Q:  you mention mediums here, and i’m wondering how you feel about mediums, and whether you’d consider yourself a sort of one. (sorry if that seems like it should be obvious?)   

I think most are fakes and frauds who prey on people looking for comfort.  I have very little patience for people who claim to be able to speak to the dead for others’ benefit.

I’m also kind of arrogantly firm about certain beliefs I have.  People don’t have to believe me, but I literally dgaf about what anyone else says on the matter.  I know what’s Really True, because I sacrificed/donated seven (eight?) years of my life to it.  I’m not weaving a fantasy, I’m reporting the news.

I also think it’s interesting when people say they believe me as a person who they know and trust, but don’t really believe what I’m saying (and I get that a lot a lot a lot).  I’m not sure how you jive with that level of cognitive dissonance, but that’s for you to sort out, I guess.

…But at the same time, I get that skepticism.  It’s a lot to absorb.  Let me also say people send me messages alllllllll the time about supernatural experiences they’ve had, hoping for help or advice or guidance, so you’re totally not alone, and I’m here for you if you need to get something off your chest.  I believe you.  I don’t judge you.  And you can tell me anything, no matter how weird.

Someone else asked me once if I consider myself a medium and I…. guess?  I mean if anything I really do consider myself a witch, whatever that even means.  It sounds less hokey and less serious, I guess.  I won’t attempt to talk to your family members and I do not have messages for you, other than the general theme I say here always: your family loves you and they want you to find peace with their death.  They’re not as far as you feel like they are, even if you don’t see signs of their presence.  You’re not alone, and when you die you get to go Home no matter what you do, so don’t worry.

I love the dead, and I have a very deep relationship to them.  I think that I’m a channel through which True Things travel.  I do believe that I have healing powers, and that I purposely absorb the suffering of people I care about in order to lighten their load.  The things I say about the dead are given to me more than they are conjured from my memory.

I feel like these are the only real important things that I do, to be honest.

Q: What was your scariest supernatural experience?

A: There are a few that I can think of immediately.

One night, the shadows on the bedroom wall started moving at the corners of my eyes and I kept hearing whispering and footsteps, so I sat up in bed with my hand pressed over my heart, my eyes darting around so I would stop having a “corner” of my eye, panting in terror. Just then, my cat pushed the door open, and when it creaked loudly, I screamed my husband awake.

Another night, I somehow ended up sitting on the bathroom floor with my face pressed into my knees, waving a wild arm over my head to try to “swat” away everything I could feel swarming over my head, whispering, “Please stop, please stop, please someone save me.” The first time I saw dementors I thought yes… that’s exactly it. That’s exactly what it feels like.

And by far, the scariest one was while my ex and I were split up, about a month before we “banished” “Alex” to the island. We’d lost our home in this mess, and living with my parents. Their house was violently haunted (but now looking back on it, and having slept in my parents’ house since, it wasn’t the house that was haunted at all), and during that time I heard two little girls giggling in the back bedroom in the middle of the night, a man who sat in my father’s chair all night long and stared at me with burning eyes, a cacophony of footsteps on the ceiling all night long, and that one time I got poked in the forehead while holding blankets over my head, so sure of my safety.

But the worst night by far was late late at night, after my parents had gone to bed and while I could hear them both snoring. I heard heavy, ominous footsteps above me slowly cross the living room through the kitchen towards the staircase behind me. I stopped being able to think a coherent thought (which happened a lot back then, honestly) and then I got this image of a withered old woman brokenly crab-crawling down the stairs with blood pouring out of her mouth and eyes over and over and over and over and over again as I sat frozen in terror, silent tears pouring down my face. As soon as I was freed from this horrible cycle of thoughts, I rushed myself into bed so I could be safe in sleep.

That kind of primal terror is so different than any other fear you can feel. It’s why I don’t watch scary movies. I’ve been frightened enough for at least one lifetime. I also think it’s why I still have dreams where I have to say “Hail Mary” and “The Lord’s Prayer” to keep myself safe.

They’re only just behind me, all the time. I’m sure of it.

Q: What do you think about going years, never feeling connected after a hardcore loss of a loved one .. like zero signs? I feel because I am so open to it (want it) from one person is why it has not/will not happen. Maybe its for a reason.