, Washington DC
Three years ago, I wanted to die when my father died.
My daughter, Lindy, and her satanic worshipers, killed him. There was no reason for me to live except to avenge his death. When I tried to get justice, my husband and many of the church members turned against me. They called me crazy. I became a prisoner in my own home as my husband controlled everything I did or said. The voice of God had deserted me and the voice of the devil became my ally.
Margaret’s hand quivered as she wrote in her notebook about the dreadful events that had led to the present moment. Thoughts floated in and out of consciousness, making it difficult for her to write them down. She leaned back into the rocking chair and gently rocked back and forth, letting the swaying of the chair comfort her frail nerves.
Reaching into the pocket of her beige satin robe, she pulled out a lace handkerchief and cried softly into it not wanting to awaken her husband, the great Reverend Alan Pierce, who slept across the hall in the bedroom she no longer shared with him.
Margaret stood up and tightened the belt of the satin robe around her thick body. The twenty pounds she’d gained had made its way to her waistline. She walked a few steps down the darkened hallway to the bathroom, and peeped out of the bathroom window; the street was quiet and dark.
She reached into the pocket of the robe and pulled out the medicine bottle that she kept close. Thorazine, take one a day. It was prescribed to her by Dr. Stan Higgs, Head of the Psychiatry Department of D.C.
. He’d told her and Alan the medicine would
calm her nerves and prevent delusions. General
“But I am not delusional,” she’d tried telling them.
“But this voice that you hear,” Alan said to her, “you talk back to it. And, quite frankly, Margaret, half the time you’re not in your right mind. Everyone in the church is talking about your bizarre behavior. Take the medicine or you know what.” He’d given her a stern look.
Fear of what Alan might do, she took the pills and kept her therapy appointments with Dr. Higgs. Months passed and she began to feel better. The voice that had been in her life forever, which no one else could hear but her, was gone. She’d begged Dr. Higgs to take her off the medication.
“I don’t need it any more.”
“You think you don’t but you do.”
“I feel fine.”
“That’s because you’re taking the Thorazine. Your time is up for today anyway.” He turned his back to her.
Distraught by Dr. Higgs’ condescending attitude toward her, Margaret decided that day to take things into her own hands. She purposely missed taking her medication. Then she heard the voice again. At first, it was faint; she had to strain to hear it. But, as the days passed and she continued not taking her pills, the voice became clearer.
Trust me; don’t take it. The voice spoke sweetly to her.
“But, if Alan finds out, he’s going to commit me to an insane asylum or disgrace me in front of the world.”
Listen to me; I’ll guide you.
And it had led her to where she now stood in front of the toilet bowl with her medicine in her hand.