
Part 1: Invasion8Please respect copyright.PENANAI34obXrkvC
I was only eight years old when fear opened a doorway inside me. It came through the television—an episode of Unsolved Mysteries on alien abductions. That fear didn’t just sit in my stomach; it pulled something ancient and real into my world. Whether they were actual Gray Aliens or something wearing their shape, their presence became a nightly occurrence. Always after dark. Always after the house was quiet.
It was like being smothered by silence. The moment they were near, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. All you had was your will—and your terror. They spoke in whispers inside my head, trying to soothe me with false calm, telling me I was safe. But I knew. I had always known.
From a young age—triggered by traumatic events I won't detail—I had spiritual sensitivity far beyond my years. And those senses screamed: these beings were not good. They came four times a week. And the war had begun.
Part 2: Doctrine vs. Identity
At nine, I was told something that carved itself into my spirit. My mother, driven by religious belief, looked at me and said, "Gay people go to hell."
That night I began to pray.
Every night, I asked God to fix me. To save me. I begged to not be gay. I didn’t want to burn. I didn’t want to be unworthy. I wanted to be loved by God.
I went to every altar call. I let them lay hands on me. I let them cast out spirits. I agreed when they said my identity was a stronghold from my trauma. I sat through conversion therapy with Pastor John Ezell—who I suspect was also struggling in secret.
I believed them. I tried with everything in me to change. But the more I tried, the stronger those feelings became.
No prayer. No shouting. No fasting touched what I was. And I began to collapse under the weight of it.
I cried every night. I felt abandoned by the same God I loved. I was so mad. Why wouldn’t He answer this one prayer?
Part 3: Collapse of the Church
My parents, both youth pastors, were removed from their position for teaching what we believed were biblical truths. When Pastor John left, a new pastor came in—Gary, I believe—and everything changed.
When a teen asked if premarital sex was a sin, and the pastor’s answer upset a parent, the doctrine suddenly flipped. Truth had become optional. Whatever kept people in pews won out.
We left that church. We found another that clung to more traditional values. But something inside me had cracked. My trust in the church was unraveling. Christianity—the institution—was no longer home. It was a storm.
Part 4: Breaking Free
Everything changed on my eighteenth birthday.
I lost my virginity as a gift to myself. And something shifted deep inside—like a lightning bolt to my root chakra. The fear broke. The shame cracked. And I felt my energy reconnect to Gaia. To El. To the currents I hadn’t touched since my early days practicing Wicca and energy healing.
Soon after, we moved to Colorado Springs. My mother stayed behind. I lived with my dad. Away from her control. Away from the church. For the first time ever—I was free to ask, Who am I, really?
And so I began to remember. I returned to Witchcraft. To alternative beliefs. I walked again with gods and goddesses, facets of the Eternal Prism. They didn’t rebuke me. They didn’t shame me. They taught me. And El was there, in every spectrum of color and spirit.
Part 5: Love and Safety
I fell in love when I was nineteen. His name was Jay. He was kind. He saw me. He made me feel safe in ways nothing else ever had.
His love wrapped around the pieces of me like a balm. For a moment, I was whole. I was not fighting. I was simply being.
Part 6: Shattered by Fear
Then came 9/11.
The towers fell, and with them, my sense of safety. I panicked. I ran. I sprinted back into the arms of the only spiritual safety net I had ever known—Christianity.
I let fear drive me. I thought the world was ending. I thought I had to “get right” with God.
And in doing so, I abandoned the truth I had been rebuilding.
Some would call that cowardice. Some would call it being a warlock—an oathbreaker. Maybe I was.
But maybe I was just a soul still searching. Still trying to survive the dark.
And so began the real battle—not between good and evil, but between truth and survival. Between identity and erasure. Between the false light of fear and the real light of the Eternal Prism.
This was when it all began to fit.8Please respect copyright.PENANAqSW0wlhAeA