There was once a man who chose to confront his demons. Not the demons we speak of today - you know, merely used as metaphor and symbolism for our personal struggles - but real demons: short little things with small horns, beady eyes, and the worst trait of all - a bad attitude.

He’d been fighting these demons for years, and, just like the way our emotions can wrap and twist and build houses, laying foundations within our minds, so, too, had these demons invaded and claimed territory and set up camp within this mans interior. And, you know how it goes when something invades and sets up camp, like a queen bee digging a hole; the first one breeds the second, then the third, until there is a whole multitude present. A chain of command is established, and though there are hundreds, no, thousands of these diabolical characters swarming about, the leader is the one in charge and, therefore, the one who does all the talking.

This man had been living tormented day and night by these pesky things and their leader, who shall remain nameless. Why? Because the man did not know it’s name. It would never say. But it knew his, and it would talk to him day and night; pestering him with its opinions, draining him of life as it lived off the energy he spent distracted with its words, trying to silence its voice.

At first, the man prayed, cried, fasted, pleading with God to have this thing removed. There was no answer. Heaven was silent.

Why?

Because heaven didn’t know who was bothering him, for the man did not know the devil’s name....