The various lores and myths surrounding demons were a crude forerunner to the spiritual amalgamation I perceived in 2008. Demon lore, unfortunately, is rather synonymous with Christianity, and since I was raised a Christian, I was quite naturally receptive to its ideas as a young child and adolescent. It is a source of extreme shame and embarrassment for me -- or at least, it was at one point. It feels much less so now. It was when I started writing this entry back in November. I haven't looked at it for a few months now. I'm not sure I was ready to share this then. I am now.
I have already spent some time rambling to the reader about demons, angels, and gods. Some religions use these terms interchangeably; others, to convey extremely specific ideas. I use them figuratively and interchangeably. They may correspond to something real or they may not. I'll say this; while I don't believe in sin or that there was ever a fall of man, I do believe that there are benevolent and malevolent people and ideas in the universe. To wrestle one's demons seems to me as the same process whether said demons are perceived as agents of Satan or aspects of one's consciousness, and while most point to a distinction between matters of evidence-based fact and those of faith, there seems to be some wiggle room left for interpretation, speculation, and intuition. Despite my best efforts, childhood ideas have often resurfaced in new and surprising ways. I think it would be nice if people dispelled with the notion of childhood innocence and just taught their offspring the truth to the best of their knowledge, no matter how complicated.
When I was a Christian, I tended to use hell's "traditional" demons to represent my spiritual ideas. I knew that it was strange. I realize now that I felt some sympathy for demons, due, in part, to my self-identification as a wraith or a monster, and to my depression. Hell, as a state of mind, was something I experienced for long stretches at at time. Interpersonal gaps kept me from forming friendships with my peers, and I perceived that I was being ostracized for some reason. I perceived myself as ugly, both externally and internally, and became drawn to ugly things. I identified very strongly with outcasts.
Another reason I tended to think of demons when pondering spiritual matters is that I used to "feel" demonic presences from time to time. I chalk it up to superstition now, but I'm sure many people can relate to the experience. Somehow I perceived an evil, malevolent spirit focusing its attention on me. It used to make me feel terribly afraid. It was that "haunted house" feeling. I still grimace and curse through scary movies because they remind me of it. I wish I could say that I rationalized these feelings away, but I merely learned to endure them as an adult. They transformed somewhat in 2005, but I'll get to that.
Finally, and this really is one of the more embarrassing aspects of my past, I was drawn to demons for one other reason. Very few people know that while I was in middle school, bullies often followed me home while throwing rocks and yelling insults. I hated walking to and from school. I began taking longer and more elaborate routes just to avoid those assholes, but if they spotted me it didn't matter what route I took. Three at a time, they'd follow, staying safely at a throwing distance. If I slowed down, they slowed down; it I walked faster, they walked faster; hurling pebbles and cans and whatever else might be laying around. I wished for no small amount of violence to visit upon those children. Perhaps this admission will prove to be my catharsis: I sincerely wished that I could have had a demonic companion all my own for the purpose of wreaking havoc on the lives of my tormentors. I really hated them. I was a wrathful little thing. So I had a secret desire for a "pet demon" as a youth. Hence my fascination with them, even if I didn't always believe in them. It's worth noting that my haunted house feelings occured well before this wish, so they may have emboldened it somewhat; despite my fear, I was never physically harmed, so I began to doubt the validity of the claim that devils were inherently harmful, though they were scary.
I don't remember the first time I heard about demons, but I learned about the devil at an early age. I do remember wanting to draw him at one point; he was purported to be the most beautiful angel, and the duplicitous nature of such a subject appealed to me. Besides, God can't be drawn. Try it.
I didn't take the devil very seriously as a child. One day in Sunday School -- yes, I was one of those -- I made the mistake of making fun of him. I thought everyone would join in and we'd all laugh and make fun of the devil together, or something like that. What a grand old time we all would have had, secure in our relationship with God, able to mock the devil at our whim and fancy. Haha, what a cad, that devilish old nelly! I really don't remember what I said, but I have a long history of saying exactly the wrong thing in a crowd. My opinion was sharply rebuked by everyone in the room. And then the teacher told me something that made me feel afraid! That the devil was smart and powerful (this part I already knew), but also that he was easy to provoke and enrage. He was dangerous. To mock him was to willingly invite hardship into one's life. My head reeled with potential ramifications. Could I personally piss off the devil? Was that possible? I hadn't previously considered such an idea plausible.
In my mind it's a bit unfair to make a child understand such ideas mere moments after singing, "If the devil doesn't like it he can sit on a tack," but what confused me more was the unanimous consensus of the Sunday School students. Had I missed some key information? As these were some of my only interactions with other English-speakers, I valued their input pretty heavily. In return, I was blessed with all the subtle arts of neurosis. The idea that Satan's wrath could be invoked, whether by accident, by taunting, or by harmless fun, made him seem much more real to me. It tapped into that superstitious realm of my mind and set up a nice foundation for the other demon mythologies that followed over the years.
In time I was introduced to the concept of spiritual warfare as it is understood by many Western Christians. I may as well attempt to acquaint the unfamiliar reader: the belief is that a human mind is like a battlefield; a literal one, on which hosts of angels and demons battle for supremacy unseen. The details are all speculative, with no shortage of spiritual authorities. I suppose, in my own way, I am included in this punditry; but my intent here is merely to explain some of the framework that helped me lose my mind.
There are no causes or effects that a sufficiently paranoid mind cannot attribute to demonic activity. demons can't be seen, heard, felt, smelled or tasted objectively and directly. Rather, they exist on a "spiritual plane," residing behind-the-scenes the same way God does. They are occupied with misery and torment. I've read that their actual survival depends on negative emotions; that such things as rage, sadness, or tension are like sustenance to them. I've also read that demons eat human souls (and one another); that hell is something like an eternal digestion process. Demons are also said to relish in human excesses, exhibiting greed, envy, lust, and so on. Some ideas, particularly older ones, envision demons as personifications of the vices themselves.
I was twelve or thirteen when first introduced to the idea that demons could plant thoughts into a person's mind. That resonated with me. I though about it ad nauseam. Were thoughts beaming across the universe? Could my mind be read by any being who happened to take interest in me? Did I have an intimate, one-sided relationship with demons whether I wanted one or not? What could I hide from beings who didn't sleep and wanted to feed on my existence? Could they see me? Did they watch me eat? Sleep? Masturbate? Did they prompt any of my behaviors? Which of my thoughts were really mine? How many of life's disappointments were due to demonic subversion? Were there things beneath a demon's time or dignity? What were the limits? How tiny a happiness was worthy of sabotage?
I tried not to think about it. I knew thoughts like that were a little out there. But depression and isolation reinforced them. It really felt like an external force was weighing me down. It was easy to feel as if demons were ruining my life. I was lonely and sad. I did my best to hide it. My heart ached with adrenaline when I thought about interacting with people -- I don't know why. It was strange to grow up with.
Other people became quite mysterious to me, as they so clearly lacked the problems I didn't. They had happiness; they had friendship; they had relationships, community, interdependency. They had a human quality that confounded and eluded me -- hence my self-identification as something only nigh-human. I felt like the grinch. It was as if God existed for others but not for me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had always felt that way. It was hell as I had often heard it described by Christians -- as a total separation from God.
But how could someone be alive and in hell at the same time? And how had I stumbled into it? What had I done? Had I died and forgotten? It didn't make sense to me.
I began to develop what I suppose other people would consider odd social habits, because I grew seriously afraid that other people could perceive my inhumanity. This probably started a kind of self-fulfilling chain reaction -- I acted more and more suspiciously while people treated me with increasing suspicion. My personality came to revolve around concealment and hiding and people eventually stopped taking notice of me, or at least stopped interacting with me. I grew to be tall, silent, dark, stiff, brooding, sinewy, standoffish, intimidating; creepy even. It's a mold I've been trying to break since becoming an atheist. I've actually been having some pretty tremendous success lately.
Long story short, demons are a crazy person's wet dream. If they exist, I think the lore surrounding them poses a greater threat to humanity than they ever could themselves. And if they exist, maybe that's the point. Isn't fear strange?
