The Witch Of Oak Brook Circle

I remember one afternoon in my trailer, I was laying in the bathtub water over my ears listening to the subtle sounds and thinking about my life, thinking about my family and how I knew for sure that none of them were going to contact me. There would be no call, no letter, no one I was by my side who could possibly understand the deep and powerful turmoil that I was experiencing.. I knew I was at a crossroads. I had been so sheltered from the world, but now I was free! I could do whatever I wanted, so I could go back to the way things were call with time and effort and my life would still be shit or I could Create a new life for myself. I could create a life with a new me, a new religion, new relationships. I could leave behind all of my freed splintered and broken you reprehensibly broken relationships, and start over new. One of my friends word still rang in my ear over and over again. I remember I called her up on the phone and asked her if she would come back to the “truth“ and she said “I’m not sure if that’s what I really want.“ Until I heard that it never really occurred to me Clearly and fully that it was up to me, and possibly I would never return to the life I once lived.
I was ready to be reborn. I wished that fire would consume my past life and all of my so-called “sins” into ash to be blown away by the winds of my new found religion. In my candle lit room the album “Spleen And Ideal” by “Dead Can Dance” played loudly through cheap black plastic computer speakers. De Profundis (Out of the Depths Of Sorrow) played setting the ambience for this scene.
My room smells of cigarette smoke, patchouly oil, and burning incense.
I grabbed a few bottles of spray paint I kept in my closet and I drunkenly decorated my room. In colors of green, red and black I marked my walls. The walls were mine to paint, to ruin, and to express my infinite sorrow as the music took what I could not express with words and and poured it outside my body in clam yet agonizing loneliness.
Plastered on my walls were pages from my sketchbooks, drawings of a man holding the skin of his stomach open so his guts could leak out. There was a drawing of a heart with one of those skeleton keyholes in it. Drawings of dragons, and jigsaw from the movie franchise saw, which was my favorite at the time. There was a drawing of the social outcast Edward Scissorhands. Also on the walls was album artwork from metal covers and a picture of Bob Marley.
With a plastic bottle of vodka in my hand I knelt before a red and black altar adorned with glittering dragons, and your Typical tools of witchcraft. I gazed with a deeply hateful intent at a picture of my mom and dad. I wished upon them an eternity of unhappiness and pain. I tore the picture down the center, splitting my mom and dad apart. Tears rolled down my face and onto the now permanently damaged picture.
I feel my pain of long ago as I type these words on this sunny day. I feel chills on my whole body and the feeling of being completely alone...and the feeling of not being completely alone. As I would hear later in the lyrics of an avenge sevenfold song “The Stage”
“Who is the crowd that peers through the cage,
As we perform here upon the stage?”
I believed that all the powerful beings both good and evil could see me. I believed that truly all the world is a stage and I was just one of the actors. I believed they were watching me, but this only made me feel worse. If they could see me then why were they allowing me to suffer, why not step in and help me figure this out. I hated them, I felt hopeless beyond any hopelessness I’ve ever felt. Alone with only my hatred for all who I felt have failed me. God was just as Evil in my mind as was the Devil who were both as real as you or I to me. God held a hammer and he had smashed me to bits for giving into delicious temptation. At least the Devil was fun I reasoned. There was good and there was bad. And I... I was bad, wicked, evil, rebellious. I may have hated my parents and even God, but above all of these beings I came to hate...I hated myself the most. If God could not make me holy then the I might succeed in becoming unholy.
I cut my arms till blood dripped out. I wrote the word “Hate” on my door in blood and smeared my enraged blood in my newly blessed book of shadows. Taking another long drink, my body now numb, I imagined myself making a dedication to a dark guard in defiance. I imagined myself reading psalms 23 backwards to undo holy words., and something about a ritual dagger, all in a final dedication to Lucifer. But, I didn’t do that because... I had drank so much that I blacked out. I wouldn’t have been able to find my Bible much less read from it backwards. I lay there, 20 years old, uneducated, broken, addicted, faithless and lost as ever. I thought myself reborn. My spell to forget my past and the pain it caused me was granted in a vodka induced black out in my darkened bedroom. There was no turning back, I had become someone new. I was the Witch of Oak Brook, and he was not bound to the guilt of sin. He was better than me.
I wore a black brimmed hat and a black coat with gray pants and black boots. Around my neck with some janky looking thing that I made with an amethyst gem in it. It was amulet at the time. I thought myself badass smoking a cigar and watching the world through some black, small round costume sun glasses from goodwill that I thought a vampire might where. After my revelation I now understood that my soul had just come from the 70’s after one of my untimely deaths that I was destined to repeat in every incarnation since Babylon until the end of all life on Earth. I was bigger then life.