The Spirit and Soul Rises…


The Spirit and Soul Rises…

Last night, I sensed emptiness, a darkness closing around me. I wondered did I stray too far off the path that The Great Spirit had set for me to follow in this life. The darkness was bottomless and menacing it would not release me from my fear. Terror like the cold hands of death and panic assumed a position around me. I had let no one know of the fear that had imprisoned my spirit and soul every night when I went to bed and the darkness suffocated me. I felt hopeless with no guidance, the hours passed slowly, did I sleep or did I just not wake, when sunlight appeared in my window and the night was no more, a desecrated black waste hung over me. What was it that I experienced during the night, Hell!

I rose from where I lay and found my feet upon a another path that was unknown to me, it was a lighted way and when I look back toward where I had lay there was nothing but rushing muddy waters. There should be no water where I slept! My eyes surveyed all that and I stood quietly in a whirlpool of my own fears, am I asleep? Fear rose in my throat, choking me. I could not breathe; the light of mercy will never shine upon me again, I was in a world known all too well, my world. I walked through a valley, I tried to climb out, there was nothing in the landscape before me or behind me, no sun, no sky, no trees, no homes, nothing. I slumped to the ground where I stood. There is no breath, had creation ended? I lifted my head tossing back the once brown flowing mane, now white as a winter’s snow.

I screamed this darkness does not own me, nor my heart and soul. I had not been unfeeling in life. Oh Creator cleanse my soul, deliver me from this inferno where I stand among the bones of those who have gone before me. I heard a voice call to me in the darkness, I wanted to wake from this nightmare, I wanted to be safe, and I wanted my spirit and soul to feel the sun as it rises in the morning. Here in this darkness my life is shown to me, and I remembered everything, from beginning to the soon to be end. I moved slowly in the dense darkness, my mind moved from time to time good days and bad days. The abused times still burnt into my mind. There is no hope, no safe place for me. Then a sliver of sunlight penetrates my eyes and mind, it was the morning sun. I was not dead and I cried releasing myself from the darkness and void that had taken over my body and mind. I live for another day; The Creator has given me another chance. The nightmare was over.


AUTHORS NOTE: My depression leaves me with restlessness, insomnia, and anxiety. My control is through exercise, writing, reading, and painting. I believe that the stigma placed on depression needs to be erased, I also believe that my creativeness is many times guided by these moods. Activity is my drug of choice.




Flying with Broken Wings

A Journey into a Life of Bipolar, Cerebral Palsy, Depression and Schizophrenia Disorders

A Biography

By Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

Copyright © 2017 Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

Charlotte Jean Murphree died on July 21, 2010; she was fifty-two years old. This is her story, written by her mother and from beginning to end as Charlotte may possibly have told it.

“The Demons”
[Mom] Flying with Broken Wings is the story of my daughter Charlotte; her journey from Heaven to Earth and the “unexpected” return back to Heaven when she was fifty-two-years old.

Charlotte was born on July 13, 1958, she would soon travel a path through life carrying the special circumstance of conditions that she did never denied, bipolar, cerebral palsy, and depression and schizophrenia disorders.

This is her story through my eyes, heart and mind. The many conversations agreements and disagreements with her, the outwardly life that I knew she lived, all that would be part of her life. In addition, the inter struggle that she would know. Her life, much like a rushing river, that entwined with my own and that of her family.
My memory is long and vivid…most of her demons arrived in her mid-twenties; in the beginning Charlotte was a happy child and young girl whose problems were mental and physical challenges in life, her school, yet without the demons of the mind.

When she became older, any typical day was as one in the fall of 1997; I was leaving for work and Charlotte was sitting in the middle of her bed talking in the voices of a man, woman and sometimes a little girl. She never gave these personas’ a name; however, I knew the tone of their voices, all too well.

This behavior was a red flag for me; before I went to work, I gather up all the sharp knives, everything sharp putting them in the trunk of my car. I knew what might happen when I got home.

I arrived that night standing by my car staring up at our living room windows. Yes, Charlotte lived with me for thirty-nine-years, I pretended not to see her look out the window; when suddenly the lights went out I knew that she would be in her dark bedroom. I knew when I walked in the door that, the Charlotte I knew when I went to work that day had gone away.

In her place was the persona of the man and woman with evil minds whose intent was to control her and harm me. The little girl seems to be there for Charlotte’s protection, she always talk kind and sweet, begging Charlotte to stay calm and not listen to the other voices.

The first words I would hear upon walking in the apartment was that of Charlotte’s own voice begging the man to go away, and then he would speak to her with a low menacing evil sound coming through Charlotte.

“Get up, you know what you should do”, his voice almost a low growl.

Suddenly she was standing in the kitchen, towering over me. I tried to show no emotion, I ask how her night went; my usual patter before I went into the bathroom. My own voice as calm and normal as I could make it sound. I showered, turned on the TV while she pace from kitchen to her bedroom, stopping occasionally to stare irately at me. I took my car keys and handbag into my bedroom; closed the door placing a security stick under the doorknob.

I went to bed secure that she could not get to me. I was not afraid to die; I did not want was for Charlotte to live out her life with such a heinous act hanging over her. It was then that I heard the man voice calling from the other side of my bedroom door, the man with no name.

“Better not go to sleep, I’ll cut your troth.”

The personas that developed over time were deep within Charlotte’s psyche; he and the woman could take over her thoughts and actions any time that they wanted too. I had tried to talk to him and the woman before, begging both to leave her alone; they would curse me and say they were going to kill Charlotte and me too.

The incident is only one of many that she and I would have to endure. I am in hopes that Charlotte’s story can help others who live under the same conditions to learn that living with these children is a forever changing pattern, one did not know where to go or what to do to help their child in those days, they were usually medicated to a zombie state.
That is not true of today, the twenty-first-century; there are many avenues of help for the children and their parents. I want parents to stay strong and let their children young or adult know that they are not alone!

In the 21st Century help is there from their birth, find it! Live for happier times while you can, for they are not often. Love them and hold onto them.   EAJM



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