The Knowledge of Evil

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 06, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 06, 2019



The Knowledge of Evil

“Before I came to earth, I was happy. I chose a family to enter, I’d be their firstborn daughter. I witnessed the dynamics of their personalities and behavior with 360-degree clarity. Eons before my birth, I’d been chosen to be ‘me.’

For the purposes of my soul growth, I accepted the offer the Lord had presented and began to plan my life upon the budding planet He’d created. I’d shouted for joy at the prospect He’d bestowed upon us all, and worshipped with the seraphim. The masterpiece of my journey was born, a theory begging practice, demanding full absorption.

I signed a contract with the council of Elders, who warned me of the dangers. We agreed that I could overcome the trials, with much intervention and training. My conquest would be riddled with pain and, at times, feelings of hopelessness would wash over me, like a tidal wave of excruciation and terror.

I consented to the challenges, assured of the Lord’s ability to save me. I knew wholeheartedly that I was loved, every fiber of my being. As all the children of the Lord who had gone to earth before me, I cheered them on and sought to understand their choices. My desire to gain wisdom, and please the Lord with a life of service to Him, egged me closer to the task at hand.

The time had come. I waved goodbye to all my brothers and sisters, the Elders, and the Lord of Hosts. With a wink, He thundered, “Be good.” Saturated with excitement, I slid beneath the Veil of Forgetfulness, relinquishing my memory and deity. The breadcrumbs of my origin were swiftly devoured by the vultures of regret, as they had been commanded. Gorged thereby upon the remains of my true provenance, a dozen morsels lingered on the pathway. The Lord replied, “So be it.” And so it was.

I entered my mother’s body during the first trimester of her pregnancy. I didn’t have to, I could have waited until the crowning moment of my birth. Due to my eagerness, I chose to come a bit early to get used to the flesh I’d be imprisoned in. I’d heard countless lively stories from my companions upon their return from the lives they had chosen, and took heed their advice. It would be difficult to master 'matter.'

My mother had decided to become a troubled 21-year-old woman, replete with grief and conflict at the time of her first impregnation. She’d gone to earth before me, and we’d agreed to this arrangement. Like the majority of mankind, we knew we would inevitably wound one another in the process of our lives, and promised to reconcile on the other side.

I don’t remember my father before I was born, his crumbs had been destroyed by the vultures, but I learned a lot once I’d arrived. He was a small-town thief and IV drug user, who’d deceived my mother into divorcing her husband and marrying him. 

He acquired a severe form of epilepsy and did not work or drive. He was in and out of prison and would tyrannically rule our household with an iron fist. We grew up hungry, dirty, and ashamed.

They slapped us around, belittled us, and manipulated us to believe the Lord was just like them. To question my parents was akin to questioning God, with cruel consequences we scarcely dared provoke deliberately. They used us to take care of the babies and to fetch everything they commanded, their cigarettes, coffee, and medication. To my parents, children were to be seen and not heard. To serve, and not complain or question. Despite the way they treated us, he was the love of my mother's life. The like-mindedness and devotion between them were mutual.

I was in the womb when she started shooting meth with him. I felt jazzed, my heart pumped wildly. Meth played me like a fool’s piano. The cells of my placenta vibrated with—"

“Gwendolyn, let’s stay on topic, please. I asked you where you came from. Were you born in Texas, or did you get here as soon as possible?” Doctor Moon squinted through his coke-bottle glasses, desiring to finish his assessment rapidly to make a final decision for my medication regimen.

“I was born in Galveston, lived in Texas until I was 8, then moved to Montana for 6 years. My family came back to Texas when I was fourteen, then I went back to Montana with my ex-fiancé when I was sixteen. I worked and lived alone while my fiancé served a jail sentence.  I just came back to Texas last month. I'm new to Houston." I acquiesced the white coat with purely physical terminology.

There was no way he didn’t know what I’d said was true, although he feigned ignorance to keep the watchers in the dark. We weren’t permitted to tell the truth, in layman’s tongue that is. I’d play his games and be rewarded later for my understanding and discernment. Dr. Moon nodded. With a heavy hand, he stamped “Psychotic” into my permanent medical record.


As untold millions, myriad survivors of childhood sexual and physical abuse, I am learning to cope with life on life's terms. From the tender age of eight, I was regarded as a sexual object owned by my parent, to be used and abused as the owner wished. I am certain that this age is tender, because my daughter is eight years old. She radiates a delicate, fragile spirit.

My father went to prison when I was fourteen. At that time and to this day, my mother blamed me. With all the kindness of a wicked, heartless witch, she cursed me as she lectured how I should be stoned to death for my adultery. She screamed at me that the Lord was enraged with my brazen acts of sexual immorality. This proved impossible a condemnation laden on my psyche. Yet, I kept a sacred treasure chest of hope hidden deep within my heart, which guarded the sole voice of promise that the Lord was in fact, love Almighty.

The remainder of the year precipitated severe trauma for my four younger siblings and me. I quit school the first chance I got to work at a local Pizza Hut as a dishwasher. I'd be promoted to waitress once I had proven myself dependable and quiet. After only attending 1st, 2nd, 6th, 7th, and 8th grades, this seemed like my big break. I was honored to be hired and treated the job with the same respect as a rocket scientist would their astronomical exploits.

The world had set its face against me. I had proven to be an unworthy opponent, easily conquered and taken advantage of. I wasn't man enough myself, nor was I acquainted with one who would dare vouch for my existence in any nominal fashion. Betrayal stalked me like a ferocious lion; I trusted no one. Throughout the years and especially so, I've said: "With sisters like these, who needs enemies?"

It wasn't long before I was presented with an opportunity to survive by becoming engaged to marry a twenty-two-year-old man named Lee. He had come to our house and followed me to work one day. I accepted the offer with a surplus of naiveté. We went from house to house and eventually moved back to Montana. From 15-17, I was physically and sexually abused again.

Following an agonizing series of encounters with my fiancé, sisters, and mother, I broke my engagement and I ran away. I was devastated by the break-up. Despite his shortcomings,  Lee had been the one to provide a roof over my head and ensured food was available.

After the split, I stopped eating. At 17, I found myself homeless. Repeatedly sexually assaulted and raped in the streets of Westheimer and Montrose Boulevard in Houston, Texas; I became a drug user, a reluctant prostitute, and I experienced a colossal nervous breakdown, the likes of which I’ve not encountered since.


Early in my development, I’d been drawn to reading and writing. By the age of 8, I’d accumulated a thick collection of songs I’d written about issues I cared about. One day, I became disgusted with my work, and ripped the pages out and threw them away, to rid myself of the shame of feeling worthless and imperfect.

I continued to write in my private time, and kept a diary to store my deepest feelings and to record events that occurred in my life. I continued to do this all throughout my life, which helped me to have ‘someone’ to talk to, somebody who understood me as a whole. My songs eventually morphed into poetry, of which I would memorize, so I could always have it with me when I needed it most.

The poetry I brought to life would often include advice for me, or warnings. I took this as a sign that it was not coming from me, but to me. When I was 15, The Dope Game was born. I’d scribbled it into a notebook and became preoccupied with its perfection, which lent me relief, wonder, and satisfaction.

The words poured out like aged wine, intoxicating my senses and leaving me feeling full and understood. I was gripped with inexplicable implications of accomplishment. The verses appeared before me as if by divine intervention, and delivered nuggets of wisdom I’d not gathered elsewhere. I felt that this gift was both a power and a strength, a privilege with sacred purpose.

The Dope Game

My application for forgiveness

Long denied and cast away

I must contend for my redemption

Thus begins a losing game

Substitution seemed the answer

Something else to kill the pain

Although seeking something deeper

What found me was quite the same

Yet satisfied with what I tried

The dope worked like a charm

To ease the hurt and make things work

Assuring me no harm

Suddenly- The boat got shaky

As the cost for joy increased

Though I didn't have the money

The drugs still wait for me

From then on I was willing

All I need is to get high

As I'm planning future binges

Speed preoccupies my mind

I sold my soul for these addictions

I won't stop until I'm gone

I try hard not to admit it

I had lost and they had won

Face to face with my own master

And the keeper of my soul

My desire overwhelms me, I-

No longer in control

This life's not worth the living

If my life is not my own

I chose these pills against my will

And now I can't go home

We watch my body wither

Wane too weak and frail for looks

I don't care for my appearance

Just one hit is all it took

This world says things are over

There's no choice but to give up

This hell was too expensive

Though my life was not enough


During that period of my adolescence, I was escorted by police to a mental institution. I did not give the officer my real name, for I was ensconced within a profound state of psychosis. However, I'd had the presence of mind to remember my social security number. I was skilled at remembering numbers and dates, less so of other things.

The officer didn't tell me exactly where we were going. He didn't place me under arrest. Naturally, I obeyed every command he gave me. I believed I hadn't broken any laws, so this made sense as a special trip somewhere mysterious.

Upon arrival at Harris County Psychiatric Center, a nurse handed me a pair of scrubs. She directed me to go into a restroom and to change my clothes, which I did. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror... I liked the way I looked. Come to think of it, I looked just like a fancy doctor! From that moment forward, I was under the impression that I was, indeed, an especially important doctor at the hospital in which I would be boarded.

I was allocated to the children's ward, where I received a room of my own with a bed, clean blankets, and a pillow. I even had a lamp above my bed. Think of it! My very own light source, for whenever I would need to read, working late into the night. I had finally arrived. 

For three weeks, I cleaned everyone's tables, stacked books in bookshelves in ascending size, dusted, sparkled the bathrooms, and tried to help comfort the patients, who all happened to be children younger than me. I faithfully tended to all of their needs as I presumed necessary.

I  gave myself unconditionally to become the best doctor in all the vastness of the combined universe. Who knew I'd ever become a flippin' doctor? I understood my life was just as important as everyone else's, and I was eternally grateful for this blessed opportunity.

As the ebb and flow of the bustling career life in my new home progressed, I began wondering why the other doctors all worked on shifts—and then seemed to go away somewhere. I'd been working around-the-clock, no one ever arrived to relieve me of my duties. The nurses seemed to enjoy time off daily.

Perhaps I was the most skilled doctor in the place? They could not survive without my constant presence and expertise? I didn't have any idea how talented I was! That’s the Lord for you. It's just like Him to bless you with abundance when you feel like you deserve nothing at all.

Like my previous job at Pizza Hut, it was hard work; but this gave me renewed motivation. I would hold on. I could see that the children desperately needed me. I tried to show each one that they were needed, too.

It made me a bit resentful at times that I was denied smoke breaks. Other employees could take one every hour on the dot. My coworkers each possessed a loaded company keyring, but I had not been assigned one yet. Other doctors that I met were allowed into rooms that I did not have permission to enter. I quietly speculated the answers to my questions. I didn’t want to get a bad rap as a complainer.

I hypothesized that this unfair treatment could not possibly be discrimination against me. Why, every single form I'd signed with Dr. Moon had stated this establishment doesn't discriminate against anyone based upon sex, race, religious beliefs, or anything. Nothing made sense. I would have to be patient. Maybe this was just a test of my long-suffering, for which I was born qualified, if not a smidgen green.

As I was wiping down the tables in the cafeteria after lunch, a young boy named Jacob sat down on one of the benches. He was about eight years old. He and his little brother had arrived together a few days before. They were quiet. They didn't like to be touched at all by any other patients or doctors.

When people walked past them, say, to go to the restroom or to change the volume on the television set, they would flinch. They kept their distance from others while on the couch and while seated at the tables for meals. I observed their behavior curiously, and with a hefty dose of compassion and empathy. I had also been a child myself, before my promotion to Heaven.

If they only knew the truth of mortal life in their heart of hearts right now, I fancied. I suspected I must keep this glorious revelation secret from the younger children. I wouldn’t want to be the one to let the cat out of the clandestine baggie of surprises.

If I'd have known there was a future for me, after the sufferings I'd endured on planet earth, I might not have tried so hard to survive. Without hope, I might have given up years ago and jumped in front of a big Mack truck on I-45, during rush hour. I had seriously considered doing this many times before.


I decided to test my powers once, in my old life, that is. It all became clear to me around 4:30 a.m. one lonely January night. The sunlight was not yet visible over the impossibly distant horizon. That night was the pitchest black I could ever remember a night to be. I had heard that it was always darkest before dawn. Serendipitously, I happened to be the foolish-hopeful type, inclining only to believe it wholeheartedly.

In the weeks before I'd arrived in Heaven, I'd entertained suspicions within the back of my mind that whispered to my endless insecurities and pain. Sweetly and seductively, they implied to my understanding that I actually possessed special powers, about which nobody had ever known. They had all forgotten our destinies, sealed ages ago, when they'd traversed through the Veil of Forgetfulness. 

As the notions grew stronger and the stomach grew hungrier, I began to see that this could almost perfectly explain why everyone had mistreated me. It was the only theory that could make sense of my experiences and heartache. People were actually jealous of my abilities. I could read their minds; I knew what lay deep inside their hearts. It was called hatred.

On this particular morning, I decided to take a giant leap of golden faith. I would finally prove to myself that I was indeed, Super Girl. I was wandering around the Gulf freeway when it occurred to me what I must surely do. If I was the most courageous girl ever born in all of history and time, I would walk backwards toward oncoming traffic in the middle of the freeway at rush hour.

Like a salmon swimming upstream during mating season, I decided to test my powers in like manner. I planned to sprint into the middle of the freeway, plant my feet firmly onto the yellow painted lines of the middle lane, and begin displaying my mighty power and unmatched bravery. All of Houston proper would be rendered speechless, to witness and adore. The humans would be unanimously amazed. People would take pictures of me and show their grandchildren someday.

Perhaps they'd invent a legend about me and say,

Can you believe it? I was there the day that Super Girl arrived to save us all! Don’t believe me? Well, good thing I have this picture to prove it! If only you, my precious offspring, could someday, somehow, be so courageous as to demonstrate in your own lives, just a fraction of all of the fearlessness that Super Girl has manifested since she touched down on our planet. I can only get down on my hands and knees and pray. Plead the blood of the Almighty, that you would grow up to be just like her someday. I will always be proud of you regardless of your ability to match such a fierce warrior-princess as she.

The potential conversations alone, wow. I could not in my wildest imagination pass this opportunity thereby. I could hear everyone else’s thoughts; I knew what they were whispering behind my back. It would be nice to finally see people saying what I thought I deserved to overhear. I would prove my worthiness. They would understand their gravest errors, they'd know it to the core.

The powerful inspiration I could contribute to humanity as a whole...why, I would be ridiculously selfish not to give this acrobatic performance a try! This very well could be the most damned thing a mere mortal can accomplish without experiencing death; I reasoned within myself. I, unlike the humans, knew that 'death' was not real. And if it was, perchance, could it be any worse than what this world was like?

Vengeance is Mine

Lost in shadow, dead of night

Heart doth pitter-patter fright

Who walks among us unafraid

As light breeds nothing but the shade

Songs of sorrow sit unsung

Upon a bow of strings I strung

Just as witness did I see

A murder and a thievery

For what the bells of yesteryear

Ring softly to my soiled ear

Where could I ever take my shame?

Reluctantly, I change my name

Running, ever seeking peace

Sins will find me, shan’t I cease

Days of innocence gone by

Yonder breaks the baby's cry

Tis' better to have loved and lost

Footprints left in morning frost

I'm sorry never could suffice

Revenge as cold as Arctic ice


It was go-time. The sun began peeking over the city skyline. The traffic was beginning to build, as the fourth largest city in the United States began the daily hum-drum of busying themselves, speeding to and fro. Buzzing like bees they were, to reach their respective places to be inhabited and occupied daily. This was the absolute best time to shine. I took the first step.

I plunged forward, pushing all fear of failure to the outside limits of the realm of my possibility. This would definitely pay off in the end. Why, I once heard a great man said that we have nothing to fear, but fear itself. Who was I to embarrass him by making him a liar? Far be it from me!

The first car noticed my interfering presence. I worked enthusiastically, as if I were an Olympic bullfrog in a video game I had once seen on an Atari set. I rushed like an arrogant, seasoned athlete to the first lane, keeping my gaze fixed down toward my feet. There was zero room for error if I was to be successful. The greatest glory I had ever known was all riding on my ability to concentrate and to achieve greatness. I simply would not let me down.

The first car whizzed by my body at about sixty-five miles per hour, I estimated. The speed limit was posted as sixty mph on the reflecting white sign. But you know how mere mortals are, always trying to get away with something. Always breaking the laws that keep everybody in our society safe. I would save them all. I would teach them to uphold the law.

My feet briskly skipped as fast as I could go. I made it across the first lane to a bright row of lemony dashes. Round one, complete. Totally successful! I pat myself upon the back. I snapped back into reality as I recognized that this was only a light victory. I maintained the discipline to keep my eye on the ultimate prize.

A stream of cars steadily screamed by. Wild and vicious honking began to assault my ears harshly and non-stop, like barking hound dogs who had chased a rabbit up a tree. These unqualified people just didn’t understand all I was accomplishing to save their species. They would thank me later, I was sure. Each and every one of them. I would truly be like God.


One dared envision grandeur

Being oppositely notified

A dream that she, Great

Declared a peon

She fancied herself an intellectual

Meanwhile, scoffers spat a face born soiled

Lo, curses of the past to haunt

Relentless ghosts of damnation

Condemned by disqualification, invalid

Thoughts fabricated blessings into future

Fantasies of victory invented themselves

Contrasting and defying

Failure prescribed to be

She accepted her place

Who can halt the light

Of the darkest watches

When acceptance is automatic

Where love is the law

In a prison there is hope

Burning like a thousand suns

At the bottom of the lion's den

Promises of purpose and destiny

Tease the truth of eternity

Does a bed made everlast

Shall chains abound the neck undeserved

Laden of untrue crime

Attributed to her very existence

Or shall chains corrode

Freedom betwixt the dust

Once beheld us to unbreak eggshells

Bid us not adieu

As we never cease to be

Announce not one to welcome

For they were never gone

A battle lost in doubt

In faith, the war she won



I waited eighty seconds, with Mississippies, mind you, until I spotted an opening to proceed to the finish line. Approximately thirty vehicles passed. They swerved. As if I could be killed by one of their pedestrian buggies. Silly little people. Oh, ye of little faith. I laughed at danger, Ha-Ha-Ha! You can’t catch me; I’m the Gingerbread man!

At least it was some slight sign of compassion. Perhaps I would graciously forgive this minuscule transgression on behalf of humanity—'twas the least I could do. They would all shortly be guaranteed of my deity. They would openly acknowledge my value. I would be a loving God, I decided. I would pardon any fool who asked politely for my mercy. No turning back.

My next opportunity came quicker than I expected. There was no time left to fantasize about my coming kingdom. I had to act fast, or I could be utterly rejected. I raced like a speeding bullet, eyes squeezed tight this time; one, two, buckle my shoe!

Sweet Jesus, I genuinely was God! I had finally proven to the world who I truly was! Life was going to be amazing, from this very moment forward.


I had positively achieved my goal with the flourishing trumpet of my excellence. I was filled to the brim with invincibility anew. I was Super Girl. Who else could possibly defeat the evil forces lurking in this miserable world? Da-da-da, have no fear, Super Girl is here to save the day!

There were two lanes situated to my left, and two lanes to the right. I stood in the penultimate, crowning position. All of the stars had finally transfigured themselves into obedient alignment. I would now reveal to them just how majestic a creature I really was.

I turned to face all of my stunning creation. This was going to be the ride of their lives. I was excited for them. I was about to rock their worlds, for free. How lucky they were, to be at just the right place, at just the right time.

The singular moment we had all been awaiting, from everlasting to eternity, had finally arrived. I marched backwards down the freeway with my arms extended straight into the air, pointing to the gorgeous sunrise. The darkest night I'd ever known, magically transformed into the most brilliant sky I'd ever seen with my eyes open. It was a lot like me. Enlightened.

I had unquestionably arrived into my destiny. I was finally home. Sweet home. I hadn’t been homeless at all, ever. The whole damn world was mine now, all mine. I knew they would all be happy for me, that I'd figured out the rat-maze of life and accepted the truth of reality. I began to form a certain methodical pace in my footsteps.

I understood it'd be a good time to test the rest of my powers. Perhaps I could now levitate above all of the cars. That would surely be a sight to see. They would love it. I decided it was worth a try. I had seen this technique demonstrated by other superheroes on tv. I was probably stronger than all of the movies I'd ever seen put together. I knew I was, deep down in my soul.

I was abruptly clothed with the garment of power and light, blanketing my royal entity. I was girded thoroughly with the sackcloth of wisdom and perfection. The train of my robe was a long, sophisticated one. Yet, I resigned myself right there and then to remain as humble as possible.

I considered, how can I electrify my followers? I must attract them in some way. There are many gods that they could serve, so many gods they could choose to obey. What makes me any different than them? What do I possess that could bring all my children to me? I didn’t want to leave any of the humans in turmoil over their decisions regarding destiny. I knew my love was greater than all of the lesser idols available to them. I would wipe away their every tear.

At this time, a police car approached my body’s station on the freeway. I waved a jolly big hello to him, with a smile ear to ear. I am always happy to salute my fellow heroes. I knew it was a difficult job, to be a human police officer in a crime-ridden city such as Houston.

I imagined he was always on the lookout to catch bad guys and keep families safe. It was an imperative profession I respected, although a lesser role than mine. His lights were off. When he passed me, the red, white and blue lights immediately came to life, startling me. A siren began sounding. I was bewildered by his rude behavior.

Why on God’s green earth would the police interfere with my debut? Hadn’t they been notified of my arrival by the CIA? Someone was going to get fired over this. I didn’t have time to waste, my people needed me. This was going to be one big spoil of everybody’s day.

He cautioned traffic to a halt. He called me over to his black and white car. I had no driver’s license to identify myself. I had never driven a car before for Pete's sake. What could he possibly want from me? I was doing my best! I was as hard of a worker as he was. Geez, Louise. It’s hard out here for a pimp. Give a dog a bone is what I always say.

He pretended to be ‘concerned’ about my ‘welfare.’ I didn’t believe a single word he spouted. He had probably been sent to me by a secret agency that hated my glorious existence and was trying to stop me from fulfilling my destiny. What did he think I was, an idiot? I wasn’t buying any of his bullshit. I had dealt with his smooth-talking type before. He knew precisely what he was doing to me. He knew very well that I was the Lord. That jealousy. It will really kill a mood, you know.

I assured him he was most certainly mistaken. I bluntly warned him that he would arrive at the department later to a blinking light upon his answering machine. The CIA just doesn’t make mistakes like this. If he really was a police officer, as he claimed he was, he would naturally feel foolish for all this trouble then. But people say things that are not true all the time. I knew this like the back of my hand. I did not trust a simple word from his fat, lying lips.


I would eventually come to forgive him. Amidst a rousing conversation, I decided to be merciful. I made up my mind once and for all that no one should be fired. My anger had been rash. Perhaps, after he got to the station and I was booked, we would all have a hearty good laugh about this. He would be embarrassed. I felt like he deserved it. I was Jesus freaking Christ, and no one could convince me otherwise.

Accordingly, the epoch unto which I was delivered into Heaven de facto began. I found out that the officer was, surprisingly, my advocate. He had been watching me all of my life, cheering me on, like I had cheered for my brothers and sisters in Heaven before time began. Every time someone had lifted up their hand against me, to slap my face in hatred, he had cried. I didn’t expect how kind of a man he would turn out to be.

I got into his car. He said, “You know where you’re going, right?” I replied, “Of course!” I knew everything, how could I not know where we were going?

We're speeding to Heaven! I'd passed the ultimate test and was certified to leave the earth, escorted by a fellow champion. He was reading my thoughts, too. Just like me. Maybe he was my real dad? Maybe my ‘real’ dad on earth had just been a cruel joke. I had been tricked. I would not be deceived again though, with Dad by my side.

Without all I'd gone through to prove my love for creation, I wouldn’t have been chosen to be a doctor. I wouldn't be enjoying the best life I'd ever known. Perhaps, I wouldn’t have been chosen at all. I didn't want to ruin any of my patient's chances to experience true acceptance and love from God. Far be it from me, to commit such a crime.


I'd be turning eighteen in about six months. I'd graduate from the minor league straightaway to the majors, baby. I must've done exceptionally well to be taken from earth early. For the first time in all the days of my existence, I was finally proud of myself. I knew one day the children would be, too.

If they could only know there was a glittering pot of gold at the end of the crooked rainbow. After all the weary torture of our journey through time and through space. Earth. It was a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there.

I took comfort in the solidarity of knowing their futures would be bright indeed, contrary to the pain and misery of their past lives on earth. Someday, they too would receive their God-given, permanent responsibilities. I'd also been through the same life that they were currently living. I knew they would be pleased to reach that pot of gold. Just as I had overcome trials, and received mine.

A few days after Jacob and his little brother arrived, a member of the hospital staff discovered Jacob’s fear of touch in one of the most difficult of ways. Dr. Moon was chit-chatting with our patients in our morning pep-talk. We led a routine meeting before breakfast on weekdays called “Daily Goals.” The platitude was engraved in white chalk upon the dark green board overhanging the wall. The writer chose to sugarcoat the announcement in this manner for the sake of the children, no doubt; but I could read between the lines.

Dr. Moon would often pilot the morning pep-talk. We'd all gather around him on colorful bean bag chairs organized into a semi-circle. The chairs were delightful and a lot of fun to relax in. Each bean bag chair was printed with a variety of cartoon characters emblazoned upon the fabric. Just how each of the children was created differently from one another. Unique masterpieces, I mused. What a brilliant idea to have an assorted bean bag chair for each child.

Eureka! These kids really deserved it; what, with all that they'd been through. My bean bag chair was decorated with images of Underdog, my favorite canine hero who inspired so many of my generation. It'd obviously been pre-selected to be mine by angels who'd known about my admiration for the character. Here in Heaven, everything was constantly arranged with great care and structure. If only earth could be this wonderful.

I'd always sit with the children upon my own bean bag chair, just to make the patients feel more comfortable. They were ordinarily scared of the bigger doctors, and I was uncharacteristically short for a physician. I weighed eighty-nine pounds when I was hired. I envisioned that I must've been less intimidating to them because of my modest proportion and willingness to mingle with the commoners.

Dr. Moon began the conversation by discussing a sporting event that his family had attended over the weekend. It was a magnificent story. I could vividly imagine all of his family members cheering when the Astros hit a home run. I'd never been to a real baseball game before while I was living on earth. It sounded simply breathtaking.

Dr. Moon made many exaggerated hand gestures towards the patients as he acted out a scene from his recent baseball game. Very demonstrative, I decided. I often found myself privately analyzing the other staff members and judging their actions and motives. It was a terrible habit. However, it did fill the empty hours while I worked through the night. I knew if I were to eat anything or fall asleep, I could very well have failed and all this magic could be gone. I was not willing to take that risk.

Since Jacob and his brother were the newest patients to arrive, they did not yet know about Dr. Moon’s hilarious stories. They could not see that he was a gentleman. Dr. Moon was devoted and generous, both stable and trustworthy. I positively loved him.

Like Jacob, I knew how it felt to have your boundaries repeatedly violated. It makes a child to feel as if she really doesn't have any control whatsoever over her own reality. I was intimately acquainted with what it was like to have a little brother who looked up to me. I often thought of my siblings and wondered what they were doing. I prayed that they were happy.

A Mi Hermana Preciosa

As I survey my precious angel

Words cannot describe

The depth of love I have for you

The breadth of endless pride

Since the day you were created

From the time I knew your name

Admiration has not ceased to grow

In beauty as your fame

A glory to our family

To lose her would be pity

In my eyes you are treasure

Discovered in Bay City

To what do I owe the pleasure?

To whom shall I oblige?

The blessing of my cherished one

The praise of Kings and Scribes

Red riding hood was not enough

In error, I had spoken

Your name was chosen hastily

Yet mom held just the token

From innocence to wisdom

Now you walk the walk

I've loved you, ever was the day

Before you learned to talk

Though time has brought a woman forth

For everyone to see

Red Riding Hood lives in my heart,

For all Eternity


Jacob’s little brother’s name was Samuel. My little brother’s name was Aaron. All three were bible names, I fantasized. Was this simply a coincidence? I think not. Nothing in my life had ever been a coincidence, yet! What could it possibly all mean? I would know everything someday. That day was not today.

Samuel appeared about six years old in my estimation. I was grateful that they had been sent to my department. I could instantly relate to them on an unspoken level, which I saw as a benefit of our doctor-patient relationship. The Lord most certainly does work in mysterious ways, I understood that day.

As we were listening to Dr. Moon’s peppy story, he decided to give Jacob a high-five like a team player. Short and sweet, yet unexpected, nevertheless. It was as if the red-button launch sequence had been activated and the H-bomb had been detonated directly onto the poor boy’s central nervous system. He exploded with a mushroom cloud of uncontrollable destruction, like a rabid Tasmanian devil who'd spun into a gaping, black hole.

The damage left behind was sincerely astonishing. The catastrophe was not limited exclusively to the bean bag chairs. His outburst immediately changed all of our perceptions about Jacob’s capacity for dangerous behavior thus far. He was capable of becoming the exact opposite of what he normally was, if you happened to push the correct sequence of buttons. I could not forget this image. I was now afraid of Jacob.

My thoughts were racing. I couldn’t sleep ever again. What if Jacob came through the air vent at midnight and sucked out all of my blood like a filthy vampire? What if Jacob was a demon from Hell trapped inside a little boy’s body, and nobody realized this until it was too late and we all lay massacred, our mangled bodies strewn across the hospital? Think of it, the utter damage; woe is me!

Woe, woe, woe to the inhabitants of the earth, for the devil himself has been cast down to you. My life was slapped five ways ‘till Sunday, shaken like a humble Yahtzee cup. I did not know how I could survive this. Not once had I considered that evil could possibly exist in Heaven. I grew wiser by the second.

What Come Dark Day

Praise the darkness

For it has squashed the light

Flickering endlessly, it seems

Yet, an end came

Tribulation proved

To be more than can be withstood

Let your light go out and be no more

Cruelty trumps kindness

Judgment superior to mercy

Condemnation avails as freedom grows captive

I praise you darkness

For you were stronger than the brightest light

My soul in suffering

Be no more

Reconciliation impossible

As dignity has laid down in the dust

Wrap me in sackcloth

As I mourn the loss of all that mattered

Why?! Let my name be stamped out

Let the day be somber when they said I would be born

Snuff the brilliance of a flame

Blown out one too many times

A rayless day I make my bed

I lie in it until the sun rises

But there is no light

There is no mercy

There is no forgiveness

This place is void of understanding

Enigmatic, one hunts for relief

Finding none turns back rejected

Goodbye possibility, Adios potential

You have chosen your way, and I mine

Never the twain shall meet.


Where would all of the innocent children go now? Where? Where? Where? I wept bitterly. Snot flooded like a waterfall all over my face. My hot, salty tears were oceans deep and wide. If only I could hide someplace, somewhere Jacob could never find me.

What the hell had I ever done to him? I was his doctor for Pete’s sake! I cared about his welfare more than he could know. I tried to help him all the time. I loved him like my own brother. I secretly gave him all my food under the table. He must not appreciate all I have done for him. What a selfish bastard!

He knew exactly which room I was living in. He was intently listening to my every thought as we speak, with powers that would put me to an open shame. He'd been plotting my demise from the very first moment he'd laid eyes on me. I just knew it.

I wished there was something I could do to protect myself. If only I were allowed to talk. Although, I knew I'd be sent to Hell instantly through a trap door in my room for speaking about this. If only I possessed a phone. Why, I could call 911. This was a true emergency if I had ever known one.

Suddenly and swiftly, I did not feel so super anymore. Maybe I was just a human after all. Just an ordinary person. Life has a way of bringing people down to earth, the moment we have arrived upon cloud nine.

My powers were gone like a thief in the night. I fell asleep on the concrete floor, exhausted. The next day, I ate breakfast. I no longer rejected food. It wasn't poison after all.


A few days later, my mother infiltrated the cafeteria doors before dinnertime. I was shocked. How did she get invited into Heaven? Didn’t God care that I was safe? I exclaimed, "Mom, what are you doing here?”

She sat down with me in the cafeteria and explained that I was committed to a psychiatric ward. I was a patient in a psychiatric institution. Not a doctor, not promoted. Not in a place the Lord had provided for all of the things I desired in my heart. There was no such thing as Heaven, and I was never safe.

The psychotherapists who were responsible for my welfare informed my mother that I was suffering from "Bipolar 1 Disorder”, “Grandiosity”, "Psychosis", and "PTSD". She then relayed this information to me. I did not believe her. I could not trust her words or anyone else's at that time in my life. Despite my insistence upon changing my name when I'd arrived, she'd been able to locate me through my social security number. Damn.

As the weeks went by, I began to process this new information. Hesitant to besmirch the good name of Super Girl, I cautiously digested the possibility that what she said was, in fact, true. Finally, all of my confusion began to clarify, and my questions connected with each other enough to accumulate a hill of decent sense. A hill I was to climb alone.

It was a crushing blow, indeed. I couldn't believe this. I was tricked! This time, I was angry. Not at God, but at this cruel, unforgiving world which had crushed me just for kicks, as if I was disposable. Everyone was surely laughing at me behind my back. They had been all along.

I took the medication I was prescribed and obeyed all protocol. I made a few friends that understood my secret thoughts, and had plenty of their own. Jacob and I reconciled. I never found the courage to tell him what I'd found so terrifying about him out of sheer embarrassment. I thought I should contribute something to make up for the misunderstanding. Instead of giving him my food trays, I tried to make him laugh.

Betwixt Butt-cheeks

Betwixt butt-cheeks wedged a cloth

Yonder cracks a stinky broth

My underwear skips here and there

Forget me not, oh who would dare?

A mystery for why succumb

To fabric I find cumbersome

Humor me in time at tea- Pray tell:

What have panties ever done for me?


A mild-mannered man came to visit me while I was still a resident of the institution. I'd seen him riding his bike at the apartment complex where I had been wandering before I had come to the hospital. An old lady named Josephina had been praying for me and asked him to visit me to show support for my recovery. He dropped by on Valentine’s Day and brought me a bag of Doritos and a Coca-Cola. I imagined he must've been my guardian angel.

He was wearing a long, heavy, black leather trench coat that went down to his boots. He was 8 feet tall, at least. I could learn to love him, if necessary. He told me his name was Miguel Angel. Of course it was.

I told everyone I encountered in the hospital that he was my husband. They did not believe me. Boy, were their faces red when he showed up with those Doritos just for me. I had been vindicated. The Lord had prepared a table before me in the presence of my enemies. I loved him instantly. We’ve been married for eleven years come April. We have three beautiful children.

I was discharged from the institution seven days after my eighteenth birthday. I entered the place as a minor, six months before. I exited those doors proudly. I had graduated from my teenaged tribulations, and joined my fellow adults as a major.

From the date of my release, I was adamant about proving to this chaotic world that I was indeed a human being worthy of life. I was worthy of love and acceptance. I was deserving of dignity. What I did not know then is that the world was never worthy of my continual desperation for permission to live.

But I was worthy. Today I am sober. Today I have a fulfilling marriage with a stable, loving man who does not use or abuse me. Today, I've been privileged to have three precious children of my own. My family and I have gone through a lot together. Through the mercy and unconditional love of the Lord Jesus Christ, we have managed to survive life's hurricanes.

The History of the Man

This is the history of a man

Holding my future in his hand

He spoke to me as if I was a Lady

I have been one ever since:

Revelations lay in time gone past

Speaking volumes of a mind forecast

To serve a burden and an ugly cross to bear

No hope at all, A damning voice declared

Rue the day a babe fell ill

Mountains reduced to lonely hills

Appear that man who loved me so

He swore he had no stone to throw

Unshackle me, a slave set free

Holy spirit's royalty

The ocean's deep, dark waters rise

Deceitfully...Fear magnifies

Confidence shattered as a vase of roses will

Golden dust blown out of a window sill

Herein the ashes of a fire snuffing out

Angel upholding crippled wings, devout

Whispers of a ghost, frail sanity compels

"I hold you close my dear, through days of holy hell"

Trials rain, per agony of grief

Vanishing sins, akin the hardened thief

Here am I, a rescued shame

I vow my breath to bless Your Name

His tender hands unkindle tears

Else scared to death ten thousand fears

A proud man, no. A wise one: Yes

Noble as he? Sight fail suggest

A mustard seed he sowed indeed

Yet how a man sows, less than a man reap

Can this be done? A soul redeemed?

Behold, surprise: The Prince of Peace

A vine sprouts forth the garden lattice

Displays the past as merely practice

The vine is strong, his roots shot deep

What come dark day, that you could eat?

Be careful lips of what you say

You know not how a curse you lay

To damn a babe as sun to shade

Slay judgment rash, strike YHVH's wrath

As for the man, he doth declare:

From one spark grows a woman fair


Six years after Miguel and I married, my beloved little brother, Aaron, committed suicide. He pointed a gun to his temple and squeezed the trigger in a gruesome, horrific scene I pray I can learn to overcome mentally. He was suffering from abuse, psychosis, PTSD, bipolar, alcoholism, and God knows what else. He was my best friend.

I'd been there mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, myself. I couldn't save him. Although, I relentlessly tried. I survived my lifetime. He did not. This has proven brutally vexatious for me to make sense of. His suicide left me breathless, my wind knocked out. I did not know how I would survive. I am learning to cope with life on life's terms. I know that I am not alone.

This world takes everyone on, and we are often left grappling with the knowledge of evil. When the ruthless vultures of regret come swooping in, there is only hope. It cannot be killed, stolen, or destroyed.

Hope is the double-edged sword each one of us is born to brandish, irrevocably. You are not alone; every fiber of your being is loved. Take courage, brothers and sisters. I am cheering you on. Thanks for reading, and for sharing in the recovery of broken people like you and me.


© Copyright 2020 glindagail77. All rights reserved.

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