I hadn't invited the Thought. It seemed a culmination of events had led to leaving the door slightly ajar, able to be pushed in from the outside. Feelings of betrayal from friends, stress at work and home, and doubt were likely suspects, but not enough to explain the barrage of negative and aggressive thoughts, the usual suspects: "It's useless. You'll never amount to anything. Better off without you. You have no one. You are alone. Just get it over with already and quit wasting our time." Everything just seemed to be going down. I lay in bed and stared at the wall. Tears had dried up hours ago but I was weary and had trouble moving out of bed.
My mom watched the kids and Deb came upstairs. I tried to talk for a while, and told her about the Thought, but it didn't assuage anything. "I think you are under spiritual attack," she said. I continued to stare at the wall. Up until recently I had been carrying my rosary with me in my pocket everywhere and praying it every night after Deb's mom died, but had not the past few days. If I was vulnerable, it would make sense that such an attack was coming when I had left "the weapon," as St. Pio referred to it, at home.
I tried to speak, but my mouth wouldn't open. I pushed the words out but they muffled against the inside of my teeth. "What?" Deb said. I forced them through a slight opening between my lips. "Brngmemyrsry." "What?" I pushed and pushed the words out, a kind of verbal constipation and pressure. Why was this so hard. Finally I shouted, "BRING ME MY ROSARY" followed by a series of growls. It was so strange, but not completely unfamiliar. I was pretty sure at this point Deb was right, something was at work, but at least the problem was diagnosed and the will had been exercised to take action, albeit painfully so.
We started to pray the Glorious Mysteries since it was Sunday, meditating on the life of Christ and His mother with each bead fingered. As we prayed with focused deliberation, it occurred to me that each of the mysteries was serving as an antidote for the spiritual battle waging.
I had lost faith. The spiritual fruit of the First Glorious Mystery--the Resurrection--was FAITH.
I was filled with a sense of hopelessness. The fruit of the Second Mystery--the Ascension--was HOPE.
My love of God was growing cold. The Third Mystery--the Descent of the Holy Spirit--promised LOVE OF GOD.
Thoughts of taking my life filled my head. The promise of the Fourth--The Assumption of the BVM? A HAPPY DEATH.
Mary, the enemy of Satan, was not on my mind until now. The Fifth Glorious Mystery--the Coronation--assured her INTERCESSION in times of trouble.
As soon as we began to pray, and for the next twenty minutes, the darkness that had cloaked me, had settled and made a blanket over my mind, began to lift like a fog. I can't explain it, but I know it came from the outside-in in this case; the thoughts, the voices...they seemed foreign, like they came out of nowhere and did not belong. Seeing the Devil's tactics exposed was a grace in itself, for in doing so God reveals how he can be countered.
Pope Adrian VI referred to the Rosary as "the scourge...of the Devil...a flying elbow to the ribs, a metal chair to the head." And the famous exorcist Gabriel Amarth reported that, during an exorcism, his colleague reported hearing the Devil say that each Hail Mary is like a blow against his head.
Evil is scary when you come face to face with it, but how mores when we are caught defenseless? Satan is no fool....he knows our vulnerabilities. He knows such thoughts are no stranger to me, that they have made their home in my mind in the past, so why not again? Even more so, disguise them as coming from my own mind, for how can you fight against your own mind, your own self? When the suffering becomes too much in this parasitic state, one is left with no choice in hopelessness but to kill oneself.
All sounds kind of outlandish, right? Kind of ridiculous, yes? A bunch of hocus pocus. Yeah, I can see how one would say that if you didn't believe in evil. But I know better. I can say with confidence that it is only through God's grace in the past that I have escaped the fate that suicide promises, and tonight old demons in paying me a visit disguised as thoughts reminded me to be careful, to cleave to Christ...and to not leave home unarmed. The stakes are high. I consider myself now warned.
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