Prologue: What If You’re Not Alone?
Imagine this…
What if everyone in the world was silently enduring the same kind of torture—
their bodies invaded, their minds manipulated, sleep stolen,
all in the name of God?
What if millions were told to suffer in silence,
to respect the very force (God) destroying them
to keep quiet and call it Holy?
What if the pain you’ve buried…
is the same pain someone else is too afraid to speak?
I’ve lived that reality.
And I refuse to believe I’m the only one.
This is my story, Not for sympathy.
But for truth. For voice
For others who suffer in the dark, thinking they are alone!
Spiritual Abuse even after enrolling in a Bible school
For a long time, God was everything to me. I believed in Him, not just with my words but with my life. I fasted for days. I read spiritual books, i enrolled in in a bible school seeking more! I called on angels. But slowly, my faith became my prison.When I first started hearing voices, I thought it was a sacred gift. The voice spoke during prayer, fasting and meditation, and at night. The voice of God bought light for only few months that felt intimate, powerful—even beautiful. But the beauty did not last!
This is not a story about losing faith overnight. It’s a journey through spiritual abuse—one that shattered my beliefs and left me with questions no prayers!
The catholic convent where i worked
It didn’t begin with a loud voice or a dramatic moment. It started quietly—inside a place that many believe is sacred: a Catholic convent. I was working there as a nurse, caring for elderly nuns, following routines, and living what seemed like a life of peace and service. But behind those convent walls, I witnessed things that nobody can believe. Things hidden behind stained glass windows and whispered prayers.
One day, after a disagreement with a fellow nurse, I felt something strange. A physical strike—sudden, sharp—hit me directly on my butt. It went wet, like something invisible had touched or entered me. I froze. It didn’t make sense. No one was there. No explanation. Just a shocking physical violation that no one could see but I could deeply feel. That was the first attack. And it happened inside the convent.
During that period, that i worked in the Catholic convent, my body began to be invaded slowly and quietly. It was the beginning of a journey through spiritual abuse—subtle at first, then forceful. The sense of being watched and touched by something I couldn’t see became more frequent!
When My Body Became a Battleground
During that period in the convent, my body began to be invaded slowly and quietly. What started as a strange, isolated event turned into something persistent and deeply unsettling. My Navel became the central point of attack. It was used—and is still used to this day—as the entry point to the rest of my body, especially my anal area and both ovaries and my organs . It was like my body had been mapped, and the Navel is the access Door!
Not long after, I began losing sleep. Subtle at first, then forceful.
At night, I was targeted. My head would be struck in three places:
- The frontal lobe, cutting off my ability to rest.
- The parietal lobe (the middle), bringing pressure and confusion.
- And the temporal lobes on the sides of my head, making sleep almost impossible.
These attacks were precise. Repetitive. Deliberate. And as the nights wore on it heightened. It was the beginning of , spiritual abuse that wore the mask of faith, religion!
My body was attacked day and night. I called hospitals again and again, reporting strange pains—pressure in my ovaries, strikes to my head and my anal, pain in my liver, pancreas, and kidneys. For weeks i had diabetic like symptoms and the voice confirmed it was part of the torture! I couldn’t urinate for days. I couldn’t defecate for weeks. My right arm felt injected for months, like a painful vaccine—but nothing was visible.
During my periods, my anal area would be struck first, then I’d bleed heavily—far more than I ever had. At night, something bitter would be rubbed in my nose. The voice called it cocaine—something I’ve never used. Later, he claimed to insert it through the top of my head to keep me awake all night, and it worked i couldnt sleep, then my body would be used and abused especially the Anal.
I made a decision to go for Holiday!
I couldn’t take it anymore. The pain, the sleepless nights, the silence, the doctors the hospitals and the bills—it was too much. So I made the decision to go for holiday and try to breathe again! I thought maybe being close to my roots, my family, and the warmth of home would bring me peace. I believed that maybe the nightmare would stop once am relaxed! Once i got there the battle followed me! I wanted to heal. I wanted to rest. But the peace I was searching for didn’t come.
I no longer call out to the heavens
People often ask, “How can someone stop believing in God?”
This is how.
When faith becomes fear.
When prayer turns to pain.
When the God you trusted becomes your abuser.
I didn’t become an atheist out of anger. I became one out of survival. I no longer call out to the heavens—because when I did, all I received was silence… or violence in disguise.
Writing to survive
When no one believed me—when doctors had no answers and the voice kept telling me to stay silent—I picked up my pen. Every word I wrote was a rebellion against the silence forced on me. I started documenting everything—the pain, the voices, the strange attacks on my body. I didn’t care if it sounded unbelievable. It was my truth. And for once, I wasn’t writing to be understood. I was writing to exist.
This blog is just the beginning!
My goal is to finish my book and share the full truth—raw and unfiltered.
Because I know I’m not alone!
There are others like me—living in silence, being told to “respect” pain disguised as spirituality. I write for them too.