My Hidden Life

Where would one begin? There were always things that I could see. Even when I was very young. Things that I didn't understand. Things that I could hear that no one else could. Then, there were the dreams. Not something one would expect from a young child, yet terrifying. And always the same story. When I was older, I ended up finding out that the place in my dreams actually existed - even down to the tree outside of the window. We were going to live in a house that was purchased by my step-grandmother. In my dream, it always burnt down. Nope. Not living there! Yet as I grew, more strange things happened. Like the time I fainted in third grade. I passed out. Didn't know it at the time, but I found myself spinning into a black void. A place where there was nothing. A place with no floor or ceiling. No walls. Just a black void. A body lay suspended on the floor. I circled it. And just as I was about to find out who it was, someone called my name. I paused, and they called me again. When I awoke, I was astonished to find that the person I had been looking at was me. I was totally creeped out and went home! There were other experiences as well. I could distinctly hear a radio station - announcer and all. I could plainly hear the music, despite the fact that there was no radio on in the house. Was a bit disconcerting, yet I had found it fascinating at the same time. There was the presences. And I do mean presences. I didn't feel them at first, only saw them. Shadows and people - full bodied - some with blank empty stares, yet others with a consciousness that clearly shown through their eyes. It's always the eyes that get me. I've seen some extraordinary things - some that were awesome! Some that you can only imagine in your deepest nightmares - things I would love to forget happened. Things that I wish I had never experienced, for it left me questioning my own spirituality. I did a lot of praying, yet they were always there. Always. Sometimes crouched at the foot of the bed, mostly standing. Watching. And then there was the one crawling on the floor. That freaked me out! Sometimes, I know when things are going to happen. I can sometimes predict when someone is going to die. Something I'd rather not. My boss, my father, grandfather, and even now I know of someone who's time is limited. They won't be here long, and I mourn for them already - knowing that I will lose them soon. I sometimes answer questions before it is asked - thinking I heard them out loud though the person has not spoken a word. They stare at me funny, and not in a good way. Electrical appliances - mostly light bulbs and computers have it out for me. I'll flip on a light, and about half the time the light bulb pops out. Computers will have a strange glitch - to the point that my best friend will only check out at a register before me because it will mess up if I stand by it. I walk away until the transaction is completed. I know when something strange will happen - as when a pipe busted in our well house. Somehow I just knew something was out of place, stuck my head out of the back door and listened. Nothing. I had my husband check it out, and yes, water was pouring into the well house. Sometimes I wish I could turn it off. Sometimes I wish I didn't stand out, yet at the same time, the experiences are exhilarating to the point that I wish they would happen more often. I hide some of the things from others. The stares are stabbing. The 'how did you know that was going to happen' are sometimes hard to bear. I usually just shrug and walk away. I feel alone. I feel trapped in this world of strange occurrences, where there are people who are there that no one else can see. Hotels, home, church, work. Anywhere I go is fair game. Trapped, but no giving in to the fears is what drives me. I long to understand them more, yet they are always a stretch from my strength. And that black void I experienced as a child. I've been there twice. The second time, I was not alone. There was a cloaked figure that was singing. I wrote down the song as soon as I awoke. Writing helps to cope with the experiences. The feelings. It gets them off my mind so that I don't dwell on those things that I wish I had not seen or experienced. Yet, I know that I am not alone. Never. Someone is always there. Hidden in the shadows. Waiting for me to pay attention.