July 30, 1975, I wrote: “Whose thoughts
are in my head, are they mine? Or, is my mind being crushed as if it was stuck between two stone pillars?”
stirred up hospital feelings, like begging for my mother to come back to life. On Aug. 2, 1977, I wrote: “I didn’t want to take a chance on being bad.
I needed to be good. I became religious. ‘God’ was the feelings from the hospital of my mother coming back…”
Looking back, I was in a real mess
because there weren’t any good choices and no decision allowed me to avoid the feelings. I wanted to grow-up, assert
and define myself, and break free from old ways of thinking and the malaise of my thoughts. I was an adolescent, isn’t
that’s what they do? Unfortunately, I hadn’t done the roadwork needed to get to adolescence. I hadn’t faced
childhood. I hadn’t faced the thoughts and feelings from the hospital. As an adolescent, how could I face the hospital
when I no longer remembered it? How could I admit thinking my mother was dead when I didn’t consciously know I thought
it? How could I face the terror when I didn’t remember it? Everything was buried deep in my thoughts. Instead of memory,
there was guilt. The lack of memory allowed the terror to be confused with Satan. I feared Satan as I feared being
alone in the hospital. Although twisted and not valid, there was logic to the thought. On July 30, 1975, feeling the
weight of the guilt, I wrote: “…Enough with it! Let not the devil betray me once more, and make me believe my
thoughts are my own. .”
Images and feelings from the hospital popped up in my head and lingered in my mind as if they belonged to someone else. I
made room for them but kept a safe distance, navigating in the least scary, most safe, least painful direction possible, taking
care not to step too close or the wrong way. I was terrified of my thoughts. “Go away!” I’d think.
“I’m not thinking that,” I’d assure myself. But they were present. In each moment, more and more,
they consumed me. In order to avoid the feelings I began to make decisions based upon when they might pop up or how not to
think them. There was an unraveling of sound reasoning and one act to avoid lead to another, which lead to one lie and the
next, and another and another, like tumbling down a hill faster and faster. I thought Satan was thinking my thoughts,
therefore I wasn’t thinking God’s, and therefore I was guilty of an unspeakable crime. The feeling of being alone
and abandoned in the hospital burned on my forehead, and I toyed with the idea of getting a knife and cutting it out.
I felt the pain on my forehead without knowing whether it was mental or physical. It wasn’t always easy to know from
where things came. Did a sound come from my mind or the world? From where did hatred come? From where love? Anger? What I
saw got confused with what popped up in my head. I saw myself between two worlds, each valid and each separate, yet both the
same. I touched, heard, saw, tasted, and smelled not knowing whether it happened in the world or in my mind. Did I like her?
Did I hate him? Did I think it or did someone else?
Desperate, I made the decision to fight the torment. I believed that feelings come from thoughts and concluded that
my thoughts could change and that I could overcome them. So the battle began. So as you continue reading, I ask you to ask yourself a question.
How did an adolescent know how to overcome what I overcame? How did someone with no help figure out on the one hand, and then
overcome with the other, such powerful emotional scars? Well, I’d like you to remember the vision of Christ. The vision
of Christ was a part of the hospital experience, forgotten along with it, yet burning inside me. There is something about
the vision that was visible to me like the tip of a great Ice burg is visible in the sea. There was a remnant, a sign of the
vision that I looked at as I wrote the journal. Please keep this in mind in every word you are about to read. Deep in my memory
was the hospital, but active in my life was the vision of Christ; look for it, for the vision is there in my words and in
what is written below. This is why what happened inside
my mind is a miracle.