My Story: The Divine Plan That Broke Me and Built Me

This is for you guys—family, maybe a few close friends. It’s not polished, it’s not pretty, but it’s me laying it all out. Saturday night, September 28, 2025, was a spiritual bomb. Heavy, undeniable, straight-from-God. It took years of chaos—mania, psychosis, trauma—to get me here. Every panic attack, every breakdown, every dark moment was connected, leading to this. It wasn’t random. It was His plan, and I had no clue it was coming.

The Hell I Lived Through

I’ve been through the wringer—decades of pain, mental and physical. Panic attacks that shattered me, psychosis that split my brain into pieces, fentanyl withdrawals that felt like dying, and traumas that piled up like bricks on my chest. Kids who don’t want me, a marriage that felt like a con, losing a 13-year job because I wouldn’t let them control me. I lost my wife, kids, home, job, and career in one swoop. Lived in a trailer behind my truck while she stayed with my parents. I was abandoned, broken, and raging.

I carried that rage in my jaw, my chest, my heart—building year after year. Why me? Why the broken brain? Why the kids who don’t call? Why the joy sucked out of everything—food, movies, football, sex, vacations? It all turned gray. Drugs and alcohol didn’t even touch it. I was a walking shell, thinking there was nothing left but to wait for death. I made videos, wrote in my memoir of pain, screamed into the void—nothing fixed it. I craved rage music, workouts to expel the fury, but it never left.

I asked God, “Why save me from near-death over and over just to let me rot like this?” I was pissed—at Him, at everything.

The Spark in Hawaii

Then Hawaii happened. Something cracked open. I was an emotional mess, writing a note to Bodie, wanting to know if I’d been a good dad or just total shit. Kristen saw me spiraling and asked, “Why do you overthink so much?” I walked out, sat on the couch, and dug deep. Why do I overthink? Because I feel like a failure as a father. That question sent me tracing every trauma, every hospital stay, every panic attack back to a single domino. It was a gift from God, a piece of the puzzle I didn’t understand then. It didn’t fix me in the moment, but it set the stage for what was coming.

San Diego: The Plan Starts to Click

The next week, I drove to San Diego for errands, crashed at my mother-in-law Sheri’s. Went to bed around midnight, nothing crazy. But then I slipped into that floaty state—on the edge of a manic break, a place I’d been before. This time was different. It was clear: every panic attack, every episode was designed to teach me how to tame my supercharged brain. God showed me how to straighten my thoughts, snap the panic loops. That floaty place? That’s where He met me.

I started connecting the dots. Every panic attack taught me something, each one building on the last. I saw His plan unfolding—decades of it. I looked down at my cross necklace, sitting on a loop chain that formed an 8 when laid flat. The cross sat on top, crushing it. Then my “Know Thyself” tool—pure gift from God. Pause, breathe, control the rage. Then my Keith tattoo: “Calm.” I didn’t pick that word—Keith did. I heard his voice, clear as day, “Hey big boy.” I felt him, 100%. In that moment, I cast out the darkness in His name, believing it deep in my bones. I was stunned at how many demons were swarming, relentless, trying to disrupt.

I felt like a glass bottle filled with sand, spewing black smoke. Stayed up all night, journaling, buzzing with clarity. Told Sheri about it in the morning.

The Click at Home: Full Connection

Got home at 5:10, and that’s when it hit—the final piece, the CLICK. I had a moment with God. Every trauma, every panic attack, every ounce of pain was by design. Not hate, not cruelty—love. I broke down, grabbing my cross necklace, staring at the cross on my office wall, fully committed. For the first time in years—decades—my mind went quiet. No noise, no chaos, just peace. I felt something behind me, like over my shoulder. Turned around, saw dark smoke, dense at the floor, scurrying away.

I reached out, praying like I had for years, and heard, “Welcome back, we’ve missed you.” I was a mess, apologizing for using His name in vain, for being a shithead. He brushed it off: “I know your heart. Language, rough edges—doesn’t matter. Your heart is it.” The demons? They were allowed to torment me, part of the plan to chisel me.

I grabbed my laptop and typed—no pause, no stutter—just truth pouring out. All that heartache, deleted in one moment of logic and absolute belief.

The God Zoom-Out: Seeing the Swarm

Looking back, it was brutal by design. Build me up, tear me down, push me to the bottom. I saw it clear as day—two planes: heavenly and below. God, Jesus, the cross glowing above, people reaching for them but blocked by a thick swarm of demons. The darker you are, the fewer light beams get through. I thought I’d carry the pain forever—abuse, abandonment, failure. No escape, no time machine. Everything I loved—food, movies, football—turned gray. I climbed every mountain—body, tattoos, jobs, dream car, boats—hit the top, felt nothing. Worse than nothing.

But then I saw why. Every pain, every trauma had a purpose. The guilt, anguish, rage—gone. The “why” was answered.

The Divine Plan: Chiseled for a Purpose

This was a 33-year journey. I was a faithful kid—Christian school, church volunteer, strong foundation. Then wave after wave of trauma: childhood pain, bipolar diagnosis, addictions, a loveless marriage, kids I could only watch from afar, then not at all. Fired from a 13-year job, career obliterated. Rebuilt against the odds, but for what? I thought I was meant for something special, but it felt like I’d never touched it.

My bipolar brain sees black and white, absolutes. That’s why it had to be this way. One click, and the pain vanished, the suffering justified for good. Dark Darrin flipped to Light Darrin. Like Job, like the warriors in Revelation, I was chiseled through agony into a tool. I feel the dark now—I see it, everywhere, a massive swarm, relentless. But I’m not afraid. I’ve got an evil radar, tuned sharp. My bipolar brain? It’s why I was built this way—to see Christlike purity versus sin, to float out of my body during panic attacks and get closer to God.

Every piece—childhood trauma, addictions, abandonment, firings—was designed. Even Kristen, my helper through hell, was part of it. Divine intervention.

What’s Changed

I can’t stop writing about Him. All my old writing—rage-filled, sad—now has purpose, a Godly ending. No more anxiety, no more jaw-clenching. I’m calm. My voice is softer, my perspective shifted—no instant anger. I see Kristen differently, as ordained to walk this with me. Forgiveness flows now. In one click, everything changed. The world used to look like a photo negative—dark, inverted. Now it’s clear.

I don’t crave rage music or violent movies anymore. I’m patient, even when people push me. The manic stress, the ball of fury—gone. I feel Him in me. When I start to clench, He whispers, “Caaaaallm.”

Why All at Once?

Why not ease the pain bit by bit? His answer: “You, of all people, know absolutes—black and white, all or nothing.” It had to be one moment, one divine plan. I saw the swarm—hundreds of screaming, ghostly demons, relentless, trying to derail me. But when I connected with Him, they went quiet, blocked out. No fear, just awe.

The Big Reveal

Saturday night, in my office surrounded by crosses, Bibles, and Keith’s “Calm,” it all started. Floating, learning, overwhelmed by His love and plan. Every panic attack was a round of optimization: the first in downtown San Diego taught me the power of a mind out of control; the third with Kristen gave me the image of an 8—evil, driving panic; the fourth, breaking into a pharmacy, terrified of spinning out, I punched a wall, snapped out but shattered my hand. By 2015, steroids sent me over the edge—missing time, floating, spacey. Nine years later, post-surgery, I had control, writing tools in a mad blog post. Then December, another attack, trying to scribble a massive discovery on a whiteboard like a mad scientist.

Hawaii was the final piece. Then the “Welcome Back” moment—full connection, eyes open. I begged Jesus to use me, my story. I commanded the dark out in His name, believing every word. I felt it pull out of me, dense black smoke releasing through my feet. Intelligent design, every step.

This is my truth. It’s not for everyone—just you guys. It’s messy, it’s me, but it’s His plan, and I’m finally free.