I married Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

A date with destiny revealed a truth psychology couldn't explain.

It happened like this.

On our third date, he kissed me. Not a gentle, getting-to-know-you kind of kiss—but something ravenous. He grabbed me in his lounge room and mashed his mouth against mine.

I recoiled.

Image by Sammy-Sander from Pixabay

Disgusted, I pushed him away and wiped my mouth with the back of my arm.

And then it hit me.

A flash of memory—vague but certain—rose up from deep inside.

I knew this kiss.

It wasn't only familiar. It was fated.

In that instant, I knew: this man and I were destined to be together. Not by choice—but by necessity.

And this… this would not be a fun ride.

I stepped out onto the balcony, needing air, distance, clarity. But what I felt was despair. My heart sank.

"Oh no," I cried silently. "Not now. Please—not now."

"I'm happy. I'm content. I love my life. I'm not ready for this. Can't it wait?"

But even as I protested, something deep inside whispered back: It's already begun.

This man and I had intersected. He was in my script. He was planned. And this wouldn't be easy.

I continued to plead.

Maybe I still had a choice? Could I delay it? Refuse it altogether? Just walk away right now?

But the inner voice was firm:

"You can do this now, or you can do this later—but either way, it must be done."

"Alright," I almost said out loud.

I mentally strapped myself in for the anticipated rollercoaster ride and found him in the kitchen.

Living with Two in One

He wasn't a bad man. In fact, he could be wonderful. We travelled the world together, made beautiful memories.

But gradually, I came to realise I hadn't married one man. I'd married two.

There was Mr Nice Guy—generous, kind, helpful, fun, caring.

And then there was Mr Evil Psychopath. (Let's just call him Mr P.)

Mr P was something else entirely: volatile, cruel, explosive. He'd erupt out of nowhere, screaming accusations, hurling abuse, chasing me from room to room so he could scream with his spittle at my face—for hours at a time. He’d do vile things like leaving me stranded and alone without money in foreign cities.

Locks didn't stop him.

Boundaries made him worse.

And when he emerged, he looked different.

His face would twist with rage. His warm brown eyes turned jet black—tiny, beady holes, boring into my skull.

Sometimes Mr P stayed for days. I'd flee the house and check into a beachside apartment, part in terror, part in bitter indulgence. At least I could wait out this madness with a good view.

He Doesn’t Know

It was my mother who first confirmed my suspicions. She happened to be staying with us during one of Mr P's episodes. After a long half-hour of Mr P’s shouting, she came upstairs and asked,

"What is all that yelling about!?"

My husband blinked at her, confused.

"Yelling? Who's yelling?" he asked. Incredibly he had no memory of his rampaging abuse.

Mr P was gone. Mr Nice Guy was back.

When All Else Fails

I tried everything to help him.

Reasoning. Yelling back. Going mute. Earplugs. Door bolts. Therapists. Couples counselling. Energy healers.

You name it—I tried it.

But I failed.

Soon after we parted, he came to visit me and my new partner. He was baffled about an incident with his new girlfriend.

"We were just chopping vegetables," he said, "when suddenly she flew into a rage and started screaming at me. I didn't do anything! It came out of nowhere!"

My partner and I exchanged knowing looks.

Another victim.

Mr P strikes again.

The Pattern Emerges

Over the years, I've heard similar stories from dozens of my psychology clients—mostly women. They describe the same pattern: black eyes, bizarre outbursts, memory gaps, eerie calm afterward. All crazy-making behaviour.

They blame themselves.

I’ve tried and tested every standard mental health diagnosis, including DID, but none of them fit.

Thankfully it was my clients—wise, wounded, intuitive—who finally led me to the real explanation.

When every conventional psychiatric diagnosis was ruled out, I remembered Sherlock Holmes' words:

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

That's when I understood what Mr P was:

Call it a misplaced energy, a foreign being, or what Christian’s call, a demon.

It became evident that Mr P was my husband’s possessing entity.

A New Understanding

On the fringes of psychology, a growing number of professionals—psychologists, psychiatrists, and specialized practitioners—acknowledge these unattached entities. too many cases. Too much damage left us with no other choice.

With dedicated training in this field, we now help clients and their terrorised families break free from the havoc these beings create. We call it Spirit Release Therapy.

But we are still far too few for the many who desperately need our help.

My marriage couldn't be saved, but if you recognize the patterns—the personality switches, memory gaps, inexplicable rage followed by confusion—you're not alone.

Sometimes it really is the most improbable explanation that can set us free.