Demons
hitched me out of my apartment the other summer so I roamed the streets of my
closest and favourite city, Liverpool. You can imagine my mental state at the
time. I’d gone beyond scared and became rather forlorn and desperate. The weather
wasn’t too bad, fortunately. It wasn’t cold or raining. I ended up having a
massive God moment in Stanley Park, which divides Everton’s and Liverpool’s
stadia. I was taking a slash in some bushes when I looked up at the GOODISON
PARK sign. A tree was obscuring the second ‘O’ in GOODISON, so it read GODISON.
Plus, the last four letters were obscured by leaves as well, so it just read
GOD. After this I sat on a bench and watched a family making a home video in
the grass. It was the most beautiful scenario I have ever seen. In the next
hour I found a church out of the blue and was welcomed into a service. A kind articulate
gentleman hugged me and prayed in tongues for me. As he did, God appeared in my
mind and said that my enemies plans “shall not succeed.”
The next day
I was housed by the church. In between, I got paid and saw all the city streets
light up in beautiful sunset. I spent three days with that church, praying with
all the Irish that were there. God was present with me, urging me not to go
back to my flat, my drugs, my porn, and my demons. But I did. I relapsed in a
hurry and ended up roaming around the psychiatric hospital grounds, begging to
be admitted, surrounded by the Devil, getting ultra-sonic pellets fired into my
brain constantly (tic-tacs). I was hearing satanic voices and hallucinating
floridly. It really was a steep fall from grace. One day I’d been with God and
the next I was with the Devil. The switch was horrible, I couldn’t believe the
change in me and I couldn’t believe my luck.
A few days
later I was sat in town, just about over this latest psychotic break, when my
niece walked past me with one of those tracksuits on which say JUICY on the
bum. It was the first time I’d seen her in a decade, since we chased frogs
together in her granddad’s garden, and my eyes watered instantly, upon sight. It
was the quickest tear I’ve ever shed, because she remembered me and smiled at
me. Then my little sister appeared! I walked her home, thinking to myself, this
is better than heaven and hell combined.
Being with
my little sister after living in Victory church and hanging around a mental
hospital in wicked psychosis was the best end result imaginable. I felt a
serene peace overcome me. It felt like I’d been taken hostage on one of those
Banged Up Abroad nightmares and come out the other side to be reunited with my
family. A wonderful feeling I shall never forget. She was like a little angel.
Her nickname is Perfecto.
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