The Journey Back to Love
I used to believe that suicide was the answer. I slipped into the belief that forcing life to evade me ensured my liberation from a perpetual mental hell. What would precede my demise would cease to exist because I would no longer be bound to a beasty shell. My consciousness would dissolve into the fluttering nothingness of the universe. The creeping footsteps of my past always seemed to tiptoe their way through my subconscious and revealed themselves as raging demons that prayed on the happiest moments of my childhood. These demons paraded their way into my early adulthood reeking destruction on significant moments of my life. I used to believe that my existence swallowed excessive space despite the infinite magnitude of love and life it possessed. I was always intimidated by my birthright to be a high vibrational being worthy of walking through heaven’s golden gates. Therefore, I concealed and anchored myself far below the highest octaves of me. I vibrated at a lower frequency simply because that’s what I believed I deserved. I struggled with loneliness and often found myself psychologically and emotionally ignored and dismissed by people when faced with troubling situations. I was trained and sculpted to fear the wrath and electricity of whips on my skin that would precede my ignorance at a young age. I sliced and burned my tongue to prevent vocalizing my suffering of physical, verbal, sexual and psychological abuse. I often condemned myself for wreaking of inadequacy and incompetence. My inadequacy expressed itself through rejection from others. My incompetence revealed itself in my inability to conquer the expectations of being a suitable human the world would remain in awe of. The walls of my room held the memories that forged through my screams, pleads and cries because there wasn’t a wing with the strength enough to lift my burdens. My tarred tears often formed an ocean of thickened muck that I drowned in. I grew fatigued from the filth that suffocated my heart. Despite living in this truth, I always found a way to be the bridge that led others to their own fulfillment. Even before I discovered the reason for the bleeding between a woman’s thighs, wisdom and love flowed through my vessel and seeped through my skin for others. Yet, somehow this became an overflow for others and I was left with evaporating droplets. I kept these emotions concealed from the outside world through my laughs and smiles. I feared that my truth would send me spiraling into a black hole of depression, despair, and desolation indefinitely. I refrained from expressing my pain which resulted in me being sucked into that black hole anyway. This indeed was truly an unforgiving paradox.
On those days where I detested the burning bruises on my skin, I pleaded for God to send his divine messengers to soothe and scoop me up in preparation for my liberation. I remained enslaved to these desperate cries because he never showed me that I was worthy of saving. He never answered a call. He never peered through my soul and saw a sad innocent child deserving a chance at life. He never sent a fluttering feather to rest upon my pillows to remind me that I was worthy of gentleness. I detested this being held high on a throne carried by believers as I was. I was Burned, bruised, battered, betrayed, and bewitched by a false savior created for nothing more than control and submission. So, I cursed him. I stormed and roared his name and rejected the thought of his existence. After all, the bond I believed I had broken never existed in the first place. I was an outcast to him. Therefore, I banished him and never looked back. What did I owe him? Was I not already the price that paid for his love and allegiance? His cowardice only proved that his absence was the uncomfortable truth exposing the lie of his existence. At least he no longer existed to me.
My failed suicide attempts only mocked my inability to endure the pain. Pins and needles in my lungs with tears cascading my cheeks was too much torture and was completely asinine. How does an eight-year-old deal with such intensity alone anyway? I must have thought I was doing something by walking into oncoming traffic and not being given a single blow. Horns howled in the streets as I cried and journeyed to safety. Every day I would patiently wait for my death. “It will come sooner or later,” I would tell myself. “And when it comes don’t resist. It’s your ticket out.” I had no purpose. I was of no value. I was worth nothing more than a mockery. I was teased and bullied for my size and shape as a ten-year-old girl. I was attractive enough to be molested before I hit puberty. The kind words that my friends and parents gave me sometimes were somehow canceled out because my soul was so heavily tainted with the bruising of my childhood. The kind words and love that one of my parents tried to gift me evaporated most times because they were my torturer and oppressor in some cases. I had no trust or faith in my other parent for making me feel abandoned as a child. I tried to express my traumas to my parental figure as I grew more mature, but this resulted in them projecting their own fears and shortcomings. I was an outlet for them and others in the world. It was as though my presence rang with the stench of weakness. I somehow was always a target for those needing a release. I always absorbed this energy because I perceived them as a part of me. They were wounded just as I was, and I was desperate for their acceptance. So, I allowed this behavior from others if it meant saving them. To save them was to save me. Something in the back of my mind persistently tugged me in these shadowed moments. I would randomly get overwhelming surges of heartfelt creative ideas that lit the fibers of my essence. I was a torch whose flame would burn and dim. I somehow kept myself barely afloat this raging sea of trauma while lighting that torch with what little warmth I could. After discovering magick and shadow work, that warmth would gradually sizzle and form a blanket that would shelter me as I journeyed to sanity.
I spent years searching for the answer to the question, “why me?” I submerged myself in the rivers of my shadows desperately voyaging to the shores of my truth. I used to pursue these answers by peering through the eyes and lives of others. Yet, there was a light that led me right into the darkness of my own internal abyss. This shadow realm revealed each raindrop of trauma I had felt throughout my entire life by far. This realm swallowed time and each moment I dwelt in this dimension I would be lost for lifetimes reliving memories that revealed themselves as ghosts and fragments. The screeching burn of these painful memories clawed through my soul because I resisted them. I was afraid of them because they showcased the painful reality that I was suffering. The sorrow that slithered through my throat left a venomous burn as I released these toxins and expelled spells and curses that bound me to my own despair. I often wanted to die while experiencing these shadows because the magnitude of their strength overpowered my ability to conjure hope and faith. At the brink of my destruction, I came to terms with the fact that I needed to surrender. Surrendering was the only way out of this hell. And so it was. I stared these monsters down and listened to their screeches. Their ear scraping screams finally became audible words. “I’m scared! Help me! It hurts! Let me go. I’m trying. I’m not enough. I’m a failure without a purpose. The world hates me. I’m better off an outcast. I’m tired of being beaten. I don’t deserve life. I wish shed love me more. I wish they would understand. I just want peace!” I sat with these demons and realized that they were angry indeed, but they were more afraid. I realized that they were the hidden and rejected aspects of me wanting to be recognized, avenged, accepted, and loved. After having endured this hell for many years that voice in the back of my mind was finally able to shine through. I was finally able to recognize this magnificent presence That voice that began faint would gradually crescendo and eventually became recognizable and familiar, yet obscure. It was the same voice that soothed me after I mourned. Mourned to be loved gently. The way I would love another. Pure love without fear. This being presented itself before I stepped out into that oncoming traffic. Before I held my breath for as long as I could. I realized that this voice and presence was the comfort that accompanied me during my drought and famine. I was in the midst of my suffering and failed to realize that the TRUE god was with me all along. This was no god of a bible, but the god within me. I found myself filled with a steady beat that vibrated through my core and projected this vibration out into the world.
I worked my craft often enough to see massive growth and change. Every herb I prayed over and crushed sang a luminating radiance that pulled the tides of my tears into my magick. Every book I read left puzzle pieces that were a part of my ability to love myself. Every spell I casted banished low vibrational energy from my heart space. Each dance movement in my ceremonies broke apart the bricks of stagnant energy that filled up my body. I was finally able to breathe and feel myself wholly without apology. Each bath soak dissolved the tough cracked layer of thickened skin of my mind. I could think and feel. My body and soul were finally linked after what felt like eons. I gradually started to discover my worth. I would give a kind gesture to myself in the mirror as often as I could. I received a compliment from myself on the days I felt disfigured and impure. I received love from the sun as he kissed my cheeks during his grand rising. I started to notice the white puffy flowers in my neighbor’s lawn The sting of hot tea became more pleasant as I sipped and savored my favorite herbs. I became aware of the baby birds calling out to their mother while they awaited her return. The rain would sing to my soul as it cleansed the world and nourished the trees and plants. With every breath I took I received life from that promising source that continued to rumble within the abyss of me. I discovered myself in everything. The sun and moon. The soil, dirt, and flowers. The clouds. The winds. In destruction and rebirth. I discovered my divine feminine nature to receive and express my magnetism. I discovered that the power of my will being projected out into the universe brought about massive miracles. I manifested a mindset rooted in confidence and love. I realized the true nature of God and the reason for his absence occurred to me; God is not he nor is it an external being coming to save anyone. God is the nonbinary soul that transcends time and navigates through all dimensions that exist within this universe. God is the intangible heavens manifested into this nonphysical reality. God is me observing itself through a multiplicity of individuals. God is the soul that forges through its limitations with a bloodthirst for knowledge and wisdom. God is everything and everyone observing itself with the intent to rediscover itself, reclaim its divinity and evolve. It is divine order in divine chaos. God is infinite love. God is all.
I spent all that time in despair and suffered. I did not realize that those moments would soon become the catalysts for my transformation and evolution. I thought that death was the ticket out of that hell. However, what I failed to understand was that death is not limited to the termination of a life indefinitely. Death is the spirit that transports the soul into another dimension of life. It is the spirit that reminds us of our infiniteness by connecting the dots of each moment in our lives. It is the angel that showcases the fractals that construct our universe, thus revealing our unlimited potential. It shows us the significance of our essence and reminds us that although our waking life is a dreamworld, we are worthy of dreams filled with pleasantry and love. Death showed me the true nature of God and how I was a part of that essence. That beautiful black angel, Death, helped me to perceive my suffering from a higher octave. Where there is suffering, there is transcendence. I transcended beyond my pain and suffering by transmuting my traumas into treasures to help heal the world.
I am thankful for having traveled through the interstellar space of my mind. My perception of this world has permanently been altered. I can no longer fall into the belief that I was destined to have only negative experiences. Experiences are neither good nor bad. It is our perception of them as conscious beings that unfolds fear, sorrow, wisdom, and fulfillment. It is up to us to choose what energy to tap into. I mourned who I was and laid her to rest. She was the sacrifice needed for my evolution. I will always and forever be grateful for her bravery and courage to carry on despite her triumphs and tribulations. I am a warrior now because of her. <