My Story

Please note: parts of the following testimony may not be suitable for those below the age of adolescence.

I was baptised a Catholic and I discovered a small part of the evidence of the existence of God at an early age; the trouble was I just didn’t know it. I was six-years old when I developed my first crush on a girl at school; I was mesmerised with how pretty this girl was, she had a natural beauty and a natural smile that resonated with something inside me, and so whilst my friends were off playing football or teasing other girls, I was angling for an opportunity to talk to this girl. I was alone in my appreciation though, and from my view she appeared only to be interested in those classmates

That wasn’t to be the only mixed blessing in my life. For although I was brought up in a loving family and a Catholic family; being baptised, receiving my First-Holy Communion, being confirmed and attending church every Sunday (even whilst on vacation to my brothers’ and my disappointment!), this for the most part was where our faith ended. We were to all intents and purposes ‘Sunday Catholics’. This way of life brought with it a mixed set of outcomes; a loving and secure family life, though with an underlying self-insecurity; weekly church attendance in which I would serve on the altar impeccably, only to then go and dip my hand in the collection basket after mass; and a good level of intelligence and outward confidence, though with not nearly enough aptitude to realise, nor humility to acknowledge, who imparted my gifts to me in the first place.

For the most part I was able to get away with this way of life, though dipping my hand in the collection-basket was put to an end after my parents found out and I confessed all in a tirade of tears. But in absence of a true relationship with Jesus, the overall result was a childhood of a lot of happy memories, especially with respect to family life, but with little genuine self-fulfilment, and an attitude that can best be described as that of a 'smart-aleck'. This all managed to sustain itself for some years, though having stopped attending church not too long after my Confirmation, it was only a matter of time before it would all fall down.

And fall down it did, for one lunch time during my fourth year in high-school I was subject to an incident of bullying that had a profound effect on me, and quite possibly even changed the course of my life. During that incident I was hit with a force that I’d never experienced before in my life; it was a force of real hatred. At the time I had little idea of what was going on, I suspected that I had over-stepped the mark in how brash my attitude had become, I also suspected there was an element of jealousy involved with respect to a mutual friend of ours. Though inside I was confused, as I didn’t believe these alone were enough to cause somebody to direct so much hate-fuelled energy onto me. I had assumed it all personally at the time, and it was only after many years that I came to consider that the real source of that hate, from what I can discern, stemmed mostly from the boy’s own broken family life; a misplaced cry for help in his search for love.

Despite the feorcity of this incident there was not a speck of blood as a result. And it was this absence of any visual signs that left me with a choice as to the way I reacted to the whole episode; be honest and open, discuss the whole thing and ask for help, or conceal things and try to resolve matters all by myself. Much to my own detriment, I made a decision to choose the latter option. As much out of pride as from fear of being rejected, I told nobody else what had happened, but instead took it upon myself to resolve matters and maintain an image of perfection.

The Spirit of Christ inside me wanted me to talk about what happened, wanted me to pray for the boy that did this to me, wanted me to pray for myself, and wanted to forgive the boy. And so as I suppressed these requests my life became ever more out of balance; I developed panic attacks and a fear of public speaking; something I had been good at previously. As the frustration of this set in, much to my own shame I assumed the role of a racist in an attempt to regain some credibility amongst my peers. I even became a bully myself to once loyal friends of mine; a highly misplaced cry for help of my own. I thank the Lord that he brought a few good friends into my life that soon made me realise the stupidity of my racist opinions. However, as one evil went out a new one came in as I developed an obsession with bodybuilding. I carried my fear, frustration and anger on through my teens and into my early twenties. The panic attacks persisted and I soon turned to beta-blockers whenever having to give a public presentation.