My First Occult Experience

Ooooo now lemme see..

My very very first actual occult experience that didn’t have something to do with a child’s awesomely over active imagination, fairy stories or movies was when I was 8 or 9. My much older cousin did a tarot reading for me. It would be quite a few more years before I picked it all back up willingly however.

At the age of 16 stressed and tired, on the verge of giving it all up because the world was too hard I went out for a run. I had the delight of ending up participating in a woman’s worst nightmare. At least I think I did… this is my first real occult experience and the one that till this day scares the shit out of me. From the age of 16 till the age of 17 there are portions of my life that are not real. Not in little ways either. I’m talking personality molding, mentally taxing shit. I was raped, a friend died and I beat the living shit out of someone.

The rape may have happened but it’s highly unlikely. I wasn’t a little girl at 16. I was tall as I am now and a great deal stronger. Not to mention my parents would have figured it out fast, and I don’t recall being allowed to go running after dark near the place where I recall this happening. Doubly so when the person I beat the living shit out of with a crowbar was the guy who raped me, days later, in the same place. He’d have had to go to hospital and it would have been on the news… not to mention we didn’t have crowbars at home. It couldn’t have happened, it literally could not have happened, yet I have very powerful memories of it regardless. The smells, the sounds, the emotions, the physical feelings as well.

The friend who died is one of the harder ones to place. As far as I know he wasn’t real, he lived in a real place that I had been to before. A home with a arched door (like the big church ones) built into the side of Castle Hill (local landmark). It was down the road from a friend of my parents place, but I don’t recall ever being inside it except to visit my friend. I couldn’t walk there yet in all my memories I always walked to the house. So he couldn’t be real yet my memories of this friend were, are, really solid. I could describe the timber of his voice, his haircut, the way he laughed, the odd habits he had. I remember him being quite sickly and frail physically but mentally he was lively and bright. I can tell you about our conversations, draw the layout of the house and describe the decor…

It was a weird year. According to my folks it was just a normal ones. According to the friends I still have from back then it was a normal one and I was the same slightly over the edge over the top person as I always was and have been ever since. I did suffer random bouts of severe depression that year which was put down to hormones and teenage angst (cause hey we all get right), but sitting here now I still can’t tell you what the fuck happened that year. As yet I still mark that year as the year I dreamt through because all I can think of is that I was dreaming it all. And one day I’ll figure out the missing bits, the bits that I know should have something in them but that are stubbornly blank.

So that was is, my first experience with the occult. I’m not sure that’s how most would see it but that’s all I can place it down to. I never did drugs so I couldn’t pass it off that way, I didn’t drink or party hard and I honestly still don’t know what it was all about, but part of my personality, a very strong part of my personality, was shaped by the events that may have never happened so I make a point of never ever dismissing it.

FTR: It was after all this had mostly stopped that a friend went and handed me my first book on witchcraft and wham bam thank you ma’am. Here I am.

~ by misstwist on July 23, 2008.