The Exorcism of Nicholas W.

One time I was possessed by the devil. The best part about the exorcism was that it was going to be state mandated. Just thinking of the lawsuit money gets me all hot and bothered. As it is, I’m working with an attorney on how to file a suit to make sure no one else has to “suffer such an indignity” – attorney’s words not mine. I thought it was funny. But who knows, maybe I will actually be helping others as most don’t find amusement in the things I do.

It all started because of my sleep walking – or sleep disturbances. This is a legitimate medical condition, and while it does occur infrequently, it tends to really freak people out. Surprisingly, it began well before I fell in love with chemicals, a fact that be verified by my loving F and M. Like most of my afflictions (insomnia, depression, intelligence) it has been exacerbated by drugs.

Anyways, I was at a 3/4 house in Mt. Oliver, obviously not by choose because I’m not poor or stupid, but because drug court sentenced me there. They even put a tracking device on me like I was an endangered animal. These people weren’t fucking around. So one night my roommate John (who is married to a beautiful French girl who he shoots heroin with every night) takes a video of me with my phone, since he doesn’t have one. When he shows me what he is now calling “proof” it is kind disturbing. Actually, it is pretty standard stuff until it comes to the part where John says”if you keep this up I’m going to have to switch rooms”. After a ten second pause I say “you think that’s going to save you?”. “OK now that was pretty scary” John says. I rub my head against the bed and say in what I guess is my best impersonation of the Exorcist “they always come back for your soul in the dark”.

Here’s where you might say to yourself “oh my God, maybe you are possessed Nick, this may actually be proof”. To which I would say “don’t be fucking retarded” because the only thing this proves is that even in my sleep, I like to mess with people, and maybe I watch too many movies. John happens to be educated, a rarity in any rehabilitation environment, so he doesn’t actually believe I am possessed. The rest of the Philistins we live with are legitimately scared of the video. I enjoy showing it to them and acting really concerned at the end and saying “what do you think this means?”.

Somehow the video makes its way to the house owner Ollie, who along with being a raging homophobe and an outspoken racist (n and f words in almost every sentence) is also a devout Pentecostal. Ollie is short, Irish, and never shuts his fucking mouth. He repeats the same lame jokes and stories every time you see him. The only good joke he ever makes is when he acts like he’s important. Needless to say, the second I see him on the porch that Tuesday evening, I run for the stairs, but I’m too late. We lock eyes and I can see him mouth my name through the window. Trapped, I follow him into the living room.

“I need to talk to you about something serious” he tells me in a whisper. “Fuck” I think “this human egg fart is about to tell me he’s gay”. There’s no other reason why a ‘straight’ guy would mention hating gay people every ten minutes. The only rational explanation is that he secretly loves men. Why does everyone always come out to me?…and then inevitably come on to me.

“I hear you’ve been having some sleep disturbances… “. Oh thank God. “… and I’ve seen this before” Ollie says. “Let me ask you, have you ever messed with a Ouji board?”. “I don’t know man, not that I can remember” I reply, already thinking of a way to escape this tedious conversation. “Oh wait, no, I did once when I was 19”. His giant eyes get even wider. “Well I’ll tell you what you did Nick” he says leaning back “you invited the devil in”.

Hold up is this guy fucking with me? I quickly decide that he lacks the imagination and is definitely delusional enough to be one hundred percent serious. Let’s see where this goes. “You think?” I ask feigning concern. “What can we do about it?”.

“Lucky for you, my pastor is trained in spiritual warfare (I have trouble holding it together after this phrase) and I’m sure he’d meet with you” Ollie says “he cured the last guy I sent him”. I have so many questions, but don’t want to ruin this by laughing.

“When can we go see him? I’m getting really scared of what might happen”. Ollie stands up. “I’ll call him right now, but we can definitely go on Sunday. I’ll call you if he can see you sooner”. He’s walking out the door when he yells “we may have to nail your window shut untill we can get this figured out”. I make it back to my room before falling on the floor, laughing, and kicking my legs in the air like a little kid. John’s watching porn on my backup laptop. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks. “Guess who’s getting an exorcism?” I squeal.

Here are some of the conversations that lead up to the big day.

The guy I’d been seeing:

Guy: spiritual welfare? Like your soul?

Me: no, spiritual warfare… he’s going to fight the demons out!

Guy: oiy veh (he actually says this, so I stop texting him for a week).

My attorney/girlfriend:

Nicole: this worries me Nick

Nicole: insofar as you coming back

Me: lmao

Nicole: no, I’m serious

Nicole: text me an address

My Dad:

D: maybe he’s not wrong…

Me: I guess we shouldn’t rule it out

Favorite therapist:

Lizzy: I’ve never been jealous of anyone’s church going experience untill now

Me: I’m giddy…i can’t wait to see what happens

Sunday rolls around, and Ollie picks me up in his Chevy. When we get to the Pentecostal church, it’s way smaller than I expected and almost resembles a fancy trailer. As we walk in the door Ollie says “you’re going to love the pastor, he has no problem calling out the homos”. I laugh because you really can’t beat the irony here.

“Good!” I exclaim “I hate when the homos don’t get called out!”. I want to ask him if he wants to go on a fag-drag later tonight but don’t want to oversell it. I swear Ollie has a boner when we walk in, but that could just be the devil talking. We take our seats near the back, and I ask Ollie which one of the twenty people in the poorly lit church is the pastor. “Oh, you can’t miss him” he tells me. The service begins (no one else shows up) and I soon learn what Ollie meant. I hear huffing and creaking as a 400+ pound man gets up on the small stage. Pastor Elephant does on for an hour and half, preaching in the Pentecostal style that is amusing for five minutes and is then irritating. I start nodding out towards the end, which isn’t a good look considering my official stance is that I am sober and not possessed.

Pastor Elephant, covered in his own spit and sweat, finally ends the service and we go outside to smoke. I only have thirty minutes untill my ankle monitor explodes if I’m not within range of the state sentenced trap house. There’s clearly not going to be an exorcism. Did I just get tricked into going to church? Poor Ollie must have been hard up for a church buddy. I would have gone anyways if he’d just admitted he was lonely and tired of hiding his obvious homosexuality.

Ollie drops me off with some vague promise of the pastor meeting with me next week, but the dream has already died.

I dodge his church invitations for a couple of weeks before deciding to move to a different 3/4 house.

I guess I would feel a little bad about posting this, considering he did he think he was helping me, if it wasn’t for his aggressive hate speech. It’s hard to call yourself an ambassador of love and tolerance when you talk like the Hitler youth.

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