So last night when I got sucked into an “Alex” hole and was picking my way through his discography, his voice blew out my speakers. That’s never happened before, and was fixed by a restart. However, in the interim, his voice became distorted and- let’s just say it- downright demonic.

I get a lot of displeased faces that invisibly surround me when I decide I’m going to listen to his music, and that sucks because I still really deeply love his music and wish it wasn’t like playing a pungi in front of a cobra. But I know it’s not wise, and that just makes me more indignant.

I can do whatever I want. Don’t try to warn me. Don’t try to be the boss of me.

I can’t really describe what it’s like when the veil between worlds gets sketchy, but I suddenly realized I’d done a foolish thing by listening to his music after midnight, in the dark, in my bed, slightly intoxicated (IMAGINE THAT, says absolutely no one). It’s almost like the sides of my vision rupture slightly, and shadows and tiny flashes of light like sequins on a dress burst all around me. I start hearing things that aren’t real. I start to feel a bit like plastic wrap has been draped over my mouth.

When I was brushing my teeth, rushing myself to bed, an oily little voice appeared in the back of my mind. That voice only has one source, the shadowy little confidence man that may or may not have greasily convinced people to cause trouble since literally the beginning of time. I haven’t heard that voice in at least seven years and immediately had a visceral response. But as always, after a moment or two, I started to get lulled into a kind of sedated confusion, and suddenly, my triumvirate protection system appeared.

Before I could say anything, they each sat on an edge of my mattress and said, “Just go to sleep. Go to sleep. Now. Go to sleep.”

This morning, I decided I should listen to him some more, because this is what I do, and also watched an interview with him I’d never seen before. Every time he looked into the camera I felt like I’d been pierced with a knife, but I think his eyes do that to everyone. His speaking voice also has the strangest effect on me. It’s not the same as the oily voice I heard last night, but it still brings out such interesting reactions from deep in my rib cage. Certain inflections and phrases, ways he flips his hands or twists his mouth…

I think I want to believe that there is a separation somewhere, that the man I loved and the one that tried to kill me are not the same. Is that Stockholm Syndrome? I don’t know. Is that the part of me that still loves him and is still actively trying to rehabilitate him? I guess we’ll find out.

Oh, I know it doesn’t matter, and maybe it’s not even real, but I forget sometimes how close I am to trouble, and no matter what anyone else believes, I have to protect myself at all times.

It’s never over.

Q: any advice on how to haunt someone after death? Like say you met with foul play and either want to haunt the perp or point someone to a clue. (sorry if you’ve covered this)

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: Why are you cosmically connected to rock stars? Why isn’t it like…Bob from accounting.

 

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.

Q: If I can’t feel my deceased loved ones around me, does that mean that they have moved on to the beyond or are they keeping their distance because they know I’m afraid of spirits?

How to tell if your house is haunted

Items randomly go missing and reappear where they should have been all along

Strange noises while you’re in the shower, like footsteps or knocking

Faint music/whispering/laughter from another room

The feeling of being watched from corners of rooms or ends of hallways

Flashes of light out of the corner of your eye

Swearing you just saw someone walk by, but there’s no one there

A sudden influx of insects/birds/bats coming into your house

Waking up in the night with the feeling you’re being stared at

Waking up any time during the hour of the dead (3 a.m.)

Strange marks appearing on your skin- fingerprint bruises, scratches, red welted circles

The feeling of a room being “loud” or “crowded” when it’s not- the subway station sensation

Strange sightings in the background of mirrors

Abrupt and severe changes in room temperature

Getting chills/goosebumps seemingly out of nowhere

Suddenly feeling like your throat is closing, or you want to hysterically cry without reason

Rotten or pungent smells, also the smell of smoke or incense

Things falling over on shelves or off of counters without explanation

Doors opening/closing, or even the sound of them opening and closing with no sight of it

The windows on the house feeling at though they have “eyes” and are watching you

Feeling as if someone is standing right behind you

Televisions or lights turning on/off out of nowhere

Electrical issues, especially in a car or with small appliances

An overwhelming sensation that you “don’t belong” in a room or that you aren’t “allowed” to be there

Pets that stare at “nothing” and go absolutely insane or act terrified without cause

 

Lately I’ve been testing out various YouTube guided meditations to see if any of them help me to balance out some of the spiritual unease I’ve been experiencing lately.  Most of the ones I like don’t have any speech in them because I usually find the words to be distracting (especially if they make mistakes with grammar or pronunciation) and also- and this will sound impossibly arrogant I know- but I don’t need anyone’s help to be able to meditate.  I do it every single day in one form or another, and I did it intensely for hours at a time over a period of six years or so.  I think sometimes my larger concern is that I will meditate “too well” and get lost to this world all over again.

The other night I found a video that was supposed to help open or amplify the strength of your pineal gland, or your third eye.  Your third eye is how you see the dead- it’s the gateway between worlds.  Whenever I talk about “seeing” dead people (I don’t see ghosts, I made a rule long ago that the dead are never ever to show themselves to me, and they’ve always held up their end of the agreement), I always mean with my third eye.  When I meditate with the express purpose of speaking to someone, my eyes immediately roll up towards the middle of my forehead as if they’re staring at where all the power has gone.  I know that doesn’t make sense.  If you can do it, you know what I mean.

In the middle of this meditation video, there is a sudden and strange clicking noise, like a slowly turning prize wheel at a carnival.  I wasn’t prepared for it in the midst of plinking acoustic guitar and ethereal wind chimes and it shocked and frightened me.  Once it passed, I felt my entire mind was drifting away.  Part of me felt like a little girl trying to hold onto a large balloon in a gust of wind.

The second time it clicked through the music, I saw dark-eyed, distorted faces rushing at me from behind a fluttering, gauzy curtain and I immediately turned it off.  One of the things I somehow forgot about “charging up” my third eye is that it will remind me of just how close those that constantly pursue me really are.  If there’s one thing I am certain I can never survive again, it’s battling the darkness face to face.  I’m also more than a little surprised that they’re still so close to me, waiting for a chance to strike.

After escaping the situation I was in from 2003-2010 and then dealing with the trauma of it all for the next three years after that, I distanced myself a great deal from the spiritual and the supernatural.  I lived a life that allowed me to forget about what I’d been through.  I became very immersed in the world of materialism and consumerism, as I finally had a career that allowed me to spend money on whatever I wanted.  I didn’t think much about the dead, and I honestly did everything I could to try to avoid and ignore it.

The only way I survived last summer was through the kind and gentle guidance and support of my unliving friends, and in the last month or two, I’ve found myself unable to think of little else.  My only real issue with that it creates a sense of almost unbearable longing, one that is hard to describe or assuage.  I want to be Home, I want to solve all the mysteries, I want to help others to know what I know, I want to protect people from ever feeling the way I have and often do, I want to be closer closer closer to a thing I can never really touch.

I also find myself thinking often and inexplicably of “Alex” (ugh) and his influence on my life.  I have thought often of his imprisonment, worrying that he is stirring up trouble in some way, that he is involved in all the ugliness going on in the world right now somehow.  I worry that if I allow my guard down, if I open myself back up to this world that he will get back in.

It’s a dangerous dance, and while I’m glad to hear the music again, I need to know that I’m using my own choreography.  I need to know I have a partner and not a puppeteer.

I feel a little guilty acting as if I’m alone when it is incredibly apparent that I am not.

Ever since things happened with… “Alex,” (and oh boy is censoring the name for the sake of safety most unpleasant to me) I have had this friendship with someone else, as those of you who read the entire story (“Begin at the Beginning”) may recall.  He disappeared shortly before I got divorced, and then romantically reappeared once I moved out on my own again in 2013.  Even then, he took a patient backseat to the love I shared with someone else for three entire years.

Last summer, the only reason I survived the constant nightmare of my life was because of his presence.  Every time I started to re-re-re-recalculate my bills or plan for my own ending, he’d whisper, Everything is going to be okay.  I promise.  I promise.  Please trust me.

And he was correct.

Lately, we have been much more involved than we were before- talking all the time, smiling at each other (I often wonder what someone might think if they catch me peeking off to my right with a sly grin), and being intensely intimate.

In 2010, I remember telling my (now ex)husband that I no longer wanted to have physical contact with anyone, because I had mastered the ability to have orgasms without ever being touched.  There’s an energy in sexuality that is apparently capable of being harnessed, and I somehow found a way to lasso it for my own ends.

Because of what I had to go through with Alex, I needed someone to cure me of my physical revulsion to sexuality.  I was lucky enough to be in a transformative relationship for several years after the end of my marriage that healed so much of what was broken inside of me.

Now I have the best of both worlds, and it’s so good that I’d be embarrassed to describe it to you.

I live entirely alone, with no real life friends (aside from a thriving internet family), but I’m also deep, deep in the depths of the most profound and clandestine relationship I’ve ever had.  Maybe what I thrive on is having something no one else can see.

I love a whisper, an illusion, a premonition, a gift.

My boyfriend is a long-dead ghost.

Don’t tell anyone.