Background

It was around the age of 21 when everything began. I had just finished Branford Hall Career Institute for computer repair, but I wasn’t feeling like myself. Something felt off. I called a therapist, and they suggested I try meditation. I typed “meditation” into Google, and a place called Small Forest Temple came up. I gave them a call, and they said they had a class coming up on Wednesday.

From the moment I walked in, I loved what I was doing. It was a mix of martial arts, Tai Chi, and meditation. I had never meditated before in my life. They told me they could help me overcome the things holding me back and help me discover who I really am. I started going every Wednesday to meditate and practice with them.

I came from a troubled childhood — my parents argued constantly. I was sexually and mentally abused.

Meditating at the Temple

It was an amazing experience. I was learning a lot about myself through meditation and the philosophy classes. I was becoming more relaxed, and my life was starting to feel better. I even got a temp job at a major corporation, and things were looking up. One of my friends told me he thought I was in a cult, but I didn’t feel that way at all. After about a year of going to the temple, I decided to move in and make meditation a regular part of my life.

Hearing Voices, Mind Racing

Around that time, a lot of people moved out of the temple, and I ended up being there alone most days. I would spend my time meditating and practicing martial arts. Eventually, I started noticing that my mind was racing and I was hearing voices. At the time, I didn’t realize they were voices — I thought I was receiving insight from angels. It’s unfortunate, but there are a lot of books on shamanism that describe similar things happening to people who meditate deeply, so I didn’t think I was losing my mind. I honestly believed I was having a spiritual experience.

My teacher noticed something was off. He suggested I try meditating all night to see if I would feel better, because I didn’t seem like myself. After a while, I stopped listening to the teacher, and they eventually asked me to leave.

Driving Around with Stories in My Head

I didn’t go back home immediately. Instead, I ended up driving around for days. I don’t remember much, but I do remember the voices in my head telling me a story — that I was the reincarnation of a Buddhist monk who gets a chance every 10,000 years to break a karmic cycle. If I failed, I’d have to wait another 10,000 years to try again.

It felt like there was a battle going on in my mind between angels and demons. I was totally out of it. I didn’t know what was real or what to do. The voices told me not to go home, warning that something bad would happen if I did. Eventually, I went home anyway. My parents didn’t catch on at first. I ended up sleeping for days… then weeks… then months.

Getting Arrested

I was very confused and didn’t know what to do. So I decided to go back to the temple, hoping they might understand what was happening to me. Since they were healers, I thought maybe they could help me make sense of it all. But it didn’t go the way I expected — instead of helping me, they called the police. I was trespassed from the property.

Going to the Hospital

One day I woke up and knew something was wrong, so I decided to drive myself to the hospital. When I spoke to the intake nurse, I told her, “There’s something wrong with me.” She asked what was wrong, but I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t understand it myself. At the temple, they told me that most people wouldn’t understand spiritual experiences — only monks and people who meditate nonstop could truly relate.

Because of that, I didn’t know how to put it into words. I stood there, unable to explain what was going on in my mind. Eventually, I just said, “Never mind. I’m okay now,” and left. I went back home.

Getting in a Fight with My Dad

My parents still hadn’t realized something was seriously wrong with me. One day, they asked me to come with them to the beach. On the way there, I started hearing voices again. The voices told me that my dad was the devil. I was completely lost in my mind at that point — I believed it.

We were sitting in the car, and I was in the passenger seat. Out of nowhere, I turned and started choking him. I thought I was doing something necessary… but really, I was out of control.

Ending Up in the Mental Institution

Eventually, my sister ended up driving me to the emergency room, and that’s when they admitted me to a mental hospital. I remember asking one of the doctors, “Is God going to heal me?” She replied, “There is no God here — only science.” I don’t remember much else from my time in the hospital, but that moment really stayed with me. Her words made me feel sad and hopeless.

Years later, when I looked over my hospital records, I saw that it said I was constantly calling the hospital priest and asking for an exorcism.

Recovery

After I got out of the mental hospital, they put me on medication that made the voices and delusions go away. Right after my release, I was going to a clinic five times a week for three hours a day. Recovery was a slow, exhausting process. In the beginning, I was on twelve different medications, and I couldn’t function at all.

My sister kept coming with me to the appointments, telling the doctors, “He doesn’t need all of this medication.” Eventually, when they lowered it down to one medication, I started remembering things again and functioning better.

But for years, I couldn’t tell whether what I experienced was a spiritual awakening… or a mental breakdown.

Hard to Accept

Even now, it’s hard to accept that I’ve been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. There’s so much that science doesn’t explain. I’ve read stories and books about people who’ve had spiritual experiences — are they all just crazy?

When Jesus meditated in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights and faced the devil… was he delusional? I don’t know. Some days, I believe I had a spiritual experience. Other days, I believe I’m just sick. Maybe one day, I’ll know the truth.

How I Deal With It Now

These days, I spend a lot of time lying around. I’m on disability, and I often find myself wondering what really happened to me. I still take medication. I’m on my own now — functional, for the most part — but I’m not the same person I used to be.

Mental illness can happen to anyone. So the next time you feel like laughing at someone struggling, remember: it could just as easily happen to you. And if it did, how would you want to be treated?

If you’ve read my story, I’d appreciate if you left a comment. I’d love to hear your thoughts, insights, or perspectives — maybe you’ve been through something similar. Maybe you can help me see things in a new light.