Diagnosing the Demonic
Case Study of a Foothold
In order to see these played out in real life, let's consider a case study written by a former client we will call "Michelle."
I was number six of seven children. I never felt like I really belonged to the family. I was a burden, or a mistake. We lived in the projects of Philadelphia until I was six. We moved to a very rundown house when I was seven. Both my parents drank a lot. They became angry, abusive, and scary when they drank.
My father worked; my mother stayed home. Both of my parents had sexual and physical abuse in their pasts, and they carried that into our home. We were poor and we went without food on several occasions. To avoid embarrassment, I would lie about stuff to cover up the truth. If a teacher asked me where my coat was, I would tell her I did not like wearing coats. When friends would ask to come over to play, I would say my mother was sick. At Christmas I would lie about the presents I got; I never received any gifts from my parents, but I did not want anyone to know that. The Father of Lies got his hooks in me at an early age. Lying made me look like something I was not.
The first sexual abuse I can remember was at age five. My mother came into my room, picked me up from bed, and carried me to my dad's bed where he touched me all over. The nighttime ritual went on for several years. He showed me nude pictures. He read sexual events to me, and then wanted me to act those things out with him.
At age seven, I accepted Christ as my savior, and I loved God as much as I could at that age. I believed that God would stop the abuse if I was just good enough. But soon I believed that I was not good because the abuse continued and even got worse.
My father wanted to introduce me to oral sex; I was seven years old. I said no. He became outraged. He grabbed me and took me to the basement. He made me watch him as he killed my kitten, and he told me if I ever said no to him again he would cut my throat just like he did with my kitten. I was sent out back to bury the kitten. I remember looking up to the sky and praying to God for help, but help didn't come.
I felt so alone and scared, and I was angry with God. I didn't let go of my belief in God, but it didn't offer much comfort. I just wanted to die and go live with Jesus forever. God was the only thing I had to hold on to.
The sexual abuse continued for years. I thought no child should ever have to endure such horrible things, especially from her parents. My mother was just as abusive as my father.
I always wondered why I was so singled out. The answer to that came when my mother, in a moment of weakness and rage, told me that she had been raped by her brother 13 years ago. I was the result of that rape. Now I knew why I felt from the beginning that I didn't belong. I guess my father felt it was okay to molest and rape a child who was not his own.