(Disclaimer: Although I am a member, I do not speak for the Church of Satan. All images are used are under fair use and are owned by their respective parties.)
I was always fascinated by the bizarre, the strange, and even the seemingly sinister. I was a well-behaved child growing up, but even when I was approaching young adulthood, I was still very much entrenched in the realm of the outsider. The opinions and expectations of those around me never entirely rubbed off on me. Considering the kind of neighborhood I grew up in, this was nothing short of extraordinary.
I grew up in a bad neighborhood, and sometimes in austere situations. Granted, the city I grew up in (a town nestled in the heart of the San Francisco Bay Area) was not a "bad city" in the traditional sense of the word. But where I grew up, in the south part of town; let's just say that the most common audible thing was a gunshot. And good luck walking down the streets safely at night. Hell, I was mugged, jumped and attacked several times on the streets in broad daylight!
Kids growing up that kind of an environment turn out to emulate the criminal behavior they were brought up in. Not me. Some would attribute this to my mother, a strong woman who introduced me to the world of art, classical music, and taught me the value of hard work. Some would say it was the fact that I attended church (reluctantly) regularly with my her. I would say it is a splash of both the former reason and my being a naturally born Satanist.
Oh yes, about the church attendance. The church I attended was not just any place of worship, it was a Kingdom Hall. Yes, my mother was (and still is) a Jehovah's Witness. That is where the majority of my misery stemmed from. I was forced week in and week out to study the Bible, proselytize via door to door, and analyze their literature. Even as a child, I knew the doctrine of the Jehovah's Witnesses was all malarky. As I grew older, I found a way to escape and study things I wanted to learn about on my own free time. I was practicing the old Satanic maxim of "study NOT worship."
In fact, that was my forte even outside of the Kingdom Hall. During school, teachers could never keep my attention on what THEY wanted me to study. I always found a way to sneak in my own scholastic pursuits. Whether it was art, comic books, dark history, or anything nerdy; I was a jack-of-all-trades when it came to my passions and poopooed the established syllabus of the state-sponsored indoctrination centers.
As I grew up, my life became harder. As my sexuality blossomed, I began developing sexual desires that were not viewed as godly by my mother. I soon realized that I was bisexual. I did not dare talk to my mother or any other friends of the family about my attraction for some of the other boys in the Kingdom Hall. I even fell in love with one of them. Granted I did not have a guilty conscious over the desires I had, I was more terrified of losing my mother if she found out.
Time marched forward, and I began to become very depressed. I attempted suicide two times when I was in my teens and was hospitalized. My mother, being the religionist she was, blamed this on all of those "dark, demonic, books and games you consume." But I knew better. I knew no demons were plaguing me, no Satan sitting on my shoulder telling me to waste my life.
As I was allowed to leave the mental hospital, I thought that all of my problems would dissipate with time. I was gravely mistaken. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was eighteen. This put things into perspective for my mother and I. When I told her of the evaluation, she actually had tears streaming down her face: "Now it makes sense...I'm so sorry, son." She hugged me to console me, something she rarely does. She might have been satisfied with the results, but I was not. The worst part is, I still had suicidal tendencies cropping up.
I needed answers so, much like anyone who is groping about for solutions, I turned to religious texts. I was firmly convinced that my mom's church carried no answers, but there had to be something out there. I did not believe in god, but maybe I could find something to console me. So, I dug around everywhere I could. I read the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita, The Gospel of the Buddha. Nothing but empty promises and fairytales. I just called myself an atheist, and I went through a period of edgy nihilism. I dressed in black and fought people on their beliefs. I called them belligerent things and made an all-around fool of myself in the process. I thought I was being cool, but in reality, I was just being a total nitwit.
To up my ante on religious study (just so I could win debates) I studied more religious manuscripts. This time, I dived into the pagan books. I studied Wicca, Kabbalah, and other metaphysical grimoires. More hogwash. This, dear reader, is where things changed drastically for me.
I was on my way to a nearby bookstore at the local mall in my neighborhood. It was an overcast day, gray clouds blanketed the entire sky above. I wanted to see what kind of books they had at my local Borders Books. As I entered the shop, the woman at the front counter chirped a cheerful greeting. I bowed my head in a silent gesture of politeness and made my way to the "occult/metaphysical" section of the bookstore. I browsed several of the books and noticed, in the corner of my eye, a little black book that stood out from the others.
My hand, reaching for it like a curious child, pulled it forward and read the title: "The Satanic Bible." At first, I was taken aback. I remember hearing stories about Satanists who chopped up babies, killed cats,(which hurt me, because I grew up around cats) and overall just hurt innocent people. I was disturbed but also intrigued. Were such rumors true? Were Satanists really as bad as people say? I then remember thinking about all of the horrific passages in the Bible and then thought to myself "I've been forced to read God's bullshit, it's time to hear what this book has to say."
I made the decision to buy the book. It was only seven bucks at the time, and it was small enough to hide. Bringing it home was one of the most thrilling experiences, even as it was buried in my backpack. I had something dark, something wicked waiting in the west wing that was called my room. Luckily, I had a lock on my door and a pretty large closet. As I locked the door, I made my way to my closet and turned on a reading light I had installed in there.
As I cracked open that book, I was defying a childhood of repression and doing what I thought was unthinkable. Something different came about. As I read each of the Satanic Statements, I found my head nodding and agreeing with each one so, I continued to read. With each page and each passage, I felt something bubble forth from within. Dear reader, I felt something that no other religious text brought about within me. I was feeling the distinct emotion of joy. I actually found a bible which not only made sense to me on an intellectual level but actually brought me an overall sense of pleasure and well-being.
That night, I could not put the damned book down! I was agreeing more and more with the text. There were moments where I had to put the book down and, out loud, say "Yes, thank you!" or "that's what I was thinking!" Looking back, I considered it kind of corny, but at the time I needed to let out all of the feelings that were surging from within. The Black Flame was growing into a dangerous wildfire that burned away all of the dogma and doubt of previous years of (attempted) indoctrination.
As I finished the book, I knew I had something powerful in my hands. This was it, this was the religion I was waiting for my whole life. Never has any religious book spoke to me like the Satanic Bible. That night I did more research on the author, Anton Szandor LaVey. I was instantaneously drawn to him and even felt a bit of a kindred spirit. I wanted to meet him, I personally wanted to shake his hand and thank him for writing this book. I was disappointed to find out that he had passed on but overjoyed to know that his church moved forward.
This was my secret, my religion that nobody but me could ever know about. I still lived at my mom's place, but I listened to Satanic media in private and studied more on the Church of Satan website. As the years went by, I felt more and more appreciation for the church imparting so much guidance to me through fantastic literature and books.
It was inevitable that I would join so, in secret, I did. I bought a private mailbox and sent in the application along with two-hundred dollars. Mentally, I was pacing as I waited for the response back. One day, I went to my mailbox to check and saw an envelope. I wanted to squeal like a schoolgirl on helium as I saw from whom it was from. I locked the box door and ran outside with it. I ripped open the contents and within there was a crimson card with my name on it.
I felt like I wanted to cry tears of joy, it is a day I will never forget. And to this day, I believe that it is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Satanism saved my life.
Ever forward!
Hail Satan!
I was always fascinated by the bizarre, the strange, and even the seemingly sinister. I was a well-behaved child growing up, but even when I was approaching young adulthood, I was still very much entrenched in the realm of the outsider. The opinions and expectations of those around me never entirely rubbed off on me. Considering the kind of neighborhood I grew up in, this was nothing short of extraordinary. I grew up in a bad neighborhood, and sometimes in austere situations. Granted, the city I grew up in (a town nestled in the heart of the San Francisco Bay Area) was not a "bad city" in the traditional sense of the word. But where I grew up, in the south part of town; let's just say that the most common audible thing was a gunshot. And good luck walking down the streets safely at night. Hell, I was mugged, jumped and attacked several times on the streets in broad daylight!
Kids growing up that kind of an environment turn out to emulate the criminal behavior they were brought up in. Not me. Some would attribute this to my mother, a strong woman who introduced me to the world of art, classical music, and taught me the value of hard work. Some would say it was the fact that I attended church (reluctantly) regularly with my her. I would say it is a splash of both the former reason and my being a naturally born Satanist.
Oh yes, about the church attendance. The church I attended was not just any place of worship, it was a Kingdom Hall. Yes, my mother was (and still is) a Jehovah's Witness. That is where the majority of my misery stemmed from. I was forced week in and week out to study the Bible, proselytize via door to door, and analyze their literature. Even as a child, I knew the doctrine of the Jehovah's Witnesses was all malarky. As I grew older, I found a way to escape and study things I wanted to learn about on my own free time. I was practicing the old Satanic maxim of "study NOT worship."
In fact, that was my forte even outside of the Kingdom Hall. During school, teachers could never keep my attention on what THEY wanted me to study. I always found a way to sneak in my own scholastic pursuits. Whether it was art, comic books, dark history, or anything nerdy; I was a jack-of-all-trades when it came to my passions and poopooed the established syllabus of the state-sponsored indoctrination centers.
As I grew up, my life became harder. As my sexuality blossomed, I began developing sexual desires that were not viewed as godly by my mother. I soon realized that I was bisexual. I did not dare talk to my mother or any other friends of the family about my attraction for some of the other boys in the Kingdom Hall. I even fell in love with one of them. Granted I did not have a guilty conscious over the desires I had, I was more terrified of losing my mother if she found out.
Time marched forward, and I began to become very depressed. I attempted suicide two times when I was in my teens and was hospitalized. My mother, being the religionist she was, blamed this on all of those "dark, demonic, books and games you consume." But I knew better. I knew no demons were plaguing me, no Satan sitting on my shoulder telling me to waste my life.
As I was allowed to leave the mental hospital, I thought that all of my problems would dissipate with time. I was gravely mistaken. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was eighteen. This put things into perspective for my mother and I. When I told her of the evaluation, she actually had tears streaming down her face: "Now it makes sense...I'm so sorry, son." She hugged me to console me, something she rarely does. She might have been satisfied with the results, but I was not. The worst part is, I still had suicidal tendencies cropping up.
I needed answers so, much like anyone who is groping about for solutions, I turned to religious texts. I was firmly convinced that my mom's church carried no answers, but there had to be something out there. I did not believe in god, but maybe I could find something to console me. So, I dug around everywhere I could. I read the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita, The Gospel of the Buddha. Nothing but empty promises and fairytales. I just called myself an atheist, and I went through a period of edgy nihilism. I dressed in black and fought people on their beliefs. I called them belligerent things and made an all-around fool of myself in the process. I thought I was being cool, but in reality, I was just being a total nitwit.
To up my ante on religious study (just so I could win debates) I studied more religious manuscripts. This time, I dived into the pagan books. I studied Wicca, Kabbalah, and other metaphysical grimoires. More hogwash. This, dear reader, is where things changed drastically for me.
I was on my way to a nearby bookstore at the local mall in my neighborhood. It was an overcast day, gray clouds blanketed the entire sky above. I wanted to see what kind of books they had at my local Borders Books. As I entered the shop, the woman at the front counter chirped a cheerful greeting. I bowed my head in a silent gesture of politeness and made my way to the "occult/metaphysical" section of the bookstore. I browsed several of the books and noticed, in the corner of my eye, a little black book that stood out from the others.
My hand, reaching for it like a curious child, pulled it forward and read the title: "The Satanic Bible." At first, I was taken aback. I remember hearing stories about Satanists who chopped up babies, killed cats,(which hurt me, because I grew up around cats) and overall just hurt innocent people. I was disturbed but also intrigued. Were such rumors true? Were Satanists really as bad as people say? I then remember thinking about all of the horrific passages in the Bible and then thought to myself "I've been forced to read God's bullshit, it's time to hear what this book has to say."
I made the decision to buy the book. It was only seven bucks at the time, and it was small enough to hide. Bringing it home was one of the most thrilling experiences, even as it was buried in my backpack. I had something dark, something wicked waiting in the west wing that was called my room. Luckily, I had a lock on my door and a pretty large closet. As I locked the door, I made my way to my closet and turned on a reading light I had installed in there.
As I cracked open that book, I was defying a childhood of repression and doing what I thought was unthinkable. Something different came about. As I read each of the Satanic Statements, I found my head nodding and agreeing with each one so, I continued to read. With each page and each passage, I felt something bubble forth from within. Dear reader, I felt something that no other religious text brought about within me. I was feeling the distinct emotion of joy. I actually found a bible which not only made sense to me on an intellectual level but actually brought me an overall sense of pleasure and well-being.
That night, I could not put the damned book down! I was agreeing more and more with the text. There were moments where I had to put the book down and, out loud, say "Yes, thank you!" or "that's what I was thinking!" Looking back, I considered it kind of corny, but at the time I needed to let out all of the feelings that were surging from within. The Black Flame was growing into a dangerous wildfire that burned away all of the dogma and doubt of previous years of (attempted) indoctrination.
As I finished the book, I knew I had something powerful in my hands. This was it, this was the religion I was waiting for my whole life. Never has any religious book spoke to me like the Satanic Bible. That night I did more research on the author, Anton Szandor LaVey. I was instantaneously drawn to him and even felt a bit of a kindred spirit. I wanted to meet him, I personally wanted to shake his hand and thank him for writing this book. I was disappointed to find out that he had passed on but overjoyed to know that his church moved forward.
This was my secret, my religion that nobody but me could ever know about. I still lived at my mom's place, but I listened to Satanic media in private and studied more on the Church of Satan website. As the years went by, I felt more and more appreciation for the church imparting so much guidance to me through fantastic literature and books.
It was inevitable that I would join so, in secret, I did. I bought a private mailbox and sent in the application along with two-hundred dollars. Mentally, I was pacing as I waited for the response back. One day, I went to my mailbox to check and saw an envelope. I wanted to squeal like a schoolgirl on helium as I saw from whom it was from. I locked the box door and ran outside with it. I ripped open the contents and within there was a crimson card with my name on it.
I felt like I wanted to cry tears of joy, it is a day I will never forget. And to this day, I believe that it is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Satanism saved my life.
Ever forward!
Hail Satan!
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