It really wasn't dramatic like what is often depicted in the movies. The supposed demon didn't crawl out from under my bed and try to attack me. I didn't hear any bumps or growls or footsteps. I didn't feel anything touch or scratch me. There was no breeze or whoosh. There was just silence, besides the white noise from my little fan and some slight snoring coming from my dog. 

I never was afraid of anything. I didn't feel threatened or even think about the possibility that I was experiencing demonic activity. At least not until I opened up about my experiences to my mom and then my therapist. After that, I was just curious, and felt silly for the most part. After all, you'd think a demonic haunting would be so much more dramatic than what I experienced. Instead, the most dramatic thing that happened to me was getting sprayed in the back of the head by water that literally came from nowhere.

But, that wasn't scary to me. It was just incredibly irritating and perplexing once I realized I had no natural explanation for what happened. But it didn't freak me out. The only thing that freaked me out was the first missing fork I found in my bathroom sink, but not because I feared demons. I was worried that there was another person in my house with me who was not supposed to be there, and I was alone, cornered, and pretty much defenseless. 

Since that demon banishing prayer, I haven't experienced anything strange or felt anything threatening that didn't have a natural explanation. So, I guess I have to admit that, as stupid as I felt, saying that prayer did do something. 

Aside from letting all of hell know that I was aware of it, but not even a little afraid of it, that prayer did give me a lot to ponder. I couldn't even get through a week without God, without encountering the evil side of the supernatural realm I didn't even realize existed or was something God was protecting me from. Turns out, there is far more to evil and suffering than what is right in front of us. 

That realization brought a lot of questions to my mind, this time considering the nature of evil, why there was evil, where it came from, how it came to be. But, it also brought up similar questions relating to the nature of God. I no longer wrestled with the problem of evil and suffering like I did before. Before, I was convinced evil and suffering disproved the Christian God. Now, I was pretty sure the problem of evil and suffering was more of an issue for atheists than God. After all, if you really think about the atheist position, we just came from blind chance. Blind chance knows no good or evil. Yet, it is clear to everyone who is honest that there is an obvious line between good and evil. Perhaps you have to go to the extremes to find that line, but it is there, and it is obvious to people who don't have something seriously psychologically wrong with them. As C.S. Lewis put it, "A man does not call a line crooked unless he has some idea of a straight line."

I decided the best way I would begin to answer some of those questions was to start attending church again. I needed other people with me to bounce ideas off of, and to give me their own insight. There was no way I could tackle those questions alone. But, where should I go? I didn't have a place in mind. I decided I should probably just go somewhere, anywhere, to see if I could establish a stronger connection with other Christians and our Creator. Maybe church didn't work out for me before because I didn't have a connection with the spirit of God. 

I didn't have my driver's license yet, so it would have to be a place either my family was willing to drive me to, or was within a reasonable Uber ride there and back. Since I didn't have a church in mind, I simply tagged along with my mom to her church when she went on Saturday evenings. I planned on doing that with her weekly, thinking I might be able to establish some sort of connection with God and His believers, as well as strengthen my relationship with Mom, which was very unstable and full of anger.

Mom had just broken up with her boyfriend a second time after getting in a pretty nasty fight with him in front of me and Jack. She broke up with him just several months before and promised he wouldn't be back, but one day I came home from spending a day with my dad, to see her "ex's" jeep in our driveway. I didn't trust Mom's word that her ex would stay her ex a second time after the first breakup ended with them getting back together. And I was pissed that she let the situation get so out of hand the second time, that they could not help but show their true vitriol for each other in front of me and my little brother. 

Ironically, Mom and I got so invested in an argument about her showing so much bitterness towards her boyfriend in front of me, that it turned into a shouting match similar to the one she had with her boyfriend in front of my brother and I. Thankfully, Jack wasn't home when Mom and I had our big fight about her behavior, but I'll never forget the feeling I had when the fight died down and I realized that I was being a massive hypocrite. Shame and regret do not even begin to explain how badly I felt. In fact, I still carry that guilt with me. 

When I arrived at my mom's church, I was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people filing into the church. It had probably doubled in size since the last time I had attended it, and I was not expecting that at all. My social anxiety and my claustrophobia shot through the roof as I scuffled through the growing crowd, until I finally made my way to a pair of seats near the front of the church Mom had picked out for us. I could feel my anxiety building as time went on, though I did my best to suppress it. 

I was panting from the anxiety by the time the pastor stood up and began to introduce his sermon. It was quieter and less chaotic, but that didn't matter. My anxiety was only getting worse, and it was beginning to show itself through shallow, short breaths, profuse sweating, and my wide, darting eyes. Pretty soon, my legs were shaking uncontrollably, and I could feel my sinuses stinging as tears welled up in my eyes. I did not know why I was having such a horrible anxiety attack. I decided that as soon as the pastor stopped preaching, and the church band came on stage to play several contemporary Christian songs, that I'd leave the church and get some fresh air outside. 

As soon as the band came on the stage, and the pastor began to lead the congregation in an ending prayer, I booked it out of the church. I made it outside to a little courtyard, where for the next 20 minutes or so, I paced around with my hands on my head, struggling to fight back tears and take in long, deep breaths. My heart felt like it was going to explode any second. I could actually see it beating through my clothes. My airways were severely constricted to the point I whined each time I inhaled and exhaled. I was in hell, suffering at the hands of a major surprise anxiety attack, and it took me a good half hour to calm myself down. 

The anxiety attack wasn't what hurt me the most. It was the feeling of rejection that ripped me up. I felt as though I'd been kicked out, not by the churchgoers, but by God Himself. It was a pretty awful feeling. I knew, logically, it wasn't God's doing. However, God allowed it to happen, so it was difficult for me to not blame God for the anxiety attack I had. I knew I'd been over the problem of evil and suffering a million times, so I wasn't willing to let myself get dragged through it again. However, I needed someone to talk to who could help me answer the doubts and questions I was beginning to deal with. But, if I couldn't even attend church, how the hell was I going to find anyone who was willing and able to help me through all of that?

Mom wasn't much help. On the way home from church, she told me I'd just have to desensitize myself to the crowds and attend church with her every week, even if I got anxious each time. After all, if I was willing to face my fear of driving to get my driver's license, I might as well have the willingness to get over my fear of crowds too. If I truly wanted to have a relationship with God and His people, I needed to lose my fear of crowds.

Unfortunately, I knew it wasn't that easy. I couldn't just "get over" my fear of crowds, just like I couldn't just "get over" my fear of driving. I was willing to face my driving fears because I knew I needed to learn how to drive if I wanted to be a functional adult. But, I wasn't willing to face my fear of large crowds since there wasn't exactly a need for me to do it. Plus, I wasn't exactly afraid of large crowds like I was afraid of driving. I could deal with people in the city. I just didn't feel safe being crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of people in a single room. I was sure there were many functional adults and devout Christians who shared the same fear of being crammed together like that as I had. 

Driving, on the other hand, was something that kept me up at night. It didn't matter if I was driving on some random dirt road in the middle of nowhere or driving through the heart of downtown. The fear was the exact same, and it was crippling. My fear of crowds wasn't a major issue until I was forced to be shoulder-to-shoulder to people, which happened very rarely. There had to be nearby churches and bible study groups that did not require me to battle my way to my seat or my pew, just so I could be told by the pastor again and again, that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

But, Mom wasn't having it. In her mind, it was her way or the highway. Her church or no church. Her people or no people. It was non-negotiable. I needed to attend her church with her every Saturday night regardless of how I felt about it. Even if I made no friends and got nothing of value from the sermons, I still had to attend church with her. I could leave the church as soon as the sermon ended. But, I had to sit there for the opening songs and the sermon. After all, I told Mom I was willing to do that. However, that was before I had that anxiety attack. So, now I wasn't so willing. 

At that point, I knew my faith in God was screwed. If all I was going to get out of being a Christian was anxiety, then I wanted nothing to do with it. I had enough shit to deal with as it was. I was already crippled by anxiety on a regular basis. My chewed nails and dark eyes were enough proof that I didn't need any more anxiety in my life if I could avoid it.