Another one bites the dust.

It’s been a few weeks, I know.  But I’ve been trying to collect myself to write this, so here it goes.

About 3 weeks ago, I fried our microwave.  Its kind of an oxymoron, I know.  My husband decided one night that he would stay out late and have a beer leaving me with the kids, on a day that I felt I really needed him.  This is unfortunately a common occurrence with him.

To clarify my deeply rooted emotion, my husband works hours that has him leaving the house before the kids leave for school and not coming home till 12 hours later at least 4 days a week.  Leaving me to get the kids ready for school, get them on the bus on time, then to daycare, then me to work, then to squeeze a workout in, then pick them up, come home, cook dinner and attempt to clean some of my house, all while getting my son’s homework done, and dealing with the 15 demands a minute my kids have even though they are fed, clean, and otherwise cared for.

My head splits in multiple directions as I try to focus on every task all at once.  The problem with having a psychic connection to my children is when they want something or need me, it’s not just their words or crying I hear, but their “call” to me on that psychic level.  Effectively turning 2 young children into 4 voices instead of 2.

Sometimes as a mom who works full time, I feel a sense of desperation as I find myself looking forward to the 10 minutes I spend on myself showering after being around ill people all day.  A bonus of showers and water is that water molecules are a 3 pointed magnet on an atomic level with 2 positive ends and one negative.  Water acts almost like a psychic Xanax. If you have a overwhelmed psychic on your hands, just add water.  Supposedly the water pulls the negatively charged ions and energy off the individual, expelling some of the energy build up.  So I’m not just washing away the days grime; I’m cleansing my being of negative energy.

So I’m home, and I’m tired and dirty, still in gym clothes.  The kids won’t stop asking for things, and my house is a mess.  I’m frustrated because my husband is not home without even asking me if I needed him.  My anger builds and builds, and I can feel it swelling inside me from hurt and a sensation of feeling trapped, and then my 2 yr old daughter asks for popcorn.  I was in the middle of washing a giant pile of dishes that had piled up, because my husband goes through spurts of archaic thinking where he thinks things like house work are a “woman’s job.”  Which I usually call bullshit on and snap him out of when he pushes me too far.  But tonight, he was not there.  He wasn’t there to help me!  And with all the hurt, frustration, and anger I placed the popcorn bag in the microwave and punched in the number with my still dripping hands as a tear went down my cheek.  My emotions came to a head as I pressed start and then my microwave made a terrible noise as it started up and then continued to sound like it was on a count down to explode instead of popping pop corn.

I turned it off and stared at it, realizing I had just effectively fried our 1yr old microwave with my negative feelings.  My daughter was still crying for popcorn and I cooked some for her on the stove like I normally do when I have the time.  But I was pissed at myself for what happened.  When my husband did come home and asked what happened I just told him the barest of truth.  That I had tried to use it and it stopped working.  How do you explain to people something like that.  "Oh, Babe. You didn’t come home when I wanted you to so my psychic powers manifested, effectively frying yet another electronic item in our home."

Go ahead and try saying that out loud and remain serious. That’s about how I would feel myself.

I know what your thinking at this point. “How can she be married to someone who doesn’t even believe that psychics exist?”  Well, there is a couple of things.  Despite that my husband is the antagonist in this particular instance, he is a good rock solid man, and has been there for me when NO ONE and I mean NO ONE was there for me through deaths, financial trouble, military, health problems, and so many other things.  He is rough around the edges, stubborn as all hell, and can be a pain in the ass, but if push comes to shove, that man would die for me and our children. And to be honest, when we met 10 years ago, I didn’t want to be psychic, nor did I even want to acknowledge that I was regardless of my lifetime of experiences.

He will grudgingly admit that there is something about his wife.  He has seen me bring full grown men to tears with just a few sentences, and help friends with very personal things that I just knew.  I don’t know if he will ever say the words, but I think he knows just the same.  Does that mean that we talk about it?  Nope.  I have a hard time talking about it in front of him even with the friends who know what I do.

My father in law came over today to visit me since I’m at home, unable to work and stuck on crutches since surgery 2 weeks ago.  I “came out” to him in the middle of our conversation about the microwave.  He is an interesting man, my father in law.  A wood carver, hippie to the core, he has what most people would describe as a “free spirit.”  And you know, he admitted to seeing auras!  What makes the revelation even more interesting is that my husband’s mother doesn’t believe in this kind of thing either.  I always knew he had something, but now we can talk about it.  It’s nice to know someone is in the same boat as you, even if being on that boat can really suck sometimes.  I guess misery really does love company.

I’m reaching out when I’m feeling low.

Believe it or not, I am preferably a woman of science.  I love research and facts neatly laid out over piles of scientific data and careful study.  I want solid uniformed proof that a medication will work, or a therapy is successful over time, or that the additive in my food/shampoo/laundry detergent/ect… will not harm me or my family.  I also love to learn and flex my intelligence with the challenges and questions that come with the reaching outskirts of science.  Maybe that’s part of my “closet” state.  I need science to back me up here.  Because every time I get comfortable, every time I lean into the secure feelings of sound scientific logic, something happens that has no scientific explanation. And I am left leaning back into thin empty air reaching for anything to grab on to.

This morning I woke to a blanket of depression draped over me.  The frustrating thing is it’s not mine.  Someone I know and have cared for, it in the thick of it.  They want out or help, they are aware of it.  Unfortunately so am I.  Most of the time I can recognize it’s not mine and shrug it off, just like shedding a heavy blanket.  But the stronger the connection I have, the heavier the emotion, and the harder it is to peel off.

If I’m being honest with myself, I would say that my misery started yesterday afternoon.  It seeped into me, draining me.  When I woke this morning to get Junior ready for kindergarten, and dressed little Missy for daycare I was drowning in a fog of it.  After putting Junior on his school bus at 7am, I drove Missy to daycare way earlier then I usually do.  It’s my day off today.  I should be feeling great.  She was full of morning energy and my heart felt like a dull gray thud in my chest.

I sat in the empty classroom to play with her after Mrs. Green’s husband let me in.  I sat and played quietly with her for 20 minutes, just enjoying her company when Mrs. Green came into the classroom truly upset.  She told me I needed to call her if I was coming early because she had to be prepared for me as a “traveler.”  That the darkness I pick up and bring with me could come into her home and she needs to protect the kids from it.  That I needed to learn more about what I do to keep from harming myself and others with this darkness.  She was visibly shaken just by my presence and I realized then and there why some people can’t warm up to me.  I scare people on such a visceral level, I don’t think they are aware of it.

I cried on the way home.  Tears just ran down my face as I drove, and slowly dwindled when I got home and curled into my bed in my now empty house.  I feel so hyper ware of everything right now, I can practically taste vibrations around me.  I also keep seeing the color purple flare around me in delicate waves, outlining the world around me.  Writing this out, I realize it’s my own aura, flexing it’s colorful fingers to touch the world around me.

I feel little desperate. Trapped by need and pain that isn’t my own but there is no pill I can take, no physical treatment to layer on, no special diet that can regulate the symptoms of what it is to be so acutely and painfully psychic.

I was standing in my bathroom a few minutes ago, with my cat curled around my feet.  I was standing there, trying to get a hold of myself, focusing on a point on the counter when I heard breathing.  Not the soft purr coming from my kitty, but a set of steps, then a gasping breath.  I’m a nurse and I have heard the breathing of dying people.  2 steps towards me, and a gasping breath.  I looked down to see my cats ears perched up and his face focused on the open bathroom door, purring ceased.  2 more steps. 1 more breath.  2 more steps.  1 more breath. Closer to the bathroom, right around the corner.

I burst past the door frame shocking my cat into a serious leap.  I didn’t look for the cause of the sounds, because I didn’t want to find it.  I bolted straight through the kitchen and into the back yard where I collected my dog and brought him inside.  It may be a psychic cheat, but animals soothe me in a way nothing else can.

Lately I’ve heard a lot more “talking” and “whispers” in my home when there shouldn’t be any.  I have a friend, who I will most likely write about in future posts, who has some interesting “things” following him.  Every time he has visited my home, I get a lot of poltergeist activity.  Well he visited us 2 weekends ago and I should have known better.

I can performed a cleansing ritual of burning sage and rose petals in every room ending by lighting a white candle.  To do this I have to picture calm and peaceful happiness in the home.  Not how we would become happy, but everyone already feeling happy and peaceful.  I don’t necessarily think that any one of those particular things has power, but the intentions that I have gives them a type of power.

That is psychic tutor 101: intentions are EVERYTHING.  If the intention is there then the energy of that intention will follow shortly thereafter. I believe everyone has this power, not just psychics.  If you have the intention of happiness, happiness will follow.  If you let an illness claim your identity, then you become that illness.  What you truly intend is the seed you sow.  Lying to yourself doesn’t change a thing.  If you mean someone harm, or have selfish intent, then that is the result that you will eventually reap.  Think of it as paying it forward.  Don’t believe me.  Try it! Experiment! I dare you.  Do it with one tiny thing or action.  Focus on the purity of your intention and see what happens.

So why haven’t I done my little ritual already?  For no better reason other than I’m too chicken shit.  When “things” get particularly “busy” in my home, doing something like burning sage could rustle them up before booting them out.  And honestly if you were me, knowing you can feel, hear, and see things others don’t, how eager would you be to stir the pot?

UPDATE:  Just got off the phone with my younger sister.  I told her how I’ve been feeling and what just happened.  She confessed she has been feeling truly miserable since yesterday.  She is going through her own stuff right now and yesterday was a particularly rough day for her.  After finally speaking to her and I was able to acknowledge the origin of feelings, after which I could feel the misery melt off me.  So at least there is that. 

My sister and I are not far apart in age and have a relationship that I think is unique to siblings.   She knows what I do and has just started to explore and realize her own potential.  She did promise me to call next time she is feeling particularly dumpy.  And I promised her that I love her just the same.  When it comes to our deep connection, we need to talk and touch base regularly.

That being said, and as I have sat in my living room writing, I continue to hear bumps that shouldn’t be there, and the occasional whisper.  I’m thinking I should go and get some “cleaning” done.  Wish me luck!

Not so psychic, so far…

So if you have read my posts up to this point, you may be thinking, “So what makes this woman think she is psychic? Ghost magnet, sure.  But Psychic?”  And I haven’t expressed much of what I do, partly because I’m not sure how to approach it.  But I’m also just warming up to this “tell all” blogging, which as title of my blog describes is something very new for me.  But let me give it a try starting with today.

It can be very frustrating doing what I do and not being able to properly express it, partly because a lot of it is very personal for people I know, and part because I want to remain anonymous.  But some things are unavoidable in the telling of my experiences.  That I’m a mother, that I’m married, that I served my country, and was eventually going to get around to telling you that I’m a nurse.  And the more personal details that may clue someone in on who I’m talking about.  I don’t want to inadvertently broadcast an intimate detail of someone’s life but I also don’t want to compromise the telling of the events.  How can you explain to a blind man what it’s like to see without telling him the names of the colors you are trying to describe? 

If you believe half of anything I’ve written so far, the fact that I’m a nurse might not shock you.  I’ve met quite a few of us with extra “intuition.”  It’s part of being a healer, and makes us extra good at are job.

But I want to talk about a few little nuances that affect my life regularly that happen, but I can’t really explain to anyone what just went wrong in my day without triggering the “nut job” alarm.

Psychic Pet Peeves #1:  Electronics.

Oh yes, that stereo type is true.  I don’t think it’s any one particular device, but it does tend to be the ones I focus on the most frequently, like cell phones.  I’m a home care nurse, with an assigned computer and work cell phone.  I love my job but I work directly for a big hospital and my job definitely has frustrating moments. 

I recall a particular incident just 2 months ago of getting very angry and frustrated.  My anger came to a boil when I had to reach a doctor to clarify a very specific order on the 4th of July, and the patient didn’t have any supplies or knew anything about their own health, which is another pet peeve but not a psychic one.  No one was answering the on call line like the answering service was supposed to.  I was on a serious time crunch, and I had to stand outside the patient’s apartment building in the muggy, nasty summer heat to get cell reception.  My day had been, for lack of a better expression, a raging cluster fuck until that point and I was riding my last nerve into the ground with a vengence.  I was feeling nicely pissed off when the clouds thought it was a good time to start raining.  After a dodging most of it by ducking under an awning, I looked down at my phone and thought very angry thoughts, and with the lack of anything else to do with my anger, I yelled a growl at my phone.  Not very lady like, but it sure felt good and no one saw me do it.  It was at this particular moment my phone decided to go completely dead.  Wouldn’t turn on. Wouldn’t charge.  Wouldn’t reset when I removed the battery.  D.E.A.D.  It wasn’t until to 2 days later that it just magically came back to life after I had called my IT manager at work for a replacement.  Figures…

This is not the first time I’ve had electronics malfunction or completely fail when I’m feeling particularly pissed.  Extreme emotion for me is asking for my TV screen to mess up, my cell phone to just stop working and need to be reset, my computer to freeze, a bulb to burn out, the radio to just shut off, or the burner on the stove over heat for no reason.  Some of these things sometimes is no big deal, but when it happens every time I feel hot headed, and simultaneously?  I have a short temper when stressed.  Needless to say, I read a lot of books to unwind.

Pet Peeve #2:  Physical pain that isn’t even mine.

That’s right folks.  Not that I don’t sympathize with the pain a lot of my patients go through.  I am a really compassionate person and enjoy my job because I genuinely want to help people.  But it is very hard to concentrate when your pain becomes my pain. 

I worked in an Ear, Nose, and Throat clinic for a very long year.  One particular incident I had a patient come in without any description of why they were there.  Assuming it was just a follow up appointment I checked the patient in taking a blood pressure and temp.  The patient was very pleasant and carried on conversation as if everything was rainbows and butterflies.  Only 5 minutes into my greeting the patient, the inside of my left ear started to throb BAD.  So much so that I started to think I better get a doc to check me out.  I brought the patient in the exam room and as part of the standard check in questions asked if they were in pain.  The happy face they had had since their arrival dropped off like a mask and the patient confessed that their left ear was hurting so bad they could hardly think but still wanted to be nice because I was so nice.  After leaving the exam room and putting some good distance between me and that person my ear finally started to feel better.

That same year I lost my voice several times, had multiple ear aches, and even my allergies got worse.  I know I’m around a lot of sick people, but a lot can be said for good hand washing and proper sanitizing.  And everything always got better when I went home at night.  Pain empathy still happens with what I do now but I see far less patients every day, so it’s easier to bare.

Pet Peeve #3:  I know things about people I do not want/need to know.

No one likes their dirty laundry aired out for the world to see.  I’m careful, very careful but I am far from perfect.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ll be talking to someone new and say something I didn’t realize they hadn’t mentioned. 

Once at a bar a young man in his early 20’s that we had just met maybe 10 minutes prior was speaking with my group about tattoos.  I turned away from the conversation to order a beer from the server and turned back saying, “So you are a journalism major? I have a degree in that myself.”  He looked shocked and the conversation halted.  I realized 5 sets of eyes were looking at me.  My friend turned back the the young man and asked, “Are you a journalism major?”  and he replied with a strange tone, “yes.”  He looked right at me and asked me how I knew that.  I really thought I heard him say it a moment before so I told him he did and everyone looked at me and told me he didn’t.  He asked me how I knew that and I just mumbled that I had to use the bathroom and got up to “use the bathroom.”  I do that a lot.  It seems to hit the reset button on people when they start asking questions.

When I got back from the bathroom they were talking about different colleges that everyone attended and working afterwards.  I received my beer, which was my 2nd beer of the evening, and focused on sipping.  The conversation eventually drifted to significant others by the 3rd beer and I commented in passing to the young man that he was a “cougar chaser.”  And he turned and said, “what?! No I’m not…”  Like he was shocked I’d mentioned it. 

Now, I’m not an alcoholic but I do like a few beers every so often.  Problem with that is that when I relax and have a few my “gifts” start drifting like I’m opening up without meaning to.  And the filter that can normally tell what is being said and what is not, and the difference between the two, starts to not filter so well. 

Which brings me back to Tattoo Journalism Man Boy.  I went to close my tab away from the rest of the group and he followed me.  He turns me towards him once we are out of earshot and seriously asks me why I said that.  Now, I don’t advertise what I do but if you ask me straight, I’ll tell you straight.  I told him because it’s true.  And he looks at me seriously, and he says, “Yeah. But how did you know? Do you think everyone knows?”  All I could do was pat him on the shoulder and tell him that what I know isn’t obvious to everyone else and that I just know things about people.  For the remainder of the evening he kept randomly asking me how.  My answer didn’t change.  And for the record I’m not old enough yet to be placed in the cougar category.

Just an example of what happens all the time.  I have much more to say, but I think I’m a little beat tonight. Besides, I think I just earned myself a beer ;)

I was just doing laundry…

This particular instance happened about four years ago just after my husband and I had purchased our first home.  I had a few things happen before this, but this particular occurrence was definitely a shock.

Junior was about nine months old, and I worked part time while my husband worked full-time. I had a lot of time alone with my son which was a luxury I had never had before, being active duty military. I had finished my 4 years and was excited to be an average, every-day, chore-doing civilian.
The comfort I felt with our daily routine was beautiful.  On days I did not have to work we would get up together, eat breakfast together, play together, and when he would nap I would read or relax and watch TV.  For the 1st time in my life, I was experiencing domestic bliss.

One early afternoon, I set Junior in his high chair with his lunch. I gave him a small metal kid’s spoon in which to explore his food and murder his apple sauce with. My boy loves apple sauce. I pointed his high chair towards my kitchen where I would be doing laundry, which is just through the kitchen.

My now infamous laundry room, which you now know from a previous post, has a nice big laundry sink. Since we were still “settling” we had a few things in some odd places. Like a stack of buckets and toilet plunger sitting in the laundry sink, which hadn’t moved an inch in over a month.  There is a natural order to moving in which is almost organic.  My kitchen for example, was unpacked in phases.  As I needed things I unpacked them and then felt out where I would naturally reach for them in the midst of one of my passionate cooking sessions.  Did I mention I love to cook?  So it was not unusual to still be staring at this stack of buckets and toilet plunger, since they had yet to find a more natural home.

I walked into the laundry room with my basket on my hip and set it down in front of the washer.  The moment I straighten, I had the very distinct feeling of someone stepping very close behind me and breathing on my hair.  I went to turn my head to look behind me and I see the plunger handle in my direct line of sight move from one side of the bucket, stay there for a moment, then move back.  It wasn’t a floppy movement, or slow, or even a pop back and forth.  The best words I can think of to describe how it moved was very deliberately.  And it wasn’t an inch or two, it moved a full 18 inches of the bucket, from on side to the other.

In the space of a few seconds my body started to hum and goose bump danced up the sides of my neck and arms, because that is how my body reacts when things like this happen.  Yet another tip off that I’m dealing with a visitor I did not invite.  I look around the small room, and after ensuring no one was standing behind me, I walked 3 steps to the plunger and started messing with it.  I jostled the buckets, and moved the handle myself, then checked to rubber part to see if it had popped back and forth for some reason.  Nothing I tried worked or recreated what I just watched with my own eyes.  Then my baby boy shouted.

I popped around the corner at the shout which was immediately followed by a loud clatter.  I wasn’t a cry or a wail.  Junior sounded shocked, as if someone surprised him.  My boy doesn’t scare easy and one of his favorite games was “sneak up on the baby and surprise him by shouting.”  He looked at me with big round blue eyes, then immediately held out his arms for me to pick him up.  Obliging him I looked around for what made the clatter, goosebumps still dancing all over my body.  Then I noticed his spoon was missing.

I don’t know if you have ever seen a 9 month old throw something, but unless they are some sort of prodigy, the thrown item rarely gets farther then a few inches in front of the baby.  As proud as I am of my baby boy, he is no prodigy.

After a few minutes of searching with my startled baby in my arms if find the spoon.  12 feet behind my son’s high chair against the wall.  The spoon would also have to had cleared the dining room table which was positioned directly behind the high chair, between the high chair and the wall.  My eyes started watering a little when I realized what must have happened.  It is at this particular moment I hear a loud bang from somewhere in the house.  And that’s went from “worried” to “Oh HELL NO!” in 3.5 seconds.

I was already humming with whatever it is that I do, and there is this feeling or sensation that I can consciously focus on that “opens” this sensation up.  Like I’m feeling everything around me send back a small vibrations.  I put my son down near some toys, take one good look around, and state in a very pissed off tone, “To mess with me is one thing, but you will NOT TOUCH MY CHILD.  GET OUT OF HERE NOW!”  Then I sort of focused on pushing every vibration around me out of the house.

Things were pretty quiet for the rest of the day.  Unfortunately for me, things like this leave me “open” for 2 or 3 days after.  Almost like I have to rebuild a wall.  

I wish I could say that nothing ever moved on it’s own again in my house, but that wouldn’t be true.  I can say nothing did move for a good while after.

Our first night.

Almost 5 years ago my husband and I purchased our first home together.  I had just gotten out of the military and there was a property for sale right around the corner from my mother in law.  The property was a great price, and on a beautiful plot of land.  It was a used mobile home but in great condition and had plenty of space.  In other words, perfect starter home for our new civilian life.

Our first day moving in we had just gotten our furniture delivered from my last duty station.  We only had time to unpack our bed, but after sleeping for a week in my mother in law’s guest room on a rock hard full size mattress, my king size bed was a sight for sore eyes and back!  My husband is also not a small man.  6ft tall and well built, he takes up most of the sleeping real-estate.

Surrounded by boxes and new blank walls, we tucked our son into a pack n play in his own room, set up the baby monitor, and snuggled in to our first night home.  It wasn’t difficult to fall asleep that night because life had been crazy busy the past few weeks and my brain was ready to shut down to blissful, sleepy oblivion.  But my “new home” euphoria was about to be tested.

I was asleep for almost 4 hours when around 2am I heard foot steps.

The funny thing about this home was a strangely built deck that wrapped around the back doors of the house.  It was poorly thought out and even worse in execution and has since been ripped out, but that happened later.  A poor design aspect in my home, and one of my very few complaints, is that the laundry room and back door share the same wall as the master bedroom.  No one can do laundry or enter the house through the back door quietly enough if you are sitting in my bedroom.  So….. footsteps.

I listen carefully thinking I had just dreamt of booted footsteps and my dream had woke me up.  About 5 heavy and loud steps later I was bolt up in bed shaking my husband.  It took him a minute to rouse but he woke when my urgent whisper finally cut through his sleep.  His eyes popped open and I put my finger to my lips and whispered, “footsteps!”

We both laid there in astonishment as we listened to someone with heavy steps walk around loudly for a whole minute.  The steps sounded as if they were on the deck.  My husband is a former Marine and can be pretty fearless but even I gave him credit for getting up in all his underwear clad glory with his hand gun to creep out of the room.

I grabbed my cell phone and the baby monitor ready to snap into necessary action, waiting for the slightest cue.  The foot steps had stopped and I barely breathed while I strained to listen.

I heard the laundry room door open and the light switch flick on.  The back porch light lit up my bedroom windows and my bedroom filled with light.  I heard my husband walking on the deck, and even barefoot he made some sort of noise.  I wish we had our 2 dogs with us but we had left them at my mother in law’s until we had the house set up for them.  I heard him all around the house outside, near windows and the front door, then back in the house and through to the other side.  The baby monitor echoed my son’s bedroom door opening, daddy’s hand on his back for a moment, then the soft click of a door being carefully shut.  My son let out a soft snuffle and resumed happy slumber.

After what felt like 20 minutes of tense, unblinking waiting, my husband came back into the bedroom.  It was cold out and he immediately wrapped himself around me and the comforter.

“There is no one there.” He said it calmly as if he had never heard anything and started to fall back asleep.

That’s the thing about my husband, he is a firm non believer.  This man has no religion or opinion on anything supernatural or related to an after life.  After being with me for 10 years he won’t admit to anything, but he has developed a quiet acceptance of his wife’s “weirdness.”  To actually admit that I have gifts would be to admit he was somewhat, possibly, a teeny tiny bit wrong, and that is not so acceptable to my very stubborn man.

He is also seems to be borderline narcoleptic, which is reconfirmed as he is almost asleep 10 seconds after climbing into bed.  Really, no one passes out faster than him.

I sit there for about 5 minutes calming myself down after having thought someone was trying to break into our house our very first night here, when I hear the steps again.  I push on my husband’s shoulders and his blood shot eyes crack open.  “They’re back!” I whisper fiercely near his ear, and he mumbles, “No one is there.  Just ignore it.”  And he just goes back to sleep.

I know my husband circled the exterior of the house and checked every lock and window thoroughly.  The video baby monitor continued to show a peacefully sleeping baby in a quiet bedroom.  So I laid there, knowing that these foot steps weren’t right, but they weren’t a threat either.  After 30 minutes of listening to the steps on and off, I fell back asleep.  Cell phone in hand and baby monitor by my head.

The next morning I was happily unpacking my things in the master bedroom.  My son was playing cheerfully in a recently empty box next to me, as children always seem more enchanted by the box then the items that came in it.  My husband pulled on his cowboy boots that had been packed away and now reclaimed and headed outside with packing material for the dump.

He walked through the laundry room with his boots and I froze.  The steps he made with his boots in the room right next to ours were identical to what I had heard the night before.  He made a few more repeat trips back and forth with his boots and I knew the mystery steps had not been on the deck.  Those steps happened inside my house.

I have heard the steps on and off again, maybe twice a year since that first night.  And since I am being honest, I feel as if a male presence is watching out for my family here.  Not malevolent in nature but just curious and watchful.  There are other things that have been attracted me and caused other events, but this guy, I think he just likes our family.  Like he is happy we are here.  I just wish his boots weren’t so damn loud.

What went bump in the night?

I’ve had many experiences over the years and as I recall them I am hoping to post them.  This particular event was the first truly intense experience I had ever had, and it happened to me at the innocent age of 9.

I remember the night pretty clearly, when there are many other things during my childhood I don’t remember at all, even people recount them for me.  Scientific research has indicated that a rush of adrenaline brought on by fear or trauma can burn a memory into your brain.  That explanation would certainly be a reason behind the clarity of this memory, because it was starkly terrifying.

I slept on the top bunk bed that I shared with my younger sister, which I had done for years.  We were tucked into the farthest bedroom down a fairly long hall way.  I had had a head ache that night so when I laid down I for bed I was relieved to have a nice dark bedroom.  My mother had given me one of those ice packs in the shape of a polar bear that was never supposed to warm up as long as you mushed the beads around its happy little body.  I laid down on my back with my left leg bent half way up to my torso where my left hand lay on my knee. The ice pack slipped off my head and down my neck when I must have dosed.

I know I fallen asleep because when I woke it was to strange music, like a type of island chant. The house was dark and quite with only ambient light seeping through the windows.  I couldn’t understand the music and I thought that maybe someone who lived on the same lake as us was having a party and what I was hearing was muffled through my closed window.  My bedroom door was open and I could see clearly down the hall way without having to move my head because the bunk beds were placed opposite wall of the bedroom door, which I faced.  Then I heard my step dad’s voice start to call my brother’s name, long and drawn out, that suddenly ended in an old woman’s screech.  I then watched as a figure of a man tall, gray, and devoid of any other detail started to walk down hall towards my room and my bed.

I froze, like a scared fawn caught in the presence of danger.  My young mind had scrambled for logic.  Maybe it was my step dad going to turn down the air after my mom had let the house get too warm.  They were always in a silent battle over the AC.  But much to my terror the figure did not solidify into the safe and loving face of a parent, passed right by the AC control, and straight into my room.

Vertigo suddenly set in and I started to “spin” with everything around my room loosing focus, except for single lamp placed on a high dresser.  My feet felt pulled to the foot of the bed like I was going to fall and the music got louder.  I couldn’t see the figure at my door way any longer so I turned my head towards the side of the bed, and I saw clearly a dark gray shadow shaped like a large head and shoulders.

I wanted to cry out but couldn’t.  I wanted to move but I stayed frozen where I was.  I raked my nails into my knee where my hand still laid trying to wake myself up from a terrifying nightmare.  The room spun faster and tears started to fall down my face but I still could not move anything but my head, which I turned away from this frightening figure.  Then it reached out and touched me.

It wrapped one hand around my right wrist that lay across my chest and yanked it straight into the air and dropped it like I was a rag doll.  The terror in me grew into a fear I could taste in my mouth, and my heart felt like it was beating out of my chest when it reached over again to repeat the same action as I looked straight back at it.

I turned my face away from this faceless figure again and did the only thing I knew to do, pray.  If a child can pray with all her being and soul then that is what I did.  Small tiny lights appeared around me. Little twinkles of color I could focus on rather than the spinning walls, or the faceless figure, or the pull of my feet like I would fall out of bed.  Then one very clear thought popped into my mind.  MY SISTER!  Is she feeling and seeing all of this too?  Is she as terrified as I am?

It was at that moment my sister let out a soft and quick snore that spiked through the chaos.  That snore gave me the spark of courage to suck in as much air as my lungs could hold and release it with a call for my mother.

My mother rushed into the room within a minute because once I started screaming, I didn’t stop.  The light flicked on and it stood there for one small second and then it was gone.  My mother reached for me and I dove off that top bunk into her arms crying hysterically, saturated in sweat and tears, while bleeding on my left knee from where my nails had dug in deep.  My sheets, hair, and pajamas were all soaked with sweat but my mother held me like I was drowning.

I couldn’t have made sense of what had happened to me when I tried to explain.  My mother cleaned me up and held me with all the lights in my room blazing.  My 2 older brothers and step father were staring from the doorway, my poor little sister wide eyed at my terror.  My step dad explained to my brothers that I had a bad dream and sent them to bed, then kissed me on the top of my head, and crept back to bed letting my mother soothe me.  My mother calmed me to the point where she convinced me to lay down with my sister on the bottom bunk, holding tight to her tiny frame.  I don’t think my sister minded though after seeing me freak out and tell my mother what happened.

I slept with the lights completely on for years after that, and over 20 years later I still have a residual fear of the dark, which is kind of embarrassing.  I no longer sleep with every light on, but I do need some small night light.  My husband doesn’t understand and it’s hard to explain.  I still refuse to sleep on a top bunk and stayed on the bottom bunk with my sister for years afterward.  I also have chronic insomnia in adulthood.  Because that was not my only experience, but it was a beginning of many more intense experiences to come.

More often then not, things go bump in the night, and I have seen what can make the loudest noises.  And those are things you can never quite get used to no matter how many times you see them.  I have never seen the gray figure again, but I will never for get it.

I was just brushing my teeth…

Strange things tend to happen when you least expect them to.  This morning, right around 8:30am I turned on my electric tooth brush to start brushing my teeth.  May be 10 seconds in my 5 year old, for the sake of remaining anonymous I will call him Junior, rushes in with a confused and startled expression on his face.  He says, “Mom, I just saw you walking across the house after you started brushing your teeth!” I turned off the tooth brush as goose bumps prickled my arms.

Knowing 5 year olds can have very active imaginations, I spit out my tooth paste and then take his hand with what I hope is a reassuring smile on my face.  “Mommy was in the bathroom, baby”, I state matter-o-factly.  “I know”, he replies quickly.

"I saw another you walk through the house."

Okay….. was my initial thought.  Lead him through the event and see what he says.

So that is exactly what I did.  I walked through my bedroom with him as a chill started growing up my spine.

"Where did you see me?", I asked making no move to guide him.

He Immediately brought me through my bedroom to the living room where I had just seen him a minute before and stood next to the coffee table.  “Here.” He says it with a serious look on his face.

"Where did I walk?", I asked carefully.  He points from my open bedroom door, which has been open the whole time.  "You walked from you and Daddy’s room across the house", his pointed finger trailing the path.

The goosebumps that hadn’t quite faded intensified, and a drop of sweat trickled down my back.  The chill on my spine curled fingers up my neck.

"What was I wearing?"

"The clothes you are already wearing", he says looking at me from head to toe as if to reassure himself that he was giving an accurate statement.

"Did I say anything to you or look at you?"

"No, Mommy.  It was just like your hologram", he says as if to make me feel better.  Like it was matter a fact.  I felt the goosebumps reach my face.

I question him 3 more times.  He gives me the same account, no variations, no extra plot he normally gives when he tells me a story.  This boy is telling me the truth.

"Where is your sister?", I ask in a last ditch effort to explain this strange event my son so adamantly tells me about.  My 2 year old daughter, which we will call Missy, who loves to sleep in is confirmed still in her room, with the safety knob on and her door still shut.  I send Junior to open her door while a try to grab my bearings, and out comes a sleepy eyed Missy, happy to see me.  My bearings I was grasping for are officially "Out to Lunch" some where in China.

My mind swirled with the strangeness of the morning as I tried to replay what had happened.  With the kids in the car, I played some kid’s music while I drove them to daycare.  With replay looping through my head I realized the strange cues that I have gotten so used to but ignore for the sake of attempting to live a normal life.

Remembering what happened just 15 minutes before: Just before I walked into the bathroom I had heard whispers and talking with a hint of music that had no place in my home that morning.  I ignore them, because if I don’t, I’ll have to think about it.  A brief thought that my daughter was still asleep and I should go check on her before deciding to brush my teeth first.  The little details that were only all to clear after the fact.

My kids go to an at home daycare with a woman who is originally from India, but has rejected the culture after quite a few traumatic life events.  She doesn’t specify what happened, just that things had happened, and all she wants is to be American.  She has an American husband, with an American home taking care of American kids, and that’s the way she likes it.  I don’t ask questions because sometimes you just need to let people open up just enough to trust you and let you keep that trust because you don’t dig for more.  I trust this woman we will call Mrs. Green with my children, and have done so for years now.  She knows me.  Anyone who spends enough time with children gets to know their parents, whether the parents like it or not.  That being said I pulled up to the daycare.

Mrs. Green immediately sees I’m visibly rattled.  My inner psyche is buzzing around me like I’ve stood inside a giant bell and it’s ringing, loudly. That’s the thing about my gifts, they are very physical sometimes.  If I get “opened up” then I hum, for lack of a better description, and I can feel/hear every note that everyone and everything is playing.  Because that’s what it’s like.  My body is the tuning fork and everyone around me is playing a tune.

Mrs. Green asks if I’m okay.  And I reply that I shouldn’t say in front of the kids.  She steps just outside the door with me with kids in view but less in earshot.

I told her what happened, because when something like that happens you NEED to tell someone even if they think you are crazy.  She looks at me with a knowing look and simply states, “it’s because you are a traveler.” Now I have been called many things; empathic, psychic, weird, even an awkward giraffe, but traveler?  This was new.

She says a part of me will travel and darkness can use that.  She said she has known for years but couldn’t tell me until I discovered it for myself.  That she has “friends” that told her about me when we first met and that I needed to research what it meant.  Her “friends” unfortunately do not make themselves accessible to anyone, but Mrs.Green had grown up with them which is one of the only details she offered.  She stated my son was also a traveler, which part of me knows already.  I have known that my only son has inherited his father’s handsome face and his mother’s psychic abilities.

I made the mistake of telling my 2 brother in laws and their wives that I thought Junior had gifts about a year and a half ago.  I was teased for months about it, until I had snapped one evening at a family gathering while they all laughed at my expense, tears in my eyes with a quiet plea for them to let it go.  They haven’t brought it up since but that lesson won’t ever be forgotten.

This afternoon my mind continued to churn over what had happened.  I called my mom.  She is one of the few people I can talk to because it is my mother who gave me my gifts.  As I spoke to my mother about what had happened this morning, I remembered when I was about 13, I went upstairs to my room to grab something, what I don’t remember.  I came down the stairs and around the corner to see my sister and neighborhood friend rush out of the garage door with scared looks on their faces.  “How did you do that?!”, they had both practically yelled at me, my sister grabbed my arm with confusion on her face.  “Do what?”, I had said truly astonished at their growing fear.  “We both just watched you walk into the garage. We asked you what you were doing but you didn’t answer so we followed you into the garage and you weren’t in there! We came out and you were here!”  They swore up down to telling the truth.  I had walked into the garage just to see for myself and the garage door was closed and only opened and closed with house rattling loudness.  To this day, almost 20 years later, they still stick to the same story.  For them it happened.

To my son, it happened.   And I still don’t know why.  I guess I have some research to do.

The 1st step is admitting…

Let’s get one thing straight before you read this: I am not writing this to prove anything, or even offer answers.  My whole life I have had experience after experience and no where to vent with out sounding like a “crazy” person.  You can’t just say, “Hey, I’m psychic and I know you what you are feeling/lying about/thinking about…”  Stuff like that doesn’t fly in the general populous.  Admitting that I can see your aura or that I see a spirit following you not only discredits my intelligence to the general public, but puts me up as a good candidate for some heavy medications.

For the record, I have gotten myself evaluated by 4 serious psychiatrists, because one of my biggest fears is that I really am crazy.  Normal people don’t hear voices whispered to you when no one is around, or see spirits sometimes at night when you feel the sensation of touch on your body, or just know things you aren’t supposed to.  Every single one of those shrinks assured me that I am a grounded, extremely intelligent, and most importantly NOT CRAZY.  To quote one of them verbatim, “It’s my job to tell you that you need help.  It is is not my job to tell you that you may be psychic.  You do not need help, but I do think you have gifts.”

The purpose of my blog was sparked by yet another unexplainable experience which occurred this morning in which I have decided to start documenting as these events occur.  Perhaps I will find a pattern, or some clue as to how this whole thing works, because there is so much information out there it is beyond impossible to wade through all the crap.  And though I will maintain my anonymity perhaps I will make someone else like me feel less alone.  But I can promise you this, EVERYTHING I write in this blog is the truth.  I have no reason to lie, nor do I want to.  I just want to get it out somewhere so maybe I don’t feel so alone.

My whole life.  That’s how long I’ve kept it hidden.  I am a closet psychic, and these are my confessions.