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What did I do? Concluded

Posted in Updates with tags , , , on July 17, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Things were pretty much as normal as they get for me until after I had graduated high school and I randomly ran into a girl I used to have the hots for. (For what it’s worth, she doubled in weight and proved to be screwier than I am. Hence the “used to” part. Shallow, maybe, but… eh.)

We got to talking, and the conversation meandered to something along the lines of how I either confused or flat out scared her now too. “You used to scare ME. What the hell did I do to a crazy punk rock girl like you?!” I started thinking, until she handed me a folded up note that she still kept with her. Turns out, it was a rambling suicide note, complete with illustrations, that I had passed her back in high school. The note was in my handwriting, but I cannot stress this enough, to this day I have no memory of ever writing or drawing anything on that damn piece of paper.

Rather stunned at the time, I stammered an apology, and did my best to save face. Needless to say I’m pretty sure that girl still thinks I’m a certified nutcase, but that’s the least of my worries. I now had two circumstances of doing some, well, scary stuff, and I cannot remember doing either of them. (There’s actually a third thing during the same time period that I know of that I have no memory of doing, but it’s significantly less morbid. A teacher was passing back assignments one morning, and I panicked because I didn’t remember the assignment, let alone doing it. Then he handed me back what I had turned in, a complete drawing, in my style, of my cat with an accompanying haiku. And nope, no memory of doing that, either. And, uh, yeah, back in the day I used to fancy myself as someone who could draw. Wanted to do it professionally an’ everything too. Now you know, I guess. That’s another story for another time though.)

Thinking back about it, I’ve tried to piece together the timeline to figure out what was going on.

1) Satanist phase begins
2) Offered up my soul to demons while extremely distraught
3) I said something to the religious girl
4) I wrote a rambling suicide note.
5) Stepped in a church for the first time in years.
6) Confronted with evidence of things done between Steps 2 and 5 that I cannot remember.

So. Yeah. You may have a few theories of your own as to what happened. And I have mine. To be perfectly honest, I think I actually got myself possessed.

I’m serious.

You can stop laughing.

Or I’ll just wait here.

Anyway. I fully admit I’ve done some outlandish things in my life. I’ve pretended to cast really-real-world spells in front of a crowd. I’ve spread rumors that I was going to sacrifice classmates. I’ve tried to commit suicide multiple times. I’ve gone into a mental ward of my own free will, twice. I cosplay. And I can vividly remember all of it.

But when it comes down to whatever the hell I said to that religious girl, to this day I am at a complete loss. I don’t even remember approaching her the night I’m told I scared her shitless, let alone ever saying anything to her.

And you know when you can at least think of your frame of mind or the experience of creating something? Yeah, none of that for that damned suicide note.

Call it what you will. But at this point I’m pretty much convinced I got myself possessed by… something. And whatever that something was took control during that conversation and the creation of that note. (And I realize that having no memory of drawing the cat sort of throws off the dark theme of the other two occasions, but I wouldn’t have brought any of this up to begin with if it made sense.) And remember what I said about feeling a little funny right after walking into a church for the first time in years? I think that’s when I, well, when I induced a self exorcism. Entering that holy ground got rid of whatever hitched a ride with me.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part. But it’s equal parts frightening and fascinating to me that this happened. Losing control when you’re, say, drunk has the potential to be sort of fun. Suddenly losing control and having no idea what you did for a few minutes one night when you’re completely sober is, well, scary. And I only know about these three events because they were brought to my attention after the fact. For all I know there could be other things I did during this period of time that I have no memory of. And that’s like… a plot point out of some weird mystery based video game.

On the other hand, if I did manage to “invoke” something that night, even on a small scale, the possibilities are endless. So it’s not throwing a fireball. Big deal. Seriously, even if minor “parlor tricks” are the only kind of “magic” possible, that’s still something. And if there is even the slightest possibility that I have done something legitimately mystical, exploring that further is something that I would actually consider life worth living for. Never mind how amused I’d be if something out there actually has a claim on my soul due to whatever I did all those years ago. (So I have a weird fascination with demons and the concept of Hell too. What harm could that possibly do?)

Are there other explanations for what happened? Probably. Are any of them more viable than my possession theory? Did I somehow manage, accidentally or intentionally, to block so many events from my memory on my own? Did my time in the mental ward have something to do with it? I haven’t had any mental block episodes since, so I really don’t know. Granted I haven’t tried any invocations since either, so maybe I should see if I can do it again?



What did I do?

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on July 10, 2013 by Johnny Broken

I haven’t been “religious” for a very long time, and it’s arguable that I ever really was legitimately religious in the first place. Grew up in a Catholic family, and just sort of followed along as directed to church and private school and whatnot. I had been losing interest in the blind faith I’d been brought up on for years by the time my Satanist phase hit, but the thing is, I’ve always had an interest in all things mythological.

These days, I call myself a pagan, if anything. I don’t follow any regular practices, but I like to think that I’m significantly more open minded than most when it comes to whatever someone can have faith in, as long as they don’t try to push it on me. Hard to say what I believe as far as what’s out there though, as the only thing I’m certain of is that there is a “high power” out there and it hates me. But I do like reading up on as many different concepts as I can, which probably stems from my longstanding fascination with the mystical and magical.

So let me just get this out of the way now. Yes, I want to believe magic is possible. Real life is too boring for EVERYTHING written about the supernatural and magic (or magick, whatever) to be completely fake. To that end, I have been building my own collection of magic related books, but I don’t have anything like the musty old tomes of wonder you’d see in a movie, mind you. Though I would give an arm to get something like that. I figure that if I keep sifting through enough crap, eventually I have to find something that actually works.

Anyway, I had a point for bringing this up and probably losing most of you as soon as I said magic. But I need to set up a little more context to my mindset nowadays and at the time.

Another thing to keep in mind is that for as much as I generally don’t like going out in public or to parties or to commonplace events (like sports), I do like my niche crowd stuff. Geek conventions, Renaissance Faires, concerts, people I know doing things I find fun, that’s the stuff I will go out of my way to get to. And since I was a kid, one of the things that bugged the ever living hell out of me is knowing that there’s something that I WANT to go to, but for whatever reason, I can’t make it. That’s when the feeling of missing out hits me.

Back when I was dating #5, there was a double date night set up. My friend #6 and his girl were already at their place, and #5 was there too, waiting for me. But the weather forecast that night wasn’t the greatest, and I didn’t have a car that night for reasons I can’t quite remember. So as luck would have it, my getting out to this double date depended on my mother. Which wasn’t happening because of the weather. To put it lightly, I was furious. After an hour or so of arguing and yelling and angsting over the situation, I was at my wits end, which gave me an idea.

I’d been reading about how to invoke spirits, and considering how distraught I was at the time, I figured it was as good a night as any to try. So for the next, well, I don’t remember how long, but I spent a good long time offering up an improvised and heartfelt prayer (yes, oddly enough THIS would be the first time I ever really meant a prayer) to whatever ancient spirit of evil was listening. I don’t remember what I asked for, if anything, but I do remember offering up my soul. When I couldn’t think of anything else to say to whatever demons may have been listening, I shambled off to play some video games and left it at that.

I basically blew off the whole ordeal, if not outright forgot about it, until a few months later. Half asleep on the way home, I drifted on the road, and was abruptly knocked out of my daze by the sound of metal scraping metal. I whipped around to notice that I had actually drifted into another car. Jerking the wheel straight, I started to panic. Oh god, I thought, I was going to be in trouble for damaging someone’s car or my own car or something. Fearing the worst, for whatever reason this time, I felt the need to offer up a prayer to whatever benevolent force might be listening. I’d go to church for the first time in years and I’d turn my life around if nothing ever came of that horrible metallic scraping noise.

I got home, and couldn’t find any damage on the car. The next morning, no one woke me up for an explanation as to why someone was calling about damage to their car. Relieved to no end, I decided that if I had just experienced some divine intervention, I was going to follow up on my end of the bargain. And yeah, I made it to a mass within a few days for the first time in a long, long time. I want to say I did feel odd for a moment as soon as I set foot inside the church, but I think at the time I figured it was just, y’know, feeling awkward about being in a church. Might have had something to do with my having spent months coming up with crazy stories to tell my classmates about how I worshipped the Devil.

An indeterminate amount of time after I walked into a church for the first time in years, I was talking to a friend from my time with the public high school’s theatre group, and a female friend of his came up. I vaguely remembered her acting very oddly around me, and I asked my friend about this. He was antsy at first and didn’t want to talk about it, which of course really only increased my curiosity. Eventually I got an answer out of him, which only made things… worse. His female friend, who was kind of devoutly religious, was apparently terrified of me because of something I said to her, possibly regarding the Satanic Bible. Other people were able to verify this story, though no one would confirm exactly what I said.

The thing is, to this day I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of EVER talking to this girl. Never mind saying anything so dramatic that she’d be scared shitless of me. As a favor to my friend I never approached the girl about it, but if nothing else, this whole ordeal did add significantly to my dark and mysterious persona at the time.


*scans up the post*

I seem to have been rambling on here for a long time already and I haven’t even gotten to what actually freaks me out about all this. So tune in next week, same evil time, same evil blog, for other two stories about things I don’t remember doing and my rather offbeat theory about what really happened.