I have always been different from all my peers. I disliked the people around me, fearing what they may do or feel. I never really noticed anything odd, just realized I was unlike others. My 'problems' began when I was fourteen, though. My family moved me into a very old house. I never really liked the place, but I could never pinpoint the exact problem.
In the summer, I had a traumatic thing happen to me. After I recovered, I began to notice things that no one else seemed to. The first was a sense of something being wrong, as if a particular space didn't obey the normal rules. Its very hard to explain. A few months later, a woman showed up periodically in my life. No one could see her, and she never spoke. While this sounds like a ghost story, this is as far as it goes. Every time I see her, I spend two to three weeks watching these little movies in my head. She shows me horrible things, like children trapped in rooms or women losing their infants. Men in war is another common theme. Each one is different, but there is always a pattern there. I know all these people are dead. Long dead.
I don't dream of them, which I'm thankful for. I'll be smoking a cigarette, or surfing the net, painting, something low key and not very mind stimulating when suddenly I seem to space out. I can hear their voices and feel their emotions. After a while, I began to shut them out, or tried to. The wonam showed more frequently, but she decided to make it harder for me to block them. Reflective surfaces are now the banme of my existence. She will appear, then the mirror will act like a screen, showing me the things I can't control or help.
The worst part is my inability to focus on my fears and the fears of those I see. I never had a problem being in water, but after the 'vision' of a boy drowning, three inches of water is all I can stand before I begin to scream. Solitude scares me the most, as so many of the things I've seen involved people being absent or missing.
I type this out now because I moved near a cemetery. Its very beautiful, but many of the bodies seem to have been the result of accidents or suicides. I can stand in front of a tombstone and get a vague idea of the terror or emptiness they felt before they left this plane. I weep for them, but oi don't understand the point. A human can only endure so much sorrow, so much pain, and so much fear before it begins to destroy the internal. I have coped for so long, but how! Much longer? Am I supposed to do something about this?