I’ll be honest and admit that I’ve never really been addicted to drugs.
There was, however, a brief time when my late husband (he was my boyfriend
then) and I were going to bars, and doing cocaine. Back then he was a coke
dealer, and he also had access to other dealers, one of which was the owner
of a pizza joint down the street from where he lived. He would frequently
use his hard earned money (he was a city mechanic) and buy dope from this
man.
Needless to say, my boyfriend coerced me to try snorting coke. He took a
single-edged razor blade and chopped up the crystals into a fine powder on
the glass table. He always used a rolled up dollar bill, sometimes a bigger
denomination (a symbol of pride and power), to forcefully snort it into his
nasal passages. He showed me how to “do lines,” and I ended up doing it with
him whenever he got some. I knew it was wrong, and I was deadly afraid of
putting any foreign substance into my body (still am), but I was so scared
of him that I did it too. God forgive me from being such a coward. And He
did.
I vividly remember one time when we were in the bar. I had snorted coke with
my boyfriend just before arriving there. I was sitting on a bar stool,
facing the wall. I soon tasted this peculiar, unforgettable, metallic taste
in the back of my throat. My heart began to pound like it was going to burst
out of my chest. I felt this incredible surge of energy from head to toe and
I felt like I wanted to run and scream, but not one muscle would move. I was
paralyzed, both with fear, and with the powerful drug now coursing through
my body, and I couldn’t do a blessed thing about it. It lasted about twenty
minutes, but it seemed like an eternity.
I don’t remember much after that, but after a time my boyfriend had to quit
buying coke because it got too expensive, and he couldn’t afford it any
more. He also apparently got the fear of God on him and stopped dealing too.
That’s when he started me on pot. And that was the only thing that could
ever be called an addiction with me. I smoked it when he was at work. I
smoked it when he was at home. I smoked it and wanted to smoke it so much
that I would get down on my hands and knees and search everywhere in that
bedroom for the little “roaches” (ends of marijuana joints) he left behind,
and roll them all into a Top paper and smoke that. I smoked it while I was
pregnant with my second child. Oh, how merciful my God was to me, because my
son was born healthy in spite of my foolishness and cowardice. Oh how
gracious my God was to me, and to my newborn son.
As a now long-sober woman of God, who has learned to give all my cares to
Jesus, I want to tell you what drugs really do to a person. Drugs are
doorways to your soul. When you take drugs, demonic spirits enter in and
wreak havoc on your body and slowly destroy your mind. That sounds weird but
it’s true. Why do you suppose people on drugs act like animals, screeching,
destroying things, even running into cars’ windshields and getting up
without a scratch? That’s evidence of demon possession. Why do you think it
takes four grown men to hold down a wasted druggie? Because demons (fallen
angels) are powerful entities which take over your body, your mind, and your
soul. They possess superhuman strength, which makes the druggie physically
stronger than he normally is. When you stick a heroin needle in your arm, or
smoke crack or meth, you are in essence allowing evil spirits into your
whole being. They use these powerful vehicles (drugs) to enter into your
body and get you high, and addiction happens when you crave the very first
high you ever had; however, the human body is not made to withstand
supernatural forces, and you can never attain that level of “high” any more,
so you want more and more and you become a wasted human being, sick,
diseased, worn out, burnt out, penniless, powerless, and with no hope of
recovery. The Devil always shows the glamour, the glitz, the power and the
fame, but he never shows you the death, the destruction, nor the Hell that
awaits your soul when you perish.
I’ve seen poor folks so messed up on meth that they look like shells of
their former selves. They live on the street, begging for money in front of
Wawas or in the middle of highways where they can very easily get killed.
They need much prayer. They have no hope but the needle, the bong, the
blunt, the fleeting rush of intense power and well-being which vanishes
faster and faster so they keep shooting up more and more, and then end up
dying without God. You can get mad at me and say I’m delusional by labeling
your addictions as demon possession, but what else would you call this if it
wasn’t for satanic power…
