I'm a Satanist

I didn’t wake up today with a plan to write this, and it may have been obvious by now due to the content in my dark urban fantasy writing — as well as the spiritual company I keep. But after seeing others out and proud of their own left-hand path, I didn’t want to be silent about it any longer. We shouldn’t be intimidated into silence.

I’m a Satanist.

I ask that you keep an open mind and finish this entry before judging me. Those who know me well know my character and I hope that will outshine your fears of what you most likely don’t know, as well as stand as a testament to what Satanism really is. And it isn’t evil.

When I was a child, I went to Sunday school. I was baptized and sang loudly, embarrassingly, in the Christmas choir. I liked the Bible stories in the books my grandma often got me. The writing in them was easier to digest for a kid and far more interesting in their illustrations and improved grammar.

Yet, deep down, I didn’t connect with any of it. An interest was as deep as it ever went, but I did have fear. I feared angering God would bring a horrible punishment down on me — as the church teaches — and that included openly straying away from what the Christian adults around me wanted me to be.

In the 90s when Marilyn Manson rose to fame on MTV, I was entranced. There was something about the darkness in his music that drew me to it as a child, and it felt comforting. It felt like home in a way I didn’t understand until I grew older. All I knew was that I didn’t care for the light. The light didn’t understand my depression or my anxiety disorder, but the dark did. Listening to Christian music just felt like a brainwashing ritual because of its repetitive nature. ‘Love God,’ ‘God is good,’ ‘Jesus loves you,’ ‘He died for your sins’ can only be sung so many times in so many ways before it feels like a droning of indoctrination.

I craved depth. I wanted to understand and know the whole of humanity, not just a pretty, neatly organized picture that was created when wool was pulled over my eyes. I needed to know why people did the things they did, and that may have been because I needed to understand my own situation at home. I won’t get into detail with that, but my father wasn’t the kindest man and alcoholism drove him to do some unethical things.

I was always independent in thought and inquisitive of everything, which is a sin, isn’t it? To question God and see his faults is a big Christian no-no. But as a teenager, I tried one last time to ask for help from that side.

I’d found a home in Goth culture by then and had read an innumerable amount of horror stories. Horror movies were the only thing I wanted to watch, and I discovered music on VampireFreaks by London After Midnight, Gothminister, and Velvet Acid Christ. I came to love 80s darkwave like Christian Death. All of this made me happy and I felt like I belonged somewhere, and it led me to explore other areas that I was often given sentiments of worry for.

I gained extensive knowledge on death and the science of it. I studied what it would take to be a mortician or a pathologist. I obsessed over medieval and ancient diseases, as well as the history of mortuaries and cemeteries. I wanted to go to school to work with the dead, and admittedly, when I had to make the unfortunate visit to a funeral home for a friend or family member, I found myself wishing I could spend more time there alone. I wanted to live in a funeral home or work there, because there was something comforting and familiar about the Victorian decor. The somber quiet was serene.

Despite being in love with the dark and exploring things taboo in Christian culture, I was still afraid of God. I was also going through one of the most traumatic events of my life that would result in my current diagnosis of PTSD. From the age of thirteen to seventeen, I dated a boy who hit me, took sex from me when he wanted it, cheated on me, and laughed at me when I self-harmed after he taught it to me. During this time, my father also displayed some concerning behavior toward me I won’t mention in detail, but it led to him taking me to meet our old family friend, the pastor of the local church.

At the time, I was not out yet as a trans man. Even though I rejected typical feminine things for black clothing and baggy shirts, being assigned female at birth, I was defeated before I walked into the church in a black mourning dress I wore on Sundays. I was going to Hell for holding my boyfriend’s hand. I was the one who was wrong and I was doing things that weren’t allowed. My father was a troubled man who could be saved, and he received sympathy.

I tried to call out to the angels once more despite this. I didn’t know what else to reach out to since I was alone and scared and surrounded by horrible things. I read somewhere on a ghost hunter’s website that I could leave a note for angels to respond to, and I followed the advice perfectly. I asked for my family to stop fighting all the time. I asked for my boyfriend to stop hurting me because I was dedicated to him and didn’t want to break the promise I’d made to stay loyal.

No answer ever came. Silence. No matter how hard I tried. I made my first suicide attempt soon after.

I then discovered Satanism. My first spirit guide, Darokin, started coming around more often then — in my sixteenth year, I believe. I came across him when I accidentally stumbled into automatic drawing and writing when I was half asleep in study hall.


After I woke up I defined the image some more, which you can see above. As I was half asleep, the name wasn’t clear when it came to me. For a lot of years I just called him Daro, and he doesn’t look exactly like the drawing above, but it was a general yet unclear idea of what I thought I saw. Within the past five years, I finally learned his true name when I delved deeper into Demonology and found the name Darokin. Its Chaldean origin fits with how he appears, his tribal nature, and his dark skin.


Above is a recent drawing I did of him as he appears to me in person. I believe he was the first to answer my cries for help back then. He is calm, collected, and has taught me meditation and to find inner peace through it.

At the time, when I was a teenager, I wasn’t sure who he was to me. My drawings began to focus more on Satanic imagery and demons, and as I delved more into Satanism, something inside me felt like I’d finally found an answer. It wasn’t angels or God who helped me out of my darkness. In truth, they had tried to keep me there with perpetual self-guilt. They were used as a tool to give my father forgiveness and placed no blame on my abusive boyfriend, but acknowledged me as the one at fault. Most likely because of my assigned sex at birth.

I continued to explore Satanism, and I made mistakes along the way. I delved headfirst into contacting entities I was not prepared for, and I dabbled with ritual magick and other things I was ignorant on. I was so desperate to immerse myself fully in a spiritual path that had reached out to me and given me a safe place.

I became frustrated despite Darokin still remaining with me, as well as Zagan Lestan, who I didn’t know was a spirit guide at the time (I’d first met him as Lestan when I was thirteen while drawing, but I didn’t realize he was also a guide until recent years). I delved into Wicca in an attempt to fit what I had into something that was widely known, and I did stray for some time. It never truly felt right, however, and the way many Wicca circles spoke about Satanism rubbed me the wrong way. They were wrong and I knew it. Satanism wasn’t evil. I sure as Hell wasn’t evil. Satanism had saved me.

As I reached one of the worst years of my life in 2014, attempting suicide three times and ending up in the psych ward, Darokin became a constant in my life again. He warned me that my true path was calling to me, and the longer I denied it and tried to fit into society out of fear of being rejected, the worse things would become. I accepted his guidance, and I pulled out the first red and black Baphomet necklace I’d bought a few years previous. When I placed it around my neck, I never went back. My life started to improve a year later to now.

As I went on to meet my third guide, Byleth, in 2016, I deepened my knowledge on spiritual Satanism and discovered a wonderful resource, Philosophy for Theistic Satanists, to keep me grounded. Darokin was more than ecstatic that I’d finally decided to become more of a student with careful practice in between, and my growing collection of tarot cards I’d been using since 2008 became an important tool in our meditation and private rituals.

Since, I have learned many things from my guides, Darokin being a great source, specifically, of healing:
  • Everything happens for a reason. The universe does not give me challenges I cannot overcome.
  • I am an old soul. My life has become more difficult because of this, but it will only make me a stronger person once I complete this life’s challenges.
  • The dark is my home despite my lifelong fear of it. Within its shadows lurks wisdom that can only bring me strength.
Satanism saved my life. It answered my call for help when I felt alone. It made me a stronger person and taught me to value and stick up for myself. It accepted me as a queer trans man and I don’t feel so strange around other Satanists. A lot of them are also in touch with darker things, be it their fashion sense, music choices, interests, or similar spiritual goals (or lack of. Some Satanists are atheists and use the name symbolically).

So, I am a Satanist. I strive to do good and act with kindness in all that I do. I keep my spiritual practices to myself, unless I decide to write about them occasionally. I don’t care to recruit anyone or turn anyone away from their own beliefs. I respect you if you respect me.

©2020 Shane Blackheart

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