I'm certainly not trying to diminish anyone's experience either so please forgive me if I come across that way in any form or fashion. My story is no better or no worse than anyone's. It's just my story. The apostle Paul wrote he was the chiefest of sinners, changed by God, to show God's incredible and infinite mercy to all men. This is a story of other people's sin put upon me and I share this story, like Paul shared his, to show God's incredible healing power in my life. What I feel people need to know is that this subject is real. It does happen. It happened to me.

Over the course of the past several years, I have been counseling with my pastor. This is a process. For some, healing and deliverance come all at once. You will see the Lord mentioned in my story as I've already referred to. He is taking me through a process because, as given to me in a prophetic word, if He would deal with everything all at once, it would destroy me. All scripture as it is written, is truthful and trustworthy for instruction, so therefore, as scripture teaches, I will do all my boasting in the Lord. I'm not trying to take pot shots at other people's religious beliefs here so please don't think I am.

This is hard. This is graphic. This is painful (but surprisingly not as painful as I thought it might be). This is also glorious and it is to the desired end that other people will be encouraged in hope, that I share my story. I tried to condense things as best I could and explained things when needed. I apologize for its length but I hope it blesses you.

Truly as God exists, so does satan. (I purposefully do not capitalize his name). Several times he has tried to take my life, such as a failed suicide attempt. As an infant, and again as a young child, I was delivered out of the hands of kidnappers. I have a long history of emotional abuse from my mother too, which all play a part in who I am so that's the only reason I mention them in this story but I 'm trying to keep this to sexual abuse, per the nature of this site. (These information tidbits are freebies!) Where things begin, start when I was a baby.

I was a collicky baby and again one night, I was screaming and I guess that, the fumes of lead based paint from a freshly painted hallway, and my dad being away on business, were all too much for mom. It is true, (whether you believe it or not, it doesn't matter), demons exist. I believe they were behind everything that happened to me. My mother tried to suffocate me with a pillow that night. (To save room, the Lord showed me this and when I confronted my mother with it, she confirmed everything right to my face. That was a hard day. In fact, it was March 15th, the ides of March. Remember Shakespeare? How fitting a day to reveal that?!). I believe it was the Lord who stopped her hand but for whatever reason, she stopped and got me to the hospital. The loss of oxygen to my brain caused me many medical problems, including seizures. (Again, to save room, I won't go into detail how the Lord healed my epilepsy in 1996!). The treatment for seizures back in those days were pheno-barbital suppositories.

My mother had no qualms about humiliating me in public or wherever to pull down my pants and stuff a capsule in my rear when it was time, which of course I didn't appreciate. My older, bigger cousin seemed to think this was pretty funny. They didn't live far from us since my uncle and dad are twins etc., so we saw them a lot unfortunately. (Mimicking my mother I assume?), my cousin deemed it quite humorous to get me alone and stuff things in my rear, like toothbrushes. He would give me choices of soft, medium, or hard insertion. No matter what he thought, all of them really hurt a lot, but screaming, or telling etc. were not options. This lasted for a long time. Again, I want to keep this as brief as possible but these are a few things that abuse developed into.

As we got older, things got worse, all under the strict adherence to silence or "face the consequences" so to speak. Several times, it was the "handle end" of screwdrivers. Sometimes it was fingers. Sometimes my bare rear would be whipped with a belt. I would be forced to strip and go out back and he wouldn't unlock the door unless I agreed to do as he wished. It led to the fondling of each other's genitals and performing oral sex. It led to rubbing our genitals together and his rubbing them on my rear end. I've had ejaculate on my genitals, on my face, and on my rear.

I thought it could never get any worse and luckily, that's as far as it went. I never told anyone and thought that was the complete end of it when we finally moved away. But the memories haunted me. As bad as all that was, and never in my little pea sized brain could I ever imagine anything worse, but something much worse did happen. It happened when I was in the 6th grade, at the hands of 6 homosexual, 8th grade football players.

That day was unbelievable. When I first had to acknowledge this with my pastor, it was tough, very tough and it still is tough to fully describe the graphic, specific details of what was one of the worst days of my life. However, I find I've pretty well gotten through the anger, hurt, and wanting to pursue getting even with everyone responsible. Anywhere would have been tragic but seemingly more unbelievable, it happened at school, in the guitar room.

The back practice room seemed dark as we entered it. The guitar teacher was holed up in his office. The others in the class were off doing who knows what. Two of my friends and I thought the jocks wanted to include us in something and we thought that might be cool. Although each one of those athletes was twice our size and they out-numbered us 2 to 1, there was no sense of foreboding as they led us back to the most private of the practice rooms. Because you had to go through 2 other rooms to get to it, it was very secluded and easily guarded.

They asked us to sit down with 4 of them in the room standing over us, and 2 standing guard, just outside the door. They told us to put our arms around each other. When I refused, one of them slapped me around a bit and then ordered us to put our arms around each other or else they'd kick our asses. So we did. I saw the same hesitation in the other's faces but we all consented and did as we were told. "Now tell each other you love each other and we did that too. "Now prove it by kissing each other" I felt right there that if I had fought back, I'd get my ass kicked, yet maybe I would get to go free but then memories of my dad once telling me never to get into a fight overruled me and I thought that if I don't do what they say, I'll get my ass kicked too. Memories of the day a friend kicked my ass for rightfully returning to another friend the toy gun he stole from him flooded my memory. Not ever wanting to have that done again, especially by 6 guys who each were twice my size, I consented and submitted. Why the other's did too, I don't know. Then thoughts of remorse about not fighting back grew stronger but they were erased by questions of what's going to happen next, and what's going to happen further, especially if I don't comply. I was swimming in confusion. Those questions were soon answered.

They had one of my friends stand up and drop his pants. They made us all do these things to each other in turn. It led to kissing the tip of the penis, licking the scrotum, and rubbing the penis on another person's bottom. At first it seemed that's as far as it would go but I was wrong. Then the jocks took their turn. Being much bigger than us, of course their penis's were bigger too. They made us suck them until they ejaculated in our mouths and made us swallow their semen of course. Then they sodomized us. The feeling of semen in my anus was the most repulsive thing I could ever experience and I had no way of getting it out. All I wanted was to get out of there. I was so confused. I couldn't even pray. (It is written the Holy Spirit intercedes for us with groaning too deep for words. Perhaps that is what happened?) Something changed and I don't know why. For some reason, they were willing to let me go but not my friends. Everything inside me told me to fight for them no matter what the cost but then thoughts about fighting and the possible results came flooding back and I did nothing. I looked at them with pity and solemnly walked out the door as they reluctantly embraced each other again at the command of the jocks.

I was stunned, ashamed, disoriented, hurt, and bewildered as I slowly walked out to the main classroom, wondering if there were any tell tale signs as to what happened to me, and what kind of fate awaited my friends. The teacher was still holed up in his office and the other kids were busy in their activities. I doubted anyone even noticed who was "gone", let alone knowing no one noticed me as I slowly walked out the classroom door into an empty hall. I ducked into a restroom to await our next class and really spent the rest of the day in a daze of almost unbelief or something like that.

I later saw one friend in Math class. I was so mad at him for not fighting back where I was too weak to fight for myself that I just took the quickest revenge so to speak I could find. I put a pen in his chair, upon which he sat of course. He embarrassingly had to go to the school nurse about it. But that didn't calm my internal rage. Nor did tripping my second friend in the hall later on the way to English class. It did however embarrass him because when he fell, his books went all over the place. That was still not enough to "appease" my anger and other emotions and at the end of the day, I was walking home still in a contemplative daze.

I was trying to think of someone I could tell. I couldn't have told any of the teachers or the principal because they wouldn't believe me. I figured they would support their hero jocks anyway. I couldn't tell my friends. They would laugh at me for sure. I couldn't tell my dad. He'd either get mad at me for fighting, or worse, he'd think I was a wimp. So who would understand? I thought my mother would have been the one person I could tell. That was a farce. The only response I got from her was "I don't care to take the time or the energy to deal with any problems right now." A part of me died that day. It really did.

A quick side bar, A couple of years later, one of those guys, was killed in a car accident. The only reason that I went to the funeral was because his sister and my sister were friends so my mom made us all go. I remember seeing him laying in that casket and there was peace on his face. I was so mad at God for giving him peace. Besides that day in the guitar room, there were times, like say at the gym, when I'd be sitting on the floor, when he would come up to me(other people as well) in public, sit on my head and pass wind, to which all his buddies and anyone else watching would laugh, which added to the humiliation. I really don't know how angry I was. That's the history.

So how does it affect me now? Let's just keep things brief. I have found myself swimming in emotional confusion a lot. It affects how I relate to athletes, women, family, everyone really.

The Lord has done a number of things to address this. I remember the first night the Lord brought it up and I cried all night long from the shock and the pain of reliving that horrid event. He brought it up several times. Each time the Lord touched that pain, it felt like a sharp stabbing to the very depths of my gut. I felt so sick, I couldn't even kneel, I was just doubled over in pain. I knew He was bringing these things up in order to address them, heal them, and to set me free from them. He repeated it again at one of our New Year's Eve services.

He showed me a vision of those boys this time and I started to kick and beat them, one at a time and I was loving it! I was pulverizing the first one, who happened to be the one who died. I beat him and kicked him so hard he fell on the ground, laying motionless, but that wasn't good enough for me. In this vision, I kicked him some more while he was down. I then picked him up to beat him some more, (not even getting to the second one yet mind you), and I turned him around to pulverize his face some more but it wasn't him, it was Jesus. He said 'No, I died for them too. If you are going to beat anybody then beat me". I just cried out in deep repentance, "Lord, please remove the hate from my heart."

It's still a very tough struggle to overcome but I do have a punching bag, an incredibly gracious pastor, and a very loving God to help me through it. I firmly believe it was the Lord who led me to this web site at this time. He brings things up, does a work, and then we come around again, each time for a deeper healing of my soul. As I find the grace to forgive, (I've made my own judgments although it was their sin placed upon me, and nothing that I did wrong), I am finding the Lord is delivering me and setting me free to love, and be loved, especially in my marriage, the way He intended it to be. I have had to forgive everyone involved of course, my mother too, even myself. I hope one day the Lord will give me the opportunity to ask my friends forgiveness for deserting them that day. I can only pray the Lord heal them of the horrors they had to suffer then, and may still suffer today. I look forward to the day when this is finished and not only will I have survived, but I will be completely healed and whole!

You too can be healed and whole. I was told that witchcraft was the exercise of control of one over another. The people in my story are not evil people. They were influenced by demonic forces, like the spirit of insanity that drove my mother to try to kill me, or the vampire spirit which seeks to drain the life out of others to death, that I allowed to dwell in me and thus fed the hatred I had in my heart toward her. It is written we struggle not with flesh and bone, but spirit. Isn't it true that that God created all things for good, and the things that are especially good, like a healthy sexual relationship, satan tries to pervert and destroy (if he can't destroy us) so we do not have the abundant life in them that we're supposed to have? Some may still wonder why we were even put on this earth. The answer is simple. We were created for love, in love, and by love. We love because we were first loved and we are lovable. The marks the enemy puts upon us, they have power in our lives but that power can be broken and rendered void. The key is to assign blame where it is due by acknowledging that "so and so" put their sin upon me and it was not my fault. (Just like Jesus had the sin of the world placed on Him on the cross). Then, as Jesus did, forgive them for what they did. It renders their power over you null and void and you can be free to love and to be loved. (Case in point, since I've forgiven my mother, she treats me a whole lot better!). We don't have to be just survivors, we can be healed and be whole, (that's why I write this). It is written we overcome by the blood of the lamb and the word of our testimony. That blood was shed 2000 years ago on a cross. I can see my hope and joy is beginning to turn this into a sermon so I'll stop now to save space but I hope my testimony of today has blessed you.