I never thought a sinus infection could spiral into something that would shake both my body and soul. But sometimes, the worst pain doesn’t just come from a fever or physical illness—it comes from the silence of being alone, the unseen torment in the dark, and the growing fear that something more sinister is at play.
I’d been staying in a small condo—modern, comfortable enough, but a little too quiet. At first, I thought I was just worn out. A bit of congestion, fatigue, and a general feeling of being under the weather. Classic signs of a sinus infection, right? Nothing to worry about. I figured some rest, fluids, and maybe over-the-counter meds would do the trick.
But instead of getting better, things got worse. Much worse.
The Illness That Wouldn’t Let Go
What began as a simple sinus problem quickly escalated. My body felt like it had been trampled by a freight train. Every morning I woke up feeling like I had been in a brawl I couldn’t remember. My head throbbed, my limbs ached, and waves of nausea rolled in like an unwanted tide. I couldn’t keep food down some days, and on others, I didn’t even have the strength to get out of bed. I’d wake up drenched in sweat, sometimes burning up with fever, other times freezing in shivers.
Despite everything, I wasn’t completely alone. A loved one from abroad— Her name is Grace, someone who knew me well enough to hear the fatigue in my voice—kept calling every day. No matter the time difference, She made sure to check in, asking if I had eaten, if I was taking my medicine, if I was holding on.
Her voice on the other end of the line was often the only anchor I had. She reminded me to take care of myself when my mind was too foggy to remember. It was because of them that I found the strength to drag myself to a nearby clinic. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t have the energy. But She insisted. Gently. Repeatedly.
So I went.
I got checked, explained the symptoms, and finally received the proper medication. For a brief moment, there was a sense of relief—at least now, I was taking steps toward healing. But while the medicine began to work on my physical body, the oppressive heaviness in that condo—the sense of being watched, drained, and spiritually cornered—only seemed to grow.
Shadows on the Wall
It started slowly. At night, I’d see flickers of movement in my peripheral vision—shadows that crawled across the walls, too fluid to be tricks of the light. Once or twice, I convinced myself it was just my fever playing tricks. I was sick, tired, and probably hallucinating. That’s what I told myself.
But then came the moments when I’d close my eyes to sleep and still see… things. Not dreams. Not the colorful nonsense of a restless mind. I’d see a dark, shallow figure—faceless, watching me. Not moving, just… there. I could feel its presence, like a vacuum in the room, sucking the energy right out of me. I’d open my eyes and there would be nothing. But the weight in the room remained.
There were nights I’d be too afraid to close my eyes again.
The Spiral
By the second week, it wasn’t just physical anymore. My emotions turned dark. I felt angry, hopeless, and spiritually numb. My prayers felt like they bounced off the ceiling. My faith—usually the anchor in any storm—began to waver. It was as if something wanted to cut me off from any source of light, of hope, of God Himself.
Some people might say I was just depressed from the sickness, or experiencing delirium from the fever. And maybe there’s some truth to that. But I’ve been sick before. I’ve battled fevers, loneliness, and even mild depression. This was different. This felt like a targeted attack—something that fed on my isolation and fear.
In those darkest moments, I didn’t just feel sick. I felt under siege.
Fleeing the Condo
I reached a breaking point. One night, I woke up gasping for air. Not because I couldn’t breathe, but because the room felt stifling—oppressive. I couldn’t take it anymore. I packed a bag and left. I don’t even remember locking the door behind me, but of course I did. I just had to get out.
Staying at a familiar place, where I used to work, gave me some physical and spiritual relief. The fever began to subside, the nausea started to wane. But it was more than that. I felt like I could breathe again—not just physically, but spiritually. The darkness that had been clinging to me started to lift.
That’s when I knew: whatever had been happening in that condo wasn’t just in my body or mind. Something else was there. And I wasn’t going to let it win.
A Decision to Return
You might think I’d stay away for good. Part of me wanted to. But another part of me—maybe the part that’s stubborn or the part that believes in the power of prayer—knew I had to go back.
Not just to face the place, but to reclaim it.
I’ve decided to return to that condo and bless it. I’m bringing holy water, scripture, and prayer. I’m not going in with fear—I’m going in with faith. Whether you’re a believer or not, there comes a time when you have to confront the things that tried to destroy you.
To skeptics, this might sound like superstition or the imaginings of a fevered mind. And to some degree, I understand. I used to think that way too. But when you’ve lived through the darkness I lived through—when you’ve felt something press against your chest that wasn’t there, seen things no one else can see, and had your very spirit drained night after night—you stop brushing it off.
You know what you experienced. You know what’s real.
Why I’m Sharing This
I’m not writing this to scare anyone. I’m writing this because someone out there might be experiencing something similar—an illness that just won’t go away, an invisible heaviness in the air, nightmares that feel too real, a growing distance from the things that used to give them hope.
You’re not crazy. And you’re not alone.
We don’t talk enough about how illness can open us up—not just physically, but spiritually. When you’re weak, broken, and isolated, you become vulnerable. And not just to germs. To despair. To darkness. Maybe even to spiritual forces we don’t fully understand.
But I believe healing is possible. I believe deliverance is real. And I believe that sometimes, when the battle is hardest, it’s because something good is trying to break through.
The Fight Ahead
When I return to that condo, I know it won’t just be a casual visit. I’ll be stepping into a battlefield. But I’m not going back alone. I’m going with prayer, with light, and with a resolve I didn’t have before.
I may have left that place beaten and scared, but I’m returning stronger.
The shadows may crawl again. The fear may try to whisper. But this time, I’ll speak louder. I’ll declare that this space is no longer theirs. That my body is no longer theirs. That my spirit belongs to God, and I won’t let go.
I’m not going back to live there—I’m going back to take back what was stolen.
To Those Reading
If this resonates with you—if you’re battling something physical, emotional, or even spiritual—don’t give up. Reach out. Speak to someone. Pray if you can. And don’t be afraid to bless your space. Even if you’re not sure what you believe, there’s power in declaring peace over chaos, light over darkness.
I survived something I still can’t fully explain. But I believe it was more than just an infection. It was a wake-up call.
Now I’m answering.
