Hearing Voices, Seeing Things, but Not Crazy

If only...

Being crazy absolves you of responsibility.  Being crazy allows you to follow the men in the white coats and take pills to make it all go away.  Being crazy means it's not my job.

But it is my job, and if I turned it off, in one way or another, I'd probably get very sick or very dead, very quickly.

Let me go back to the beginning, so you can understand... well, maybe.

I was always the kid with the big imagination.  Playing imaginary games, writing stories, and having my head off in the clouds was 80% or more of my childhood.  I was told that what I did wasn't real.  I was perfectly okay with believing that too.  Some of my imaginary world was really, really scary.  I didn't want it to be real.

My first instance of it being real was when my dad chased the monster under my bed out the front door as a gag to get me to go to sleep.  What he didn't understand until I told him, years later, was that I could see the monster.  It was there.  It was shocked that he could be hit by a broom in his metaphysical form, and that I could see him.  So, he allowed himself to be chased by my father out the front door, and my parents finally got a good night's sleep.

They thought the trick they learned in a parenting magazine had worked so well!

They didn't realize what they had actually done.

Like most children, my clear sight blurred, then vanished for the most part, unless I was really tired, for most of my teen years.  I was already dealing with so much adjustment then, I am really thankful for this.  I do not believe I could have dealt with other dimensions, along with this one, while figuring out what the heck my body was doing, trying to grow up.

But the nightmares continued.  Strange nightmares where I would do things that I had not yet done in this life.  I also did not look like me.  I had wings.  Also, if I was killed in the dreams, I could not wake up.  I would feel the death, then float over the scene, watching whatever was occurring that night.  Only my alarm clock could wake me up, most mornings.

My sight came back in college.  I lived in a dorm my senior year that had a ghost.  Why did I know it had a ghost?  I saw it.  It's head was hanging in the stairwell, upside down, hanging from a stretchy cord.  I didn't know what the stretchy cord was, and like I had always been told, hoped to highest hopes that it was my imagination.

I asked my boyfriend at the time to talk to the janitor.  He did.  The janitor had been working at the dorms for years, and said yes, someone did commit suicide in that dorm, by that stairwell.  It was a pre-med student, and he hanged himself with a tourniquet, right before finals.  The janitor had had to clean up the mess, so he wasn't likely to ever forget the event.

My boyfriend was thrilled.  I was right!  The dorm was haunted!  He thought this was awesome.  I was not so thrilled.  I was right.  What else that I had been seeing, was real?

And it got worse before it got better...

You know those times in your life that you just don't have anything left to lose?  I found one of those times.  I had been told I could not practice at work.  For many reasons, I could not fight this decision: the job was my livelihood at the time.  I also could not practice at home: I didn't have a piano, and I lived in an apartment.  Practicing on my keyboard, regularly, at the hours I was home, would not have gone over well.  So, I begged my parents to let me come home for a while to figure things out.  I offered to pay rent, once I found a job near their house.  I had started having panic attacks, and I needed out of my current situation.

They said I wasn't welcome.

Suddenly, nothing I had seen in any dimension could come close to that decision.  I, their daughter, wasn't welcome.  At the dinner when I asked, I took it quietly.  There was nothing else I could do.

Inside, it was the last straw.  Everything my parents had ever told me about family suddenly became, into great terrifying reality, a lie.  The reality they had insisted that I believe in, crashed to pieces.  They were liars.

The walls opened, and the nightmares came back.  They had been gone for a while, especially when I wasn't sleeping alone, but now they were back, with a vengeance.

Shortly after this, I stopped sleeping much.  I was hanging out with a few people who believed in all the things I saw.  They couldn't see it, but they could sense it.  The less I slept, the more I saw.  Samhain was particularly intense.  If you have never celebrated Samhain, it is when the veil between the dimension of the living and the dead is thinnest.  I was paralyzed for most of the evening by a visitor from my nightmares, who in the morning, I killed.

The scary part: it was all instinctive.  I had been trained, at some unknown time, to kill beings like him.  I knew exactly what to do, the sky was full of flames, I felt him "die", and he was gone.

Shortly after this, I had a falling out with those who believed, but met the daughter of "dragon man."  Meeting "dragon man" has made a huge difference, but that's a story for him to share in the telling, and not for this post.

Since then, I have worked feverishly on understanding exactly what I was seeing.  Now, unlike when I wasn't sleeping, I can filter my sight depending on what and how broadly I wish to see.  Seeing too broadly, all the time, is exhausting, so I only do so when I feel something big passing by, or I am looking for something and a narrower view hasn't led to any results.

I have delved into my history, which has explained a lot about why I knew "dragon man," and why I can see in the first place.  I have met a lot of people who also believed and could sense the things I see, who further helped me understand that I'm not crazy, I just have a different perspective compared to most people.

The tricky part: because I can see, I'm like a beacon.  Any spirit who is lonely sees me as the coolest thing in the world.  I can see them!  I can interact with them (on a limited basis)!  I can hear them!  They aren't alone anymore!

Dawn's dad, for example, is yelling at me right now, because I'm not wearing my glasses.  (He was an optometrist. I never met him while he was alive, but oh my, he is persistent!)

I can also serve as a channel or gate between dimensions.  I've had help from various sources, making this passage more resilient, because when a large being decides to talk to me, by sitting in the channel, so I can hear them really well... OUCH!  It burns like crazy.  It's not their fault.  Their energy signature is so much higher than a human's body, which is the level of energy I keep at most times to stay healthy, that it literally burns my insides.  While it was really cool to get the message. and the help I have received from this particular large being has been extremely useful, I repeat: OUCH!

In conclusion, if you experience any of this, and don't have a psychotic break (which trust me, can happen... it's a lot to absorb), you're probably not crazy.  You probably just see more than most, and that's okay.  Contact the nearest metaphysical shop in your area, and you can meet people until you find someone who talks about what you see.  They will be able to help you reaffirm what you are seeing, and understand exactly what it is.

Because, if you're not crazy, you've just received a big job!

Congratulations...

I think...