*Noxacusis, also known as nox or pain hyperacusis, is a rare condition where noise itself is truly bastardized, becoming a toxic cesspool that’s both parts maddening and deadly and hard to understand, too, leaving people helpless. It’s caused by meds or dangerous noise, damaging the cochlea or middle ear anatomy. And sometimes it proliferates, spreading like a nightmare, when both ears are affected. It’s evil to the core, killing this reality with monumental force, as sound is everywhere. There’s no way to escape it.
The infernal nature of nox is so awful, so exceedingly brash, that often movie fiction pales in comparison, as J. D. Rider illustrates for readers of this article. And he would surely know. This author himself is tortured, too, wrestling with nox. It causes pain at every turn and ruins planet Earth. His LDLs are blistering: just fifteen decibels; or thirty at the most, depending on the frequency.
So almost every sound — tiny or aggressive — creates a battlefield, where fighting is the norm. He’s homebound and reclusive. He’s like a prisoner. It’s totally egregious. It’s unbelievable. Yet somehow it’s for real. To nest on planet Earth, nox consumed a healthy man, robbing everything. But now let’s read this article and journey to a savage place, where nox is like the movies.
By J. D. Rider
A poetic film that reminds me of nox is aptly called A Ghost Story. The story’s central character, identified as C, is a latter thirties man who dies in a vile car wreck. Consequently, he’s left behind and wanders Earth as a disembodied spirit. He grapples with a broken past and slugs into obscurity with snail-like precision, while painful tones that fester there engulf his core and nucleus. He’s dead but still alive here, stripped of all the attributes that made him human physically, while haunting Earth with a disguise: a white sheet like a classic ghost with eyeholes for his vision.
Despite that strange appearance, this film is very serious and leaves you wanting more. The plot is super tight and lean, and doesn’t have complexities that leave you with confusion. While tragedy and sacrifice consume its ninety-minutes, it’s really a fervent reminder that life’s holy esse is truly a gift. And the loss that drips throughout the film is like a gentle warning: that life can go or pass away as quickly as it came.
He haunts his wife and former home and doesn’t leave her side. She doesn’t know he’s there, though. As agony consumes her, she mourns his death through wretched tears. She’s fighting through bereavement, though nothing can be done — he’s powerless to help her. But everyone is haunting. He’s haunting. She’s haunting. It’s one big haunt, and a poignant tale that’s equal parts eerie and sad, but transcendental, too, for C’s abysmal fate. When routes for peace and vindication steadily unfold, he waves goodbye to misery. He’s free and sanctified.
This movie is relatable in horrifying ways, as a lot of people with nox also describe their lifestyle as ghost-like, and I feel the same way, too. For us, the world is toxic and deadly when nox is so severe, as sound is truly everywhere, deep inside the framework. So we’re forced to hide forevermore to dodge this evil beast, and the endless pain it gives us. It’s so ridiculous. It’s really not a choice, though. We’ll worsen exponentially if we don’t play along. Like spirits struck with great remorse, caught inside a bubble, we’re stuck inside a lonely house, doomed forevermore. And sadly for me, this hell‘s been going on for over two years now. That’s my tragic story. And I can’t believe it’s real.
It haunts my soul and former home and all my old surroundings. I grieve my quondam life now — one that’s like an ash bed. A dead zone lies before me, comatose in nature, between this life and death itself. I mourn its hearth and passing threads, a loss that’s beyond measure; my loved ones in the mix, too, since I can’t be around them. I wallow in self-pity, staring at a silhouette of someone who’s defeated: me, just a clumsy fool who’s now in total hell. I fuel a dreadful notion — that life is truly dead; that things will never be the same until I pass away, and go to heaven’s gates. For years and years to come, I fear I’ll roam these lonely halls and walk these fragile stairs.
The stress is really awful. I view my past and present states, mourning both from tethered realms that harken solitude. They have no space or molecules; no room to share between them; no hope for interaction; no place for absolution. So I can’t engage with anything. There is no life at all.
I hear a moan and ticking clock, faint and lacking order, and know that almost everything will never be the same. The threads of space and Father Time have zilch authority. Time is truly impotent when life is really over, and has no real purpose; no order, no compliance. It’s really indefensible.
Truth is, my existence is wholly defined by lifeless parcels of time that foster segregation. I’m hiding like a recluse, where really, the distant shadows are now my new identity. Their darkness, however, offers no support, just negligence; no story or design. So I’m just a face without a name. I’m dead but still alive here: a ghost of noxacusis.
I wander through the lonely halls and always reminisce, yearning for those brittle bones and flesh that made me so alive before I passed away. I beat my fists symbolically against these frail walls, but no one ever hears them. The world doesn’t care. My footsteps here are overdue and will not recommence. Like coals or fading embers, fresh from yesterday’s fire, they’re almost fully dead now.
And those I love, I cannot touch. They cannot hold me close; cannot hug my broken heart or peek into my soul, or grant me endless love. So it’s hard to really cope. I’m dead to them, they’re dead to me, and peace is really scarce. I cannot find its gentle place or essence in the framework, so life — as it slips away — becomes illusory, drifting through a tortured spell where violence is the norm … nox as the abuser. I ponder all these memories that summon better times: when everything was normal.
But everything is gone. And the past is mocking me. There’s nothing to reclaim here. It’s all just tragic memories; stuff I’ll dream about. But hope is all I have now — just future wild dreams, where life and love and everything will foster real change, bringing resolution; a time that’s truly right as rain. Despite that real hope, though, there are no guarantees.
There’s nothing in the stonework. There’s only proclamations. And that’s a scary notion, as days drift on, so inert, and pass like fading dreams. The hands of time are festering and causing a commotion. I’m plagued by scary nightmares: that rain might never come; that life might be that broken gem where drought is inescapable; a curse that never ends here. It’s truly tireless, and never merciful. And that’s my biggest fear.
But anyway, there are countless movies that identify with nox in destructive and horrid ways. The ghost-life carries over. That’s how bad it is. The next film is a classic, and sadly, so relatable. As an allegory, the intro of Terminator 2: Judgment Day is just like noxacusis, where heavy themes and scary truths are unremitting hells; where AI takes the fragile reins and gives us Armageddon; where people, once-illustrious, are now in scattered ruins; where now this blue-green paradise — forsaken like the movie — is just a grievous dust bowl … full of death, silver hues, and condescending blacks, and broken skulls and scattered bones and terror in the skies, as cyborgs rule the barren ground and shoot their plasma rifles. It’s tragic beyond words.
Shot-by-shot, the movie’s before-and-after is a haunting display of loss, and serves as a cautionary tale for life’s fragility. The intro is basically a melancholic exploration. First, the social structures and institutions are introduced to show a harmonious world that’s full of people living. Life is thriving beautifully and everything is sacred. Kids are on a playground, loving every moment. Life is heavenly. And the purpose of showing that is quite simple: to demonstrate the verities of pre and post-war life, which stand in stark contrast to one another.
As the moment of whiplash sets in, we see a dismal future and everything is gone — a place in time where misery and tragedy are normal; where fighting is compulsory and hope is nullified; where life is antithetical to what we saw before. It’s cold and sad; terrible; as hard as steel nails; swayed by all the villainy and T-800 soldiers. They haunt the bitter landscape, every day and every night and never take a break. The world is a war zone, nuclear in nature. The skulls are everywhere, signifying death. And that’s like noxacusis — that vile transformation; from heaven’s gates to hell’s descent; from hope to really nothing.
In Terminator 2, Judgment Day is a catastrophic event where artificial intelligence wages war on the entire world with nuclear bombs, killing three billion people. This aftermath demonstrates that a cruel reality is not only possible but also unmendable in so many ways. To say the least, this outcome is a horrifying example of technology’s ability to cause a massacre. Truly, it can sometimes be a vessel for evil; or worse, a Pandora’s box of sorts, crushing everything. When acting as executors of that technology, ironies can happen, where people and their wild dreams become their own worst enemies.
That shocking theme is true, of course, in Terminator 2, where fate is fully merciless, the future is defiant, and the flip side of tranquility is frozen in the landscape. The charred remains of everything — the city and the playground — will offer no apologies and always haunt the landscape. They’re now just tragic imagery for once-amazing times … when life was quite serene.
But really, I’d rather be fighting that war than nox, as my war is hopeless, disturbing, and altogether lethal, killing life in every way and forcing me to isolate, hiding out forevermore. Sadly, sound takes a piggyback ride on everything in life. Everything involves sound. So noise as an allergen — or poison in the framework — will decimate reality or strangle the creation. In that situation, there is no life to live.
I’d rather be fighting a dreadful war against cyborgs, as the chance of overcoming the oppressive stronghold of such a plight would be a real chance, where winning could potentially allow an opportunity to get my precious life back; or perhaps reclaim it to its fullest extent. The noxacusis war, however, is one that demonstrates a stubborn resistance to change — one that’s almost impossible to alter, paving the way for a painful, endless, and lonesome existence; a tiresome journey that’s more like a prison cell than a journey, with torture added, too.
I’m basically condemned to a life of hiding, where everything’s a no-no: people; music; marriage; children and a family; traveling the country; seeing the outdoors; soaking up the views; the sacredness of life. I’ll never leave the house. The only views I’ll ever know are plaster, paint, and drywall, or the distant image of a once-benign planet through a four-by-four window. And though I’d hate to see the loss of precious human lives, caused by all the infamy of such a violent war, I’m saying such a horrid war would be much easier (compared to noxacusis).
Without question, that war-torn world in T2 would conjure a set of blistering emotions: first, the harsh anxiety; then, the feral sadness; the loss that’s so unbreachable; the monumental fear; the fight-or-flight response; the awful thoughts of suicide. Can you imagine that? Without a doubt, I can. I’ve seen it all, sadly. I’ve seen that vile ghost-life. That seismic loss is tantamount to having noxacusis — noise as an enemy that overtakes the world, causing suffocation. But being allergic to the world itself is something even worse. It’s total isolation; destruction and rejection.
Right now, I’m inside my house on a hot August day, wearing industrial-grade earmuffs to block some noise out, and avoiding the air conditioner, too, as ambient noise hurts me. But due to that, the ringing in my ears is loud and otherworldly; electrical and awful. I have seven tones or so: zapping; Morse code; static; jets; drills; you name it. And it’s more than just a sound, too — it’s also a sensation, beyond the realm of noise. The zaps are like electric shocks, plaguing me at intervals of fifteen speedy seconds. And when I’m super tired, I get a harsh anomaly that’s even worse than that — EHS for short, or exploding head syndrome, where zaps of pure insanity, like seizures in the brain, bounce throughout my weary skull, causing endless pain.
For my case, I strongly believe that tinnitus is joined at the hip with nox. If I didn’t have nox, the tinnitus would likely be much more mild or a non-issue. So really, I think of them as partners of perversion — a tag team for this suffering. But the muffs box-in that tinnitus and make it even louder. Though wearing them is crucial. I don’t have a choice. Those muffs are a necessity since noise is around me. And if I didn’t wear them, the pain from sound would be severe — the wrath of noxacusis.
This beast is truly baffling and hard to figure out. And doctors are left wondering how nox can even happen, or question if it’s real. Though theories do exist, which try to map it out. But assigning an actual culprit is much easier than finding a cure. What’s likely the cause — but open to debate — is damage to the middle ear or something in the nerves; those tiny pain fibers inside the cochlea. Some believe that multiple factors are at play, too, and some research supports the aforementioned theories.
But despite that real knowledge, treatments are elusive — there’s nothing viable. The ears are just too intricate and hard to figure out. Nevertheless, nox is a rare condition where sound is super painful, like daggers to the eardrums. So as you can imagine, a huge blockade of villainy is conquering my world, and others who have nox, too, killing all its harmony and peaceful attributes. It calls for each and every soul, breeding spirits daily, but only some will ever see that ghost of noxacusis. Most will dodge the evil beast, daily in their lives. Though on every street of planet Earth, nox is in the shadows, waiting to destroy them. But thankfully it’s rare. So often in the soundscape, nox is left without a feast; a loner, empty handed.
Since I have noxacusis, the soundwaves of my precious life are blaring in the foreground, no longer in the background. They’re three-dimensional, not two-dimensional. They’re lunging toward me … instead of being friendly. I feel every sound. For normal people, though, they’re two-dimensional, something that’s weaved into the fabric of life in a way that’s truly docile; soft and dutiful; a force that’s not abrasive.
The flip side, of course, is one where they are abrasive and prohibit someone from engaging in most activities in life, as most require sound. Sound, for me, is poison. So I’m screwed, more or less. On a noxacusis planet, one where sound is not only painful but harmful, too, how do I exist? How do I survive? And will I ever have a life or reach some normalcy? Nope, I probably won’t. I’m forced to hide forevermore — until the day I die.
Right now, outdoors, my neighbors are having a party and playing some music. Their kids are running around and shouting. Everyone’s talking, laughing it up. The dog’s barking and they’re all having a blast. To me, though, it’s a sad illustration of life’s disparity — how I, horridly, was dealt some awful cards. I can’t do anything now, as sound is just too prominent in life’s activities.
In fact, I could never do what they’re doing. Just a few minutes of that, or maybe even seconds, would permanently worsen my condition. I can’t even leave the house. And moreover, the reason I’m wearing these muffs is due to all that noise. Without them, it’ll cause pain, even inside the house. It’s crazy, I know — the fact that this is real, an existential state that’s beyond f*cked-up. It’s cruel as cruel can be, the underside of hell, where every day, every night, and every single minute, I’m fighting something that most people spend zero days, zero nights, and zero minutes fighting: sound. For me, truly, life is like a war — that Terminator war.
So get this: I realized something weird today and altogether eerie. The timeline of my downfall also aligns with the dates in Terminator 2, where the movie’s year, 1997, also mimics my year, 2021. August 4th was the day turmeric struck me, causing nox to worsen; the herb that ruined me. I took it for my back pain. But oddly, that day is also the date when Skynet, the villain in Terminator 2, becomes an active entity — August 4th. Say what you will about that, but another comparison is even stranger than the aforementioned thing.
On August 29th in T2, the sovereign transition of Skynet finally happens when they overtake the world with a catastrophic war. Well, in my story, sound therapy caused me to permanently worsen on August 29th, just a few short weeks after turmeric, starting a process known as the quicksand stage, one where I kept sinking and sinking despite my greatest efforts to rein the symptoms in. And therefore, keeping things afloat became impossible. I sank into the Earth.
It was Judgement Day for me, just like that scary movie — the day where life gave up. For some reason, it decided that a graveyard was preferable to living; and then, mercy made its bed and died in the wee hours of the morning, omitting the sanctity of life in monumental ways. A vile, endless battle — which, prior to this, had only existed for the sake of film — was now a real thing, and the catalyst for a seismic event that ushered-in irredeemable consequences.
I had watched Terminator 2 my whole life, enjoying the spectacle of a classic film that’s almost unparalleled, while at the same time never dreaming that I, too, would face an obstacle that’s very similar to the savage elements depicted on-screen — a catastrophic war that’s truly unrelenting; that’s wrought by a hellish landscape; that Terminator war.
In 1984’s The Terminator, the protagonist of the story, Kyle Reese, famously states that the Terminator itself is so ruthless that it’s almost impossible to stave off, much like noxacusis: “It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop … ever, until you are dead!” That final part, especially, is a tragic evocation, capturing the hells of nox with such precision, such exactness, that it’s thoroughly disturbing — fighting a fearsome force that’s truly unstoppable; one that’ll always follow me or torture me, one step behind or two ahead; left, right, up, or down. From every single angle, I’ll always be at war; trapped inside a paradigm that offers no solutions, and yearns to kill me off; to force me to give up, as Death, waiting patiently, approves that horrid moment.
It’s such a rare condition, so harsh and so defiant; defined by hell and misery at every single turn. You’re fighting to survive here. The ghost-life is a monster. It’s rare but demon-like, ferocious and disgusting; a terminator warscape, vying to destroy you; a war of total bloodshed, like Saving Private Ryan; a Normandy invasion, dodging weaponry. The wounds may never end, though. You can’t avoid them all.
In a noxacusis hellscape, it’s unbelievable. In fact, only a handful for every million will ever see that war, or reach a soldier-status. That’s how rare it is. And though the exact figures are unknown, it’s speculated that only a small fraction will ever get severe, which constitutes that war. And then for every million, maybe fifty to a hundred more will have a lesser version, like mild or moderate. So basically, when I say it’s rare, I mean it’s really rare — infinitesimally rare. And it’s also rather disquieting to know that the world itself isn’t pursuing treatments with adequate levels of funding, as the rarity of nox ultimately blocks that.
Speaking of rare, this next film has a stunning plot, symbolizing rare, and how it kills camaraderie with others in the world. In the Mouth of Madness, a horror film from ‘94, illustrates a common theme that’s tied to noxacusis: how people don’t believe you; and that’s because it’s rare. In the movie, John Trent also faces that problem and winds up as a patient in a psychiatric ward. He swears that a group of monsters — Lovecraftian and evil — are plotting war against him; and not only that … the world, too.
The absurd nature of his rants garners no support, even though they’re truthful. But the scenes where he’s sparring with doctors are so relatable. The same thing happens in another film, which I also mentioned previously: Terminator 2, where Sarah Connor is thrown in a mental ward for spouting off her beliefs about Judgment Day and the impending war that looms, even though it’s all true. But the doctors aren’t aware of that.
Nox people are often treated the same way. They’re dealing with real physical problems and people act like they’re mentally ill. Problem is, nox is beyond rare — it’s extremely rare, especially when severe; so rare that it only affects a handful for every million. So most are not aware, even freakin’ doctors. And they formulate these misguided notions as a result, foggy in delivery.
When someone’s new to nox, though, green behind the ears, that dangerous fog of treachery is undeniable — deception, confusion, misinformation, swirling around you; so much so, in fact, that it scares you to the bone. You’re trekking through a vile place, bathed in total darkness; an unabiding forest, which has its share of secrets; and ghosts, hell, and vicious wolves are dwelling in the shadows, or lurking in the open, eager to ingest you. You don’t know who to listen to; who you can really trust. And one wrong turn can ruin you, consuming everything. One wrong turn can swallow you and change you to a ghost.
But like I said, most docs haven’t heard of it. Nox is like a fable. And the few docs who have, in fact, will often act proficient, too, marketing themselves as experts or specialists in a field that they really have no business touching, as it often brings about deadly consequences. They’ll commonly tell patients that sound exposures are safe when they’re really not. So they mislead people and consequently send them to a slaughterhouse. They have trouble understanding the complexities of nox and how to handle it, which causes friction between doctors and patients, too. Sadly, they’ll look at you like you’re crazy and cross their arms defiantly.
As a result, it’s common for people with nox to be annoyingly confronted with cycles of pushback. These soft attacks come from family members, friends, and doctors themselves when things go south or friction strikes; and will sometimes result in the patients getting thrown in mental wards when they’re trying to hide from sound to promote healing, as their approach is often viewed as radical. But a ward can sadly make their condition a lot worse, as sound exposures are unavoidable in that situation.
While persecution is definitely a common theme with noxacusis, loneliness is just as common, too, and that’s largely fueled by the isolation necessary for this illness. Those unfortunate souls with severe nox will often find that isolation is a grave necessity to survive, even. Their very lives depend on it. So they’re homebound for the remainder of their time here on Earth if they don’t improve. And the next film touches on that aspect.
Blast from the Past is a wild film where the feats of being homebound are truly put to the test. A man and his family live in a nuclear bunker for over three decades when they believe that a nuclear war has contaminated the world. The father of the family calculates that the nuclear fallout will clear up thirty-five years after the war began, so they’re homebound for a period that’s longer than a quarter of a century. For them, the ghost-life is alive and well.
When you watch this silly film, though, which strives to be a comedy, it parallels COVID-19 and the lockdowns that ensued. But imagine three decades of that. In 2020, so many people were going crazy after just three days or three weeks of the homebound life. On average, three decades is basically half of someone’s life.
Another film with a similar plot is 10 Cloverfield Lane, where the characters hunker down in a bunker underground, as they’re confident that the world above is under attack by extraterrestrials. Under the confines of such limitations, the portrait painted by the movies, of course, is one of great catastrophe — where life would be destroyed; and where the isolation itself would be a painstakingly hard process to come to terms with. Becoming a ghost is not easy. Being homebound for life isn’t either. I’d rather fight aliens and have some freedom.
When you’re housebound with nox, you’re often alone forevermore. This idea is touched upon in Passengers, a space flick from 2016. The premise involves a vessel that’s carrying over five-thousand passengers, and their intention is to travel to a far away planet that’s Earth-like and colonize it. During that journey, which spans a hundred and twenty years or so, each passenger is hibernating in their pods. But something goes wrong for one unlucky member. Jim Preston awakens ninety years too early and can’t get back to sleep — the pod is damaged, sadly.
So he’s doomed to isolation and forced to consider that the rest of his life will he completely lonely, without a human counterpart or any fellowship. At that point, he decides to do the unthinkable: awaken someone else, too, ruining their life, but solving his dilemma. He chooses a woman and the drama ensures. It’s a horrid situation, but the spaceship is basically a cruise ship with first-class luxury: a mall, bar, movie theater, restaurants, dance club, and so forth. To be homebound in that setting would be pretty cool if you didn’t have ear problems. You could enjoy those amenities and have a lot of fun at least, and feel like you’re living, even in the far reaches of space.
But for those who battle severe nox, these ideas of isolation and house arrest are not conceptual things — they’re real. Though often, outsiders don’t understand that. No matter what you say, wrapping their heads around nox and hoping they’ll empathize with your struggle become challenges that spite the art of critical thinking. Like infinite equations, impossible to solve, their minds are unable to process the hells of noxacusis, which parallels an idea from another famous film from 1994, where isolation is also put to the test.
The Shawshank Redemption is a gritty film that embodies the notion that second chances are not only possible, but probable, too, when the heart is resolute. Throughout the story’s arc, the tenacity of man is a wavering theme that eventually fosters triumph, as a magical ending bears the fruits of blissful absolution. Just as the title suggests, those themes of loss and reclamation bring epiphanies. They bring the story’s characters to a state of true enlightenment. Against all odds, they escape hell and make the impossible possible, reuniting on a heavenly beach that typifies an existence directly opposed to the one they inhabited for so long — the prison of all prisons, Shawshank Penitentiary.
Prison life is really a hellish place that most will never see, so it’s hard for them to fathom. Though that’s not true for those enslaved to Shawshank Penitentiary. In the story, Andy Dufresne and Ellis Redding know the feeling well. And the rarity of that knowledge — coupled with the fact that a real chance for freedom is set in motion — ultimately strengthens them to reach prosperity. After prison life, their newfound sense of freedom is fully realized. They’re enlightened by the fact that they went through hell — a culmination of loss and emotions that were exercised to their fullest extents — and somehow still prevailed.
So basically, the lessons they learned could now be applied to the outside world with second chances. When you go that far in life and think you’re truly doomed, coming back is a sacred event that’s fully transcendental. They could appreciate the smallest things in life, things that prison had taken away for years and years so viciously: the means to live and roam; to breathe the world’s air; to ride a bus or take a walk; to meet and chat with people; to shop at grocery stores; the simple things in life.
Those simple things define freedom. Hypothetically, that newfound appreciation would also apply to nox victims if, by some miracle, they were fully healed, as nox is also prison-like with torture added, too. But sadly and so often, those with nox are doomed for life and never get that second chance. So even Shawshank is a story where the situation is less horrific than severe nox. With nox, the world itself is prison-like with no way to escape. Life itself becomes a threat, a cesspool of disparity — one that’s doused in toxic sound.
Every task on planet Earth is married to the realm of sound, so life is paradoxical. I’d rather serve a prison term than go through noxacusis. Ironically, prison is a place where I’d still retain my citizenship on this planet, have fellowship with people, and be a part of a system of sorts. But with nox, you lose all that. You have to hide forevermore and go through torture, too, with painful sounds and tinnitus that’s truly unremitting.
I mean, I’m basically already in prison now with tortured added, too. To lose your place on planet Earth, that sacred bond of harmony and blissful coexistence, is so detestable. Really, it’s one of the worst fates imaginable. It doesn’t let you live at all, even on a basic level. It’s too disastrous. The ghost of nox is monstrous. It’s death and so much more.
In exchange for my freedom, killing noxacusis, I’d gladly go to prison for twenty years. The exchange, in fact, would cause a smile so big, so whopping in measure, I’d cry with joy and great relief, and march into my cell. Twenty years of solitude implies I’ll get my life back (two decades in the future) — an awesome, big occasion. With nox, however, that may never happen. If you remember, It’s a Wonderful Life shared a similar notion.
The main character, George Bailey, thought his identity and life were erased forevermore when an angel named Clarence does that very thing to show him life is special. When his life is erased, though, he loses everything — his family and his business; his friends and lovely wife; his four beloved children; a history that’s prodigious; everything he cherished; everything he worked for.
You see, like the realm nox, reality was banished; murdered and abolished; stripped, burned, and buried, too, so no one knew his name. But reclamation came for him — a gift and happy ending. At the end of the film, he regains his citizenship on Earth. But despite that awesome gift, he’s eager to accept the fact that prison life awaits him, due to money problems. For George, that candid realization is profoundly compliant with my argument — that nox is worse than prison life. It’s worse in many ways. Losing your place in reality is far worse than prison. It’s rejection from the universe with no chance for communion. You fade to nothingness.
As a young kid, my fear of prison life — or true incarceration — would prove to be so wrong. Society teaches that prison is so bad, so ruthless in demeanor, that it’s worse than almost anything, with freedom tossed away. And yeah, it is bad. But nox is something worse. And it’s weird that ears can completely compromise your relationship with reality, blocking you from everything. Your life is killed and then erased, except your hearing problem.
Speaking of rejection, though, where life can bolt or turn on you, damning your reality or ruining the construct, our next films are a perfect match to illustrate that point. Like spells of global villainy, extinction-level events, or existential ponderings that leave you in the dust, nox is diabolical in every single way. The hells of nox are super bad, so awful in demeanor, and push some people off a real “cliff” — where suicide destroys them. It reminds me of the Bird Box films. In those, the world is savagely overtaken by a force that pushes people to the brink and makes them take their lives.
The outside world is destitute, ruined by an evil force. Every inch, every square, every speck of planet Earth, is ruined to the nth degree. It’s wholly catastrophic. And people are beside themselves. They’re seized by this calamity; this spectacle of horror; this seismic, great atrocity that’s pure Lovecraftian; a force that’s otherworldly and bent on mass destruction. So therefore, the upheaval has crushed the entire globe. And people are mostly homebound, hiding from it all.
If they go outside and move about, looking at the world, they’ll see a sight that’s so horrific — ungodly at its core — that it forces them to kill themselves. It’s unforgivable. So they’re forced to wear protection: hoods or simple blindfolds, which help them work around it. Inside their precious homes, though, this evil cannot hurt them. And that also applies to other enclosed structures. But nonetheless, the structure of life is completely ruined. The outside world is dead — totally abandoned.
The same can be said for A Quiet Place. It resembles the concept of nox even more. In that film, an alien race has violently invaded the world. And not only that … they hunt by using sound. But thankfully, these extraterrestrials can’t see, though their keen sense of hearing makes it almost impossible to dodge them, as every task in life makes noise. Sound familiar? It should for those with nox. It’s so relatable.
In many ways, this film is a flaming vessel for nox, and the terror of its warpath. With nox, the sufferers dwell in dystopian lands — apocalyptic worlds — where they stay in silence at all times, just like the movie’s characters. But for nox people, sound itself is the great aggressor. Instead of fighting aliens that hunt you with sharp, overgrown ears, you’re at war with the soundscape of this planet; the very fabric of existence, as sound is part of every inch and every part of it. In the film, they hide from the aliens in bunkers or fortified homes. And then, when necessary, they venture out with cautious steps. But one wrong move or causing sound can lead to their destruction.
I would personally rather be in that movie than my situation, as I’d still be able to be around people and nature, and my body wouldn’t be in pain. Sure, it’d be terrifying, but so is this. It won’t kill me — it’s never terminal — and I have to ride it out until the day I die. I’m only thirty-seven. A natural death could feasibly happen forty years from now, or maybe even sixty. People like this are trapped forever, hiding in their homes. It’s total isolation. Some are so bad that they hide in closets and bathrooms that have no windows. They worsen if they don’t since they live in loud areas, or their tolerance levels for sound are extremely low. If I lived inside that scary film, I’d just have to be in quiet and be on the lookout for hideous aliens. And if I failed, they’d kill me — a win-win scenario. With nox, though, the luxury of death isn’t there. It’s odd that somehow the world we experience — the severe sufferers — is worse than even horror films.
In A Quiet Place, the concept is so similar to nox that I wonder if the writer himself was aware of it. Our monsters, however, come in the form of sound, not aliens, but the concept still rings true: to preserve our fragile lives, avoiding sound is pivotal. But still, this notion of total survival is often a foreign one for most people; so much so, that they often discredit the very possibility of our struggle; or worse, write us off as mental.
It’s easy for them, though. After all, they’re in good health. They’re not ghosts. They school us and tell us how we should all behave, but they don’t understand. Since they have life on planet Earth, they can’t relate at all. They have their sacred place here. But we don’t have inclusion. We don’t have a life. Well, they have everything. That’s the real difference. The precious things on planet Earth are still at their behest: society; nature; traveling; fellowship with people; working at a job — all that lovely stuff. By comparison, though, we don’t have a thing. We’re hiding out forevermore, eager to exist, but dead nonetheless. It’s like a crazy nightmare.
So really, their lessons are deeply rooted in lies or ignorance — a collection of mumbo-jumbo, mind-over-matter nonsense, as anyone in our shoes would feel the same. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be human. These aren’t J. D. reactions or crazy ones. They’re really human ones. Anyone who’s been dejected or stripped from the very fabric of existence would experience the same despair as us. So they should thank God that they’ve never seen such hell.
If they can’t understand the horrific emotions that come with such a plight, then they’re honestly blessed beyond measure. To live on this planet for 70 or 80 years and not see that … well, it’s really sad. They just can’t understand it. If they’re really empathetic, though, or think they can relate, then writings like this should resonate, boldly jumping off the page and conjuring a sense of relatable emotions. If they don’t, however, then it’s fair to say they’re blessed. But they’re also ignorant. They’ve never seen a state of hell that stifles their existence. They’ve never been so terrorized that death seems like their only choice.
I was thinking today. If severe nox became a super serious pandemic like COVID or the Black Death, or even the ones in the above movies, it would collapse the world much further than COVID or Death ever did, and for sure, probably exceed the movies. For starters, there were workarounds for COVID, like social distancing, working from home, Zoom meetups, and talking on the phone.
With severe nox, though, you can’t even work from home. All things audio are no-nos, so life is paradoxical. Sadly, sound is too sovereign in the framework. The social and economical facets of the world would completely collapse under the weight of a nox pandemic. Governments would fall. Ghosts would roam the earth, or hide inside their homes.
Yet the world is always eager to paint a certain portrait: one where a tiny illness, this lightweight noxacusis, has no sway or real hold on anyone’s survival. You see, when sound is toxic kryptonite, everything in life — the simple and the big — is near impossible, where the workarounds themselves are truly foreign concepts. They’d have to completely reinvent the world to cater to nox, if such a thing were even possible.
How would people travel? How would they build anything or clean their precious streets? Or take care of their cities? Or mow their fancy lawns? Or work a simple job? Or raise their little children? Or babies for that matter, who cry with so much noise? Life would go extinct. I really think it would. The fallout of nox would almost certainly devastate life well beyond the thresholds of Bird Box and A Quiet Place.
But even a film like Ridley Scott’s The Martian is very relatable, as it also features a story where someone’s fighting a poisonous world. In that one, an astronaut named Mark Watney is stranded on Mars during a mission that goes awry, and he must figure out a way to survive on a foreign, deadly planet — one that’s totally alien to him. For eighteen months, he’s battling the harsh conditions of the red planet. The atmospheric pressure is one-hundred times thinner than Earth’s, for example, with carbon dioxide and other dangerous gases. So he’s forced to do everything in a spacesuit when he’s not in a pressurized haven that’s protective. That reminds me of nox people who venture out with ear protection on. Our world is also inhospitable. For some of us, it’s like Mars or even Venus, depending on severity and how it plagues reality.
The next film is tied to the emotional side of nox, often wholly conjured by the fact that you’ve lost everything; and also the parallels between your old life and new one. There are so many films that capture that, so many that are rigid, but Titanic, the James Cameron classic from 1997, is so relatable — the story where a famous ship, magnificent in stature, sinks into the ocean; a ghost of the abyss. Well, I sank into the ocean, too … metaphorically. So we share that common theme: sad, abysmal ends, where both are very similar in horrifying ways. And we also share that parallel where life was great then fell away.
In pop-culture, history, and every country, too, the RMS Titanic is likely the most well-known example of a maritime disaster. Everyone knows the story, where a block of ruthless, evil ice destroys a powerhouse, causing it to sink. Well, I relate to that. I’m at this stage almost: where the stern, titled upward, about to face another blow, splits in two or cracks in half, then sinks into the ocean. But I can’t believe it’s happening. It shakes me to the core. The shock factor of nox is something I’ll never get used to, it seems. It’s a battle every day — accepting; re-accepting; refusing to accept. The cycle never ends. I don’t think I’ll ever accept it truly. How could you when you’re damned from reality more or less? I remember the good old days in life … when I was free to live. Everything in life, I miss — people; going out; my own beloved family, who I can’t see or be around since noise ruined me.
Pretty much, though, I’m doomed to this atrocity and nothing can be done — a sinking ship that’s cursed for life; that has no chance at all, with spells of pandemonium that come along the way. Problem is, it’ll take forty years for mine to sink, not two speedy hours, like the sinking of Titanic. But nonetheless, the atmospheric dread is one in the same. Little by little, the ship‘s descending more and more and filling up with water. I can’t stop it either. No matter what I do, the ship will surely founder.
In this analogy, the water itself represents the endless and seemingly unstoppable amounts of worsenings that one can endure when dealing with noxacusis. It keeps coming and coming, consuming the body of my ship with no limits. Though I’m not sure why. It’s effed-up in the cruelest way that effs could ever instigate.
For nox people, this struggle is a common, everyday thing. But it should be foreign, strange, and altogether placid; totally abstract. People aren’t meant to endure this kind of torture on a routine basis. Unfortunately, though, some of us know what it’s really like to be on such a ship; to know that our disparity is just our destiny; to know that life will never be that gem we knew before. That horrid hell from 1912 is too relatable. And really, the whole story of Titanic is.
Once upon a former time, a healthy, glowing masterpiece was set to make a mark: me, like a famous ship, crying for eternity and wasting on the seafloor. That monumental iceberg — which came as noxacusis — was somehow my catastrophe. The ship and I are brothers. Or maybe she’s a sister. But we’re really kindred spirits. We’re ghosts on planet Earth. We both had so much promise, but lost it all so tragically when life was snatched away.
And now, like the masterpiece of times that came before, I fondly dream of everything I used to cherish highly, and know that there’s no residence for these things in the future. I know that mine will surely be a place of condemnation, a fate just like a fallen friend, swallowed by the darkness — the RMS Titanic. That’s my biggest fear: a grave of salt and harsh decay, waiting to condemn me; that death is unavoidable; a thing of certainty; that fate itself is in the hands of water that’s corrosive.
Beyond this real damage, though, nox is plagued by other things, like systematic flaws, and also how to coexist, exploring themes with heavy weight to figure out survival, as sound is now a vile foe. The nature of reality is turned upon its head. And one film, in particular, encapsulates these things — The Matrix, a science fiction, action film that’s philosophical. Commonly for those with nox, these two questions come to mind, albeit jokingly: is life a simulation; is someone pulling strings. With jokes or full-on humor, they’re often true in candid ways. They’re sprouted by those little seeds that illustrate the truth. And that’s why they’re relatable to many things in life.
But nox folks … they can’t accept the strings. They’re too unmerciful; too ruthless in demeanor; the things that really happen, unyielding and crazy, like knowing that some tiny sounds can cause them real damage. Yet somehow that’s a real thing that happens in their lives, which makes it hard to fathom. Though it’s almost unbelievable — a glitch inside the Matrix.When sound is fully weaponized, it feels otherworldly and so incredulous. So their thinking is astute here. It’s really a frothy example of just how evil nox is, and how the ghosts are born.
The Matrix is really an exposition for the simulation theory, where life is wholly virtual and everything is fake. Well, AI is to blame for that. A war broke out so horribly and AI was the victor, like Terminator 2, enslaving humanity to a cyber realm that’s full of big deception. But why? Well, the movie’s explanation is simple: to control people and use their energy to survive, like batteries; and also, to keep humans asleep and preoccupied with a fake world. In their eyes, that’s an effective way to ensure they have no sway on the real world. And therefore, the machines have total dominion.
But obviously, not everyone is duped by this. The far-reaching conspiracy and cyber malevolence is challenged profusely in the real world by a group of resistance fighters — the people who escaped; who broke free from the Matrix. They have three goals primarily: freeing humanity from the confines of slavery, unplugging as many as possible, and then accomplishing the next two goals afterwards, which are overthrowing the Matrix and ending AI completely.
The existence of the Matrix, though, is something that a lot of people would second-guess if you told them about it. They wouldn’t believe it. A character in the film, Morpheus, famously states that the idea of telling a person about the Matrix will garner major pushback and disbelief: “Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.” And later in the film, he elaborates on that. “You have to understand … most of these people aren’t ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inert, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they’ll fight to protect it.”
Well, these ideas are similar to nox. Outsiders can’t understand nox for starters, as they’ve never seen it. They can’t be told what it is. They have to see it for themselves. And for most people, the notion that noise could ruin life is truly a foreign concept; so much so, in fact, that emphatic denials are common. They’ll probably trend forever, too. To protect that point-of-view, they’ll fight you to the grave, just like those in the Matrix. For whatever reason, they refuse to believe it. Their headspace won’t allow it. And often, doctors are also like that, so it creates a world of extreme pushback, just like the Matrix doubters. With noxacusis, though, some doctors are so bad, so exceedingly clueless, that they might as well be Joe, the mechanic, on Fifth Avenue. You’d get the same results about, the same advice on everything, stemming from a charlatan who’s posing as an expert; someone out-of-touch, who has no clue what they’re to do since this is not their specialty.
The people with severe nox are privy to a smorgasbord of undiluted wisdom, freed from steel chains. They realize the truth: that the little things in life are truly important. And the resistance fighters in The Matrix also do. An example of that is a character named Cypher. “I know this steak doesn’t exist,” he says. “I know that when I put it in my mouth, the Matrix is telling my brain that it’s juicy and delicious. After nine years, you know what I realize? Ignorance is bliss.” In fact, Cypher is so enamored with the little things that he eventually betrays the resistance to go back to the Matrix, but dies before he can.
Well, with life and nox, sound destroys the little things, as sound is really everywhere. So those with nox can understand the mindsets in The Matrix — the pleasures that are dead; and how the survival of people is ultimately riding on things they can’t control, haunting them forevermore. It’s true that the everyman and everywoman never fight with sound (from a noxacusis standpoint). They’re blessed to be at peace, but they have no idea. Ignorance is bliss.
A peaceful relationship with sound is taken for granted. Imagine a world where every sound is painful, though. Imagine the seismic hell of that — the ghost-life as the norm. People inside the Matrix … they take their lives for granted, too, since everything is peaceful. But the people outside the Matrix … well, they cherish the precious value of life, as they realize what’s really important in the big scheme of things. That’s what suffering does to you. The Matrix is all about suffering and fighting to survive. The same can be said for the nox paradigm. I’m like the strong resistance — the folks outside the Matrix, aware of all the precious things that make life truly special. We see beyond the green.
When The Matrix pulls the curtain back on systems of corruption, it resonates with nox. In fact, Morpheus is often the subject of memes on social media that strive to expose the corruption of society. I’ve seen it first-hand. Eventually, getting nox enlightens you, showing that the world’s order fails to oblige you, or doesn’t have your back, like scams of vile fakery, just like the vile Matrix, built on lies or promises as shallow as a puddle. Getting sick or super ill will sometimes cause rejection.
For work, I tried to get a paid medical leave for extreme noxacusis. My doctor even vouched for it, a big surprise to me, as most docs aren’t supportive. But she was a rare exception, given she had studied nox for a good amount of years. So she said I needed it; that it was very crucial. But my greedy insurance company rejected it. Turns out, that’s a common thing. To confirm that, I talked to other disabled people who shared the same conclusion. They reject you up front and hope you’ll give up. They’re basically squeezing you to death.
Contesting it through a court would be impossible for someone with severe nox. So it’s an evil scam. A new law should be made, though: one that says they can’t reject when doctors say you need it. Your whole entire life here, you pay for this insurance, faithful to the system. But when you try to use it, they slap you in the face. It’s evil to the core. Though the corruption goes even further than that.
According to NORD, the National Organization for Rare Disorders, there are seven-thousand rare diseases on this planet and ninety percent have no FDA-approved treatments. But not only that … they hardly get any funding either. The way money is managed in the USA, for example, is disgusting. When you look at all the things that do get funding, by comparison, you quickly realize that many of those things can only be described as fruitless endeavors when they’re weighed against the value of human lives. But truth is, not a lot of money that can be made off disabled minorities of rare diseases. It’s not a lucrative endeavor for the country, big pharma, or the investors involved.
So ultimately, the rare diseases are shafted. The way these disabled minorities are treated is absolutely terrible, especially in 2023, a time when inclusion and compassion are preached on every street corner. And the same can be said for military veterans. Over six thousand commit suicide yearly in the USA. That’s roughly twenty a day. And the number doesn’t change. Year by year, it’s the same old story.
Well, the deception of The Matrix is also the same rigmarole; the same BS. It comes crashing down when Morpheus says it’s simply the world that’s been pulled over our eyes to blind us from the truth. Well, I concur with that — a world full of lies; especially now, knowing that the country will never value me; and knowing that, really, they only did before because I was so healthy. But now, as a ghost, they see me as a reprobate; a nothing in society.
In this world, these immense flaws shows us that the countries here and systems, too, are often evil lies, and always have been for certain groups of people, like disabled minorities with rare diseases and other folks oppressed. I’m thirty-seven; worked every day for over twenty years; always voted faithfully; always paid my taxes; never fell to crime; have perfect credit, even. But none of that was special. For me, it accrued absolutely nothing. You see … you can be the best citizen ever, but if you end up on the wrong side of fate health-wise, the system will forsake you, just like they did to me. It won’t have your back, even though you had its back for thirty-seven years.
I had to eventualIy part ways with my job because of this, and trying to get disability rights is proving to be a next-to-impossible task. It’s a corrupt system, just like the evil Matrix. The powers that be are full of greed, driven by their money. The Oracle in the sequel, The Matrix Reloaded, really said it best: “What do all people with power want? More power.”
The next film will prove to be the most horrific one yet. With severe nox, its appetite is so large, so cruel, and truly without measure; so much so, in fact, that a fate of total consumption is almost inevitable, where it thoroughly claims every part of life and never reaches a state of inappetence; where every bite and every crumb will see its ugly stomach. It’s crazy, to be honest, that something so despicable can decimate a life. Even manic horror films are not as merciless, or cruel in their demeanor. There are exceptions, though.
Imagine Hellraiser, Clive Barker’s sordid tale from 1987, where Frank Cotton — the movie’s central figure — encounters the worst fate a man could face for all eternity. As a hedonist, his curiosity leads to catastrophe when he acquires a mystical puzzle box that promises bliss beyond his wildest dreams. While tinkering with the box, attempting to unravel its deepest secrets, it opens a doorway to a realm that can only be described as hell-like. And then the villains of the story enter the room, called the cenobites, who resemble humanoid creatures who are violently disfigured. And worse, they’re sadomasochists. Really, these are the worst horror villains. They’re worse than Freddy, Jason, Michael, and even little Chucky.
And they came through harsh deception … those vile cenobites. So consequently, Frank’s misguided notions of pleasure quickly turn to pain as they torture him relentlessly. He’s a sacrificial totem, a toy for their pleasure, and a vessel for their wrath. As the suffering ensues, the blood keeps running constantly, like wet dreams of atrocity that rouse these glaring sadists. The atmospheric shudderings are noxacusis-like, capturing its character in horrifying ways. But really, they exceed it, like evil connoisseurs, as all this pain is infinite — a hell of permanence, transcending the borders and the edges of the universe itself. Frank’s Earth was blown apart.
So therefore, it’s unbefitting, honestly, to say that nox is worse, as death would finally end the pain that caused its massacre, unlike this horror film. Putting that aside, though … if you think about it, there are no words or descriptions that can fully encapsulate the emotions conjured-up for an eternal hell experience, or the far-reaching notions of such an awful place. These demons … they come with such ferocity and tools to plague the body.
On hand, they carry a pillar of souls to demonstrate their power — the trophies of their victims, who now they own forever. Their wretched smiles, fiendishly, are ones of retribution, where pleas for help and leniency are thoroughly denied; where steel chains of misery, which shoot from each direction, tear into a human’s flesh and cause a thousand screams. They own that person’s soul. They strike that person down. They poke and prod at every nerve and bone inside the body; and carve their names into its flesh and deep inside the muscles. It fosters an experience that’s truly unremitting, and then the corpse regenerates for cyclical demands, allowing that experience to carry on forever. So life is truly over. Frank is now a total slave … one comprised of suffering and monumental torture; a loss that’s insurmountable and unbelievable. The ghost-life is alive here, but far exceeded, too.
The original Hellraiser, based off a novella called The Hellbound Heart, doesn’t explicitly state that the vile realm portrayed is genuinely hell — the afterlife from religious circles. But it certainly seems like it must be. As the franchise progresses to its sequels, starting with Hellbound: Hellraiser 2, the fact that it is hell is more readily adopted, especially in the movies that break away from Clive Barker’s vision.
Barker’s original vision was a transient one that was more open-ended. In the first movie, the main antagonist — dubbed as Pinhead by popular culture — describes their realm as a mystical place where the furthest regions of experience are zealously explored. The sequel expands on that, revealing that a god named Leviathan rules and calls the shots in the place they all reside in, and that judgments for sinful lives are carried out there, too. Known as the God of Flesh, Hunger, and Desire, the appearance of this entity is that of a diamond rhombus, silver and oppressive, and always in rotation, spinning over and over. It sparks and fuels that inner grief which makes this world deadly, torturing its residents without a shred of mercy, daily and forever. It shows them why they’re doomed, as they recollect their lives.
Though nonetheless, the far-reaching implications basically paint a portrait of hell that’s unconventional, but also really faithful, as it emulates the atmosphere of such a horrid realm with violence and oppressive traits — where the fire and heat are chiefly replaced by chains, lonely hallways, and endless labyrinths that swallow the sins of humanity and the souls who love them dearly; a realm that’s so dark and exceedingly ruthless that I thoroughly flinch at the very thought of it. Those enslaved to such a place would suffer beyond measure, physically and mentally in every single way, and reminisce a broken past with tears of deep regret, asking why they’re suffering in such an evil way. Their cries for help will be ignored. The labyrinths won’t care.
Comparing it to nox, though, the similarities are both eerie and frightening, ringing the same demonic bells that make it monstrous; a realm where the creation itself has betrayed you, abolished you, and stripped you of inclusion; a realm of pure detention, where ghosts are summoned forth. Though it’s really worse than nox, as the pain and suffering are eternal and even greater. To my knowledge, it’s the only film where the outcome and suffering are far more frightening than noxacusis itself, as the unfortunate souls who meet the cenobites are whisked away to a place of evil torture that truly never ends, where the darkest shades of villainy will never leave their sides, and they’ll never get their lives back, even in their deaths, as it’s savagely eternal. When watching the film, a bile sense of dread is truly palpable. And really, it’s the most disturbing one I’ve ever seen.
And though it trumps the realm of nox, nox is hell-like, too. It bears so many ghosts, damned to live a sheltered life where torture is the norm. To be honest, the name “noxacusis” doesn’t do it justice. If I ever can, I’ll advocate to change it. Really, it should be called “Devil’s disease” or “hell-on-earth” syndrome. Nox, in my opinion, is the Devil’s magnum opus. In every single way, it crushes God’s creation; perverts it to the core.
You’re warring with the cosmos, fighting His creation — not by choice, of course. But truly, you’re incompatible with life and even Earth. In fact, almost every facet of life is thoroughly destroyed with severe nox; same with Earth. It’s literally the closest thing to hell I’ve ever witnessed, where noise is your fire, which connects it to Hellraiser even more. But nox is temporarily and hell is permanent.
Problem is, sound is everywhere, just like that hellish fire. So the Earth itself becomes a threat, a cesspool of toxicity that’s married to the realm of sound, no longer your abode here. The blue-green gem that cradled you has left you in the dust; betrayed you with a massacre that never truly ends. So it’s wholly unrelenting. Earth became a hellscape.
And it’s almost supernatural, defying everything. It tortures you relentlessly and never takes your life. It’s otherworldly. And not only that … the loneliness and isolation haunt your very essence. Just like a hellish realm, this is no dwelling place. There is no life to live here, only utter chaos. There is no real structure, only misery … a bedlam of pure misery that strives to yank your heart out. You’re forced to hide forevermore; to watch but not engage. Your human side is dead.
For those who suffer daily, the signature of nox, which makes it so unique, is the fact that our reality is totally destroyed (when nox is at the helm). In fact, only a handful of diseases do that: bastardize the Earth itself. But I know that hell is real — the afterlife of pain. And though it’s like the devil, this awful noxacusis, it can’t compare to hell, as I illustrated in the previous movie. So even fifty years of this would pale in comparison to hell and all its fury.
Ultimately, my fear of God conditions me, keeping me alive here. I do believe is Jesus Christ; that He is truly God. And I cling to that to carry on. It comforts me in many ways and gives a real promise — that someday I will live again, despite this Earthly hell. I’ll get my precious life back. I’ll finally see redemption. The ghost-life will be done. And heaven will await me.
Thanks for reading my article and I hope that God will bless you.
John 3:16 from The Holy Bible …
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”