My personal psychic experiences
In the beginning....
The sensation was not like actually hearing a voice. It was a voiceless voice that also carried an odd vibration to it. Somehow it translated into thoughts and there was this unmistakable feeling for communication, though I did not recognise it at the time.
Sometimes I would talk to them and I would get answered, though how much was my imagination back then, and how much was true, I don’t know.
One thing was for sure, I didn’t really take it all that seriously.
As a preteen, and then a young teen, I was drawn to things such as mind powers, self hypnosis, magic, etc, but I could never get into them. I’d maybe read a book, try out a technique or two, and then lose interest, as though I somehow felt it was not important to me.
I think it was around the age of 10 or 11, that the attacks started. My memory was a little fuzzy as to the details, but I do recall those feelings clearly. It felt like something was attacking my mind. It was like a clawing sensation. I resisted it. I feared that if I gave in, I would not be able to control what I might do.
As the months went on, the attacks grew stronger, and I started getting thoughts of creating shields. These shields were there to protect me and I would create inner shields and outer shields. However, while I believed they helped me, they did not stop the attacks, and they continued to grow stronger and stronger.
I recall, at one point, when I was 13, I took down all my shields, as I was feeling completely overwhelmed. I had no clue as to what was happening to me and I was playing it all by ear.
Then one day, at the end of 1977, I finally told my mother about what I was experiencing. I was then 13, and she took me seriously. At least, she took me seriously enough to mention it to a friend of hers, that we went on a holiday to.
This person was a Jehovah Witness. His name was Roy, and he had me speak to him about what I was experiencing. He told me that I was hearing the Devil, and that the only way I could defeat him was to call upon God to help me.
This both scared me and thrilled me at the same time. My sense of drama was, of course, kicking in. I took what he said very seriously and followed his advice. After that, barely a day would go by where I wouldn’t say: Satan, be gone. God please help me. It brought some relief, but not enough. The attacks still continued, and I felt I was losing the battle, slowly but surely.
For the next part, please choose form the links to the left.
