@palasta: The fairytale is the promised land and the return of the messiah which religious nutjobs in Isreal and in the US use as a pretext for the genocide of Palestinians.

I'm not an holocaust denier if that's what you're implying.

Y'all need our Trudeau, he'll confiscate all your trillion of guns, and ruin the country at the same time.

Trump assassinated an Iranian general. That almost got us into a war with Iran.

Holy f***!

Okay, so, some of this is going to seem a bit strange, even wild, and some of it random. But I assure you it is all connected, every event. I thank you for taking the time to read it all. I hope that it does something for you.

When I was young, a little child, I started having episodes in the middle of the night. I would wake up shrieking, tearing at my clothes. My parents would come to me but would not be able to do anything for me. They found me in unresponsive states, terrified, beyond panic. I would scream until I lost my voice, until I exhausted myself, then fall back into deep sleep. I have no memory of any of it; I know what happened because my parents told me. These episodes went on and on, night after night. I was taken to the doctor, but the results were inconclusive. We were told it was night terrors, and that they didn't know the cause, but that it would pass, eventually. Time went on, the episodes continued. I began to sleepwalk. I would come find my mother, wherever she was in the house. I would just stand there and look at her, in a somnambulant state. She would bring me back to bed. Then, later, I would wake up shrieking again. In the morning I would have no memory of anything.

Eventually, the episodes did stop. Then, at a point in time, I was assaulted by a family member. I won't go into it specifically, other than to say, it happened in my bedroom, late in the night. I slept in the same room as this family member. We had trundle beds. At some point in the night, this person would climb into my bed, or pull me into their bed, and assault me. Just how long this went on for, I do not really know. Much of it is suppressed in my mind, to this day. I was very young. The assaults could have happened earlier than I realize, and they could be the reason for the night terrors. I don't really know. It led to many, many years of nightmares. Really bad nightmares. It also led to other things, personality-wise, gender-wise, sexually, mentally, physically, etc.

Things started to happen. I started to hear things, see things, always in bed, always at night. On one night in particular, I woke up and saw my mother standing in the dark in the bedroom doorway. I was around 8 or 9, I think. I got up and went to her, but when I looked up at her, I saw it was not my mother. It was a woman in a white gown, staring down at me. She was a stranger. I was frightened. I don't remember what else happened that night. I only remember her standing there, staring down at me with a stony look on her face. Whether this really happened, or something was broken in my head, I don't really know. It certainly felt real.

Shortly thereafter, on another night, I woke up again. Everything was red. I mean, everything looked red, the walls, the ceiling, my bed, everything. I could not move. I heard shrieking laughter, and a deep voice, mocking me, taunting me. I got sick. It went on all night, me unable to move, seeing red, hearing the laughter, the voice. Eventually, it all just stopped, and I could move again. As with the woman in white, I don't know if this really happened, or if I was....I have no idea, really. I kept this one a secret from my parents, at least the part about the laughter and the voice.

At a later point in time, I was taken to a church by my parents. It was Christmas Eve. There was a candle vigil of sorts. I held a lit candle, listening to the pastor, and something began to happen. The pastor's voice sounded strange, distorted. Then I could not hear him anymore. I saw what looked kind of like snakes, wiggling before my eyes. I fell down, hit my head on a floor vent. I had no control of my body. It was a seizure of sorts, though I do not have a seizure condition. Later, I was taken home. The next day, I was fine.

After that, I began to change. I began having nightmares. I would dream of wolves vomiting. Of people vomiting. Of people sexually assaulting other people, torturing other people, skinning people alive, eating them, vomiting up what they ate and eating it again, and so forth. Eventually I would have these dreams every night. I kept it to myself. The dreams bothered me so much, I would be unable to eat. I ate very little in those days. I started writing things, drawing things. I would draw pictures of Jesus, being mutilated. Of other people being mutilated, raped, destroyed. I wrote stories in the same vein, many stories. I became obsessed with death, and everything perverse. I hated Jesus Christ with a passion. It was hard to understand that hatred; it was powerful, seemingly unquenchable. My hatred of even the concept of God moved me to distraction. I began to study the occult. I practiced black magic. I cast spells, or tried to, on my peers. This went on through middle school, and all through high school. My senior project was on Enochian magic, with emphasis on the keys.

I left my hometown and moved to a big city, San Francisco. I delved deeper and deeper into the occult, reading a library worth of books, from Manly Hall, to Blavatsky, to Eliphas Levi, and so forth. I studied the mystery schools, the mystery religions, the Greek dark ages, Eleusinian mysteries, the work of Julian the Apostate, the mithraists, the writings of Marcus Terentius, Saturn, Isis, the Veil, Hinduism, Zoroastrianism, the Taoists, the Sikhs, Shinto, and on and on. Many bad things happened in those days. I did many bad things. I don't need to go into it. Suffice to say, I was opposed to God. I thought the entire story of God, and even God Himself, was a sham, a mere lie perpetuated over and over, added to, reconstructed, falsified. I became an alcoholic. But I became much worse than that.

Then, one day, I came home to the sublet where I lived, laid down on my bed, and fell asleep. At some point, I opened my eyes, and I could not move bodily. The only thing I could move was my eyes themselves. Beside the bed, floating in the middle of the room, was a black triangle. It looked like a pyramid. Voices were coming out of the triangle, deep, scratchy, hate-filled. One of them was laughing at me. Another one was saying my name, over and over. I felt something climb on top of me, onto my back. It groped me, scratched at me, hissed in my ear. It was an assault, but a very strange one. I could barely breathe. I could not speak. I fought, and fought, to gain control of my body, at which point, the triangle vanished, the voices stopped, the assault stopped, and I could breathe again.

Then it happened again, and again, and again. I would see different shapes, different forms, but the voices and the nature of the attacks were always the same. Scratching, hissing, laughing, shrieking, groping, molesting. Eventually, I could not go to sleep a single night without waking up paralyzed, and everything happening all over again. I did some research and came to realize that I was experiencing sleep paralysis, and had been long before I even knew, maybe going back all the way to childhood, but had somehow pushed it out of my mind; suddenly, the memories of it simply began popping into my awareness. My drinking got worse. I would drink until I blacked out, sleep for half the day, then wake up frozen, feeling like I was being raped by something invisible. I became depressed. I ended up in the hospital, with an IV in my arm. Eventually, I ended up at a different kind of doctor, but this did not go on for long. I didn't let it go on.

The attacks, the paralysis, continued, night after night, day after day. It culminated in a nervous breakdown, which would not be my only one. Recovery took a long time. When I recovered, I went right back to drinking. The attacks never stopped. They got worse, and worse. Then, out of nowhere, I met my partner in life. A girl that loves me, and whom I love. She stuck with me through hell. I mean hell for her, far more than me, and in multiple ways. I would probably be dead without her.

My studies in the occult did not stop, nor did my substance abuse. Nor the sleep paralysis attacks, or the nightmares. All of it worsened, but there were periods that were better than others. I got a job helping people, working in the projects a lot, and that kind of straightened me up a bit. I eventually left the city with this girl, moved across the country. We got married. Things were looking up. The sleep paralysis kind of halted for a while; then it came back, worse than ever. I went back to blackout drinking. My dreams were filled with gore, death, mutilation, rape, and so on. I realized I was heading for another breakdown, could feel the signs of it nearing. The sleep paralysis was on another level at this time. It felt like I was being sexually assaulted every time I woke up, but other things were happening, things that didn't happen before. I called it the "razor blade voice". It sounded like a voice coming from ragged, soggy vocal chords. It told me, repeatedly, that Christ could not save me. I was confused, honestly. I was not looking for Christ, or anyone, to save me. It wasn't even a thought. And yet this voice kept saying it, "Christ cannot save you". I would be lying there, in the bed, unable to move, seeing black shapes floating around the room, feeling claws on my skin, hearing shrieking, laughter, cursing, being groped, assaulted--and then, "Christ cannot save you".

This went on, and on. My mental state declined greatly. Then, at one point, something of a different nature occurred. I awakened one morning, and there was a presence in the room, but it was decidedly different from the other experiences. I’m not sure if I could not move, or simply did not wish to move. The presence was on my bed with me, and I was lying in its arms. It’s hard to describe, as I couldn’t see it very well; there was a kind of dark haze in the room. The presence felt feminine, motherly. There was something draping me, like a broad robe, or, strange as it may sound, wings. That’s the best I can describe it. I heard a voice, and it told me simply that everything was going to be okay, that I would pull through. Then, the presence was gone, the haze in the room was gone, and I was wide awake, in bed alone.

After that, the sleep paralysis went on as usual, but really bad. My wife, who would get up early in the morning to leave for work, told me that I was sitting up in the middle of the night, and would start speaking. But I wouldn’t speak English. She did not know the language. She just said it sounded old, and middle eastern, maybe. I know no other languages. This happened several times. How it happened, what it means, I have no clue.

Then, quite suddenly, everything changed. Not just in the present, but in my life in general. I woke up one morning, and was, again, paralyzed. There was a shape of some sort along the wall, and another blocking the doorway, I think. I could see it in the corner of my eye. Then I felt something climb onto the bed. I could hear the bed springs creaking. This thing, person, whatever, climbed onto my back, and did the usual, groping, scratching, hissing, etc. But then it started to choke me, and bear down on me, pushing me into the mattress. I felt a huge weight on me. I don’t know what it was in that moment, really, other than maybe I finally had had enough. I guess I reached a breaking point. I did something unexpected, something that surprised me. I cried out for help. I could not speak really, so the words sounded like gagging. But I was speaking from my heart more than my mouth if that makes any sense. I said, “Jesus help me”. I had never said that before. I did not pray to Jesus, did not accept Jesus, was not a Christian at the time. If anything, I was against Jesus. Yet, here I was, calling out to him. Something inside of me, deep down, spoke in my place, it almost felt like. What happened then was, well, miraculous. I have no other way of describing it. In the past, over the years, getting out of a sleep paralysis situation was enormously difficult. I would have to fight for every inch of control over my body, starting with my fingers, and working my way up, struggling for breath. But this time, everything just stopped at once. I simply called on Jesus, and the sleep paralysis, the presence in the room, the scratching, hissing, and so forth—all of it was immediately gone. I just stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what just happened. Then, I prayed. Not specifically to Jesus, but to God. I was not, to say the least, in the habit of praying. I didn’t even know what to say. I asked God to never let the sleep paralysis come back. I told Him I could not take it anymore, that this was my limit. I begged Him to lift it from my life.

The next night, or the next morning, rather, nothing happened. No paralysis, no presence, nothing. And the morning after, and after that, and so forth. The sleep paralysis was gone. After suffering it nearly every time I slept for most of my life, it was suddenly not happening anymore. I still did not accept Jesus, and, as such, I did not pray to him. But there was no doubt in my mind that Jesus took the sleep paralysis away from me. After years and years and years of suffering through it, all I had to do was call on Christ, and that took care of it. I was blown away, and more than a bit confused. I began to pray to God now and again, just little prayers, stumbling through them, still not knowing really what to say. I kept drinking, and everything else. Life went on as usual, except for that one aspect. The relief was immense. All of a sudden, a nervous breakdown did not seem imminent anymore. But I was still, to some degree, wary of the sleep paralysis returning.

Three years, give or take, went by, and no sleep paralysis. Not a single occurrence. Now, I was praying to God quite regularly, but still not praying to Jesus, still not accepting him. I feel as though I was testing him, which I don’t like to say, but it is the truth. I was waiting to see if the paralysis would ever come back. It didn’t, of course, and after those three years, something in me began to soften up. My heart began to soften. I was moving toward Christ, or rather, I had been for a while, but now I was very close to him. My wife and I had left our apartment and moved into a house. We had a child. One night, I went for a walk. I was heading down a dark, isolated road, one that I walked regularly. A kind of voice, inside of me, told me that I was about to face a fearful situation, but that I should not be afraid. I trusted this voice, so I walked forth, unafraid. At one point along the road, something came out of the darkness at my side. It was a dog, a really large one. A black dog. I had never seen it before, despite having come down this road many times. It snarled and charged me, but I did not move. I did not feel afraid. I simply looked at it, and it looked at me, then it turned around and went the other way. It was gone. I kept walking, feeling odd, but not in a bad way. A scene from a movie popped into my head. I could not stop thinking about it, for some reason. In the scene, one character is talking to another, who is afraid to do something. The one that is afraid eventually does what he is afraid of, and the other character, proud of him, says, “My man.” Those words, “my man”, played on a loop in my head for the rest of my walk. When I got home, I opened the front door and saw my son, who was very young at the time, standing at the top of the staircase. My son looked down at me, and in his little boy’s voice, said, “my man”. I felt like I was dreaming, like this was not real. But it was real. My wife was right there, and she heard it, too. I told her what had happened on my walk, and she didn’t know what to make of it, nor did I. But I knew that something was happening. And it was happening to me.

Much later that night, I took the trash out. I was heading back inside to go to bed, and I started to feel something above me, as though something was literally hovering there, but looking up, I saw nothing. The feeling grew stronger with each step. At the bottom of the driveway, I stopped walking. It was a presence above me, one that I could not see, but could distinctly feel. I was not afraid, really, but at the same time, I felt a sense of power—immense power. I had never felt anything like this before. I didn’t hear words, exactly, but I nonetheless felt that I was told to take off my shoes, and to kneel on both knees. So, at two in the morning, out in the cold, I took off my shoes, and got on my knees. I was not completely sure of what I was even doing, or how to do it, but I opened my mouth, and I proclaimed that Jesus Christ is my lord and savior. Unsure of what more to say, I began to speak again, but all at once, something rushed into me, and I stopped speaking, mid-sentence. I felt this thing enter through my chest, and begin to spread throughout my body, upward into my head, outward and downward into my arms, hands, legs, feet. I can describe it best as cool fire. My entire body tingled. I could not speak, nor even think. I was frozen in place, my mouth hanging open. I felt a sense of love, and of strength, that is indescribable. I also felt an immense sense of relief, as though I was being held by the most trustworthy, most powerful hands that one can imagine. Tears flowed from my eyes, covering my face. I cannot tell you how long this went on for. I was kneeling for a while. Then, the feeling lifted, and I could suddenly think again. A kind of voice told me to get to my feet, and to go to bed. I stood up and put my shoes on and did as I was told. My knees were wobbling.

The next day, I was standing in the driveway, in the same place where I knelt the night before. I was holding my son in my arms. My son wanted to play with the wind chimes hanging from our patio roof, so I walked over to them. While he was playing with the chimes, the voice from the night before, the one that told me to stand up, spoke to me again. This time, it told me to look up, straight above. I did so and saw something I had never seen before. Directly above the house was a rainbow, but not a normal rainbow. It was in the shape of a disc, perfectly round, solid, rainbow-colored. I stood there looking at it, and my son looked at it, too. A few minutes later my wife came outside, and she looked at it. I told her what happened the night before, that I gave my life to Christ. The circular rainbow eventually faded away. We all went on a walk, and when we got back to the house, my wife and son went inside, and I stayed in the backyard. I sat in a chair and looked up at the sky, where the rainbow had been. It was a clear sky that day, mostly blue. As I was looking up, water began to fall on my face, and in my hair. It was not rain, as there were no rain clouds, and the ground around me was dry. I touched my face, covered with this strange water. Again, I felt a huge sense of comfort, of relief. I had come to Christ, and I was saved. I knew it, implicitly. I knew that God is real, that Christ is real, and that the Holy Spirit is real. I knew this beyond any shadow of doubt.

Eventually, my wife accepted Christ, as well. The cornerstone of our home, and of our lives, is Jesus Christ. The sleep paralysis never returned. I have my issues I am still working through; I am, quite certainly, a work in progress. But I know that everything is conquerable through Christ.

In the name of Yeshua, amen.

True, it's never going to go anywhere. To say there was anything to "fall apart" in the first place would be getting ahead of ourselves.