In April 2005, I found myself consumed by a strange and relentless sickness that felt like an impending doom. The weight of hopelessness was suffocating, as if there were no escape from this unyielding torment. What began as a troubling discomfort spiraled into a three-year ordeal filled with unanswered questions and medical mysteries.
I consulted countless doctors, each time seeking relief, yet none could provide a definitive diagnosis. I even turned to faith healers, hoping for a miracle. The emergency room became all too familiar to the medical staff; I was a regular visitor, often arriving during an episode that left me gasping for breath and gripped by panic.
The tests came back, one after another, MRI scans, endoscopies, colonoscopies, anything you can name. All indicated I didn’t have any life-threatening illness. GERD, IBS, dyspepsia, hyperacidity, dizziness, migraines, insomnia, none of these were terminal, yet they felt insurmountable. The sensations in my body were real: a crushing heaviness in my chest, difficulty breathing, and an overwhelming nervousness that left my limbs tingling and numb. I could even spit blood, a grim sign that only added to my anxiety.
My digestive system turned against me, forcing me to rush to the bathroom more than four times a day, my stomach bloated and uncomfortable. Nights blurred into restless stretches filled with migraines, while days spent in malls or grocery stores were marred by the fear of fainting or collapsing and wanting to go home. My children often called me a "killjoy," unaware of the battle I was fighting within.
Through it all, I underwent an exhaustive array of treatments. I even underwent a hemorrhoidectomy, all while the doctors reassured me that my brain scans showed no critical conditions. The relentless cycle of seeking answers and finding none transformed me into a hypochondriac, trapped in a labyrinth of anxiety and uncertainty.
What I faced felt more than physical; it was a profound struggle against the invisible forces that threatened to consume me. Each day was a fight, and as I navigated the confusion and despair, I yearned for clarity, for a way to reclaim my life.
With no clear explanation for my illness, doctors began attributing my symptoms to anxiety, panic attacks, or, in a rather dismissive manner, severe stress. They recommended I see a psychiatrist for further evaluation, which I reluctantly did. The prescribed antidepressants left me feeling disoriented, as if my muscles were trembling from my feet to my head, rendering me unsteady. The secretary mentioned that the dosage was mild—often given to patients with schizophrenia. Was I losing my mind? The thought haunted me.
Amid this medical chaos, I turned to spiritual healers, desperate for relief. I was often seen among people in charismatic groups, praying and praising God. One particularly fervent healer performed a spiritual deliverance, laying hands on me as she prayed. She claimed to see my neck swelling as she prayed, and afterward, she insisted she witnessed spirits leaving my body in a form of a smoke. I longed for this to be true, hoping it might liberate me from my inexplicable suffering.
However, the most extreme measure came when they insisted on burning my collection of DVDs—two or three boxes filled with horror, sci-fi, and supernatural themes. They argued that these films were gateways for evil spirits. My mother, trying to be supportive, said there was no harm doing it. In mere moments, my treasured collection—worth countless hours of enjoyment and a significant amount of money—was reduced to ash. What was left in its place was a profound sense of loss and confusion, adding to the tumult of my already fragile state.
Today or seven years later, I can confidently say that I am in good health. Yet, the true source of my recovery remains a mystery known only to God. I believe He has a plan for me, and it’s in Him that I find my strength and hope.
My experience felt like a wake-up call, reminding me that He reigns above all earthly pursuits. The riches and fame we chase will ultimately fade away, becoming meaningless when we face our vulnerabilities. In my darkest moments, I had no choice but to turn back to my Creator, seeking His guidance and support. Through this journey, I discovered that true healing comes from faith and dependence on something greater than myself.