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In the Hebrew Tanakh, it states men went looking for God and found out he was from Chaldea. If true, my money is on that he’s the god Erra from Mesopotamia. Look up his tablets and then read the bible. It’s fascinating if true, for they sound the same.  Thank you King David and Solomon.

One morning, I was driving to work, NPR was on and the traffic was dense. All was normal when a radio like static crashed into my head, that’s the best I can describe it as. Call it God or call it madness, but I didn’t know what was going on and my head hurt. I heard a man talking about how excited he was and then it went away. I probably should have went to the doctor but waived it away. 

  During this time, I had gotten more intense. I was driving recklessly and I did not fear death. I was also so angry and felt what I could only describe as primordial energy swirling in me as if I was a force of nature. I was born after a hurricane after all. 

On that same day, as I stormed around shaking with rage, I needed a new employee badge and walked up the stairs and came face to face with an officer staring hatred at me. He would come to be known in my head as the Man with the Hate in His Eyes. 

I returned his intensity, ordering him to stand down nonverbally in my head. He did. He stammered, awaken,with a blush in response. I got my answer and moved on. I didn’t catch his name but I never had done that to a man before. I went back to work and thought nothing of it. 

I would then run into the officer two more times and for the third, I had made him cookies. Brown Butter, Pecan, Thumbprint Cookies as a peace offering and sign of friendship. He didn’t have the fortune of trying them, I couldn’t find him that day, so I ate them angrily and gave up. 

I tanked shortly after. I got triggered and walked into work wrong. In my mind I was showing everyone I wasn’t afraid and to leave me alone in case they were watching me. Paranoia struck me that I looked too intense, like I might hurt someone and quickly became insecure and doed up as best I could. 

I would be paranoid for a while and thought even the FBI was watching me. That’s how bad it got. Thank you mental illness for striking again! I heard what I thought were officers and FBI agents surveillancing me in my head. It never occurred to me that maybe my diagnosis had changed. Was I schizophrenic now? The question came back.

I kept hearing voices even at home talking about me. They made rude comments, but I never engaged with them. 

The explosion that came next was what I wanted to call the Ghost writing phase. I was writing in my journal when something took over my hand with a pressure and wrote ‘hello’. It was supernatural. Intrigued, I wrote back and felt like Ginny writing to Tom Riddle except he went “heh” every so often. What a flirt. 

It was a man from the energy I could sense and he told me he was the officer. He told me he had died. We wrote to each other through the journal that was supposed to be for healing and was now for communication. Even while I was on the reference desk, I was a librarian at the time, I used the journal or sticky notes to talk to him. We never stopped talking.

From What is Your Intention? A Pseudo Memoir of The Supernatural and Psychotic Nature