This month was supposed to be the month of awesome blogging. I have about nine posts in cue and all these spooky, true life stories that I wanted to tell. Then, I sucked at following through with it. Quite frankly, I'm really tired of the constant excuses for not updating. And even though they're valid, they're still getting old. So today I am going to get a little more personal with all of you. Not so personal that you'll need a restraining order, but more personal than I thought I would ever get on here.
In my last post, I wrote about a girl who was coming to me at night and talking. I had mentioned that I was pretty sure I figured out who she was and gave you all the information she had given me. I would like to share the update on that. A few nights after I posted that, new information was released. I will tell you what it all is and I welcome comments on if this was a coincidence or not. I will not, however, link you all to the article but will explain the reason for it towards the end of this blog.
It was reported that someone was arrested for a parole violation and blood was found at his house. It has not been tested, but is assumed to belong to her since he was the last person who had seen her alive. He claimed to have dropped her off at a certain place around one in the morning, but when his cell records were checked, other information was found. Not only was he never in that area, but his cell phone pinged the whole way up to a lake in another state, and then pinged its way back to where he lives. They are now searching the lake for evidence of her being there. This lake was a place the family was known to vacation when the missing girl was a child. Please remember the arrest didnt even happen until after I posted the last blog, and none of the information came out about it until a day later. I had no way of knowing any of this, but I can't help but think it's not a coincidence and that I have the right girl.
Then last night she came to me again, but there was something extremely different about her. When I had seen her before she was not wet. This time the bottom of her hair was wet and she looked so very sad. I reached out my hand to her and she came over to me, took it, and I told her to sit next to me. She seemed like she needed consoled. She proceeded to say this to me. "My heart gave out. Make sure my son goes to live with my sister. He has to go live with my sister." And then she cried. Folks, this is new to me. I can't say I'm familiar with dead people that need consoled. At this point, I'm pretty sure she's passed. Judging by just the bottom of her hair being wet, I have reason to believe she fell when her heart gave out and only the bottom of her hair touched the water. I keep Googling her to see if any new information comes up. Right now, I just have to sit and wait and see what develops.
This entire situation is breaking my heart. I've cried several times over this. Not just because it, in general, is heartbreaking. I'm used to seeing dead people. I'm used to heartbreaking stories. What bothers me the most is that most dead people I get have been dead for awhile. They simply need help crossing over. They have sad stories, but they're not looking for absolution. They're not waiting to be found. They just need to find the light. Some of them are just an imprint on the property of which they dwell and their story plays like an old movie. I never had spirits who were still missing, or worse yet, not yet dead. I never had spirits that were looking for help for their families in the way these spirits are. Then last year, all of that changed.
I had a woman come to me one night in late October. She told me who she was, although she preferred to go by her middle name as opposed to her first name. She told me she had been taken and tortured and was being kept in an unattached basement of an old farmhouse. I saw her as clear as day. I had nothing to back this. Then, a few days later, a story started popping up all over the internet that this particular girl; same name, same face, same everything, had gone missing the night that I had first seen her. It took a few days for the news to get here since it didn't happen in this state, and because they always wait forty eight hours to do anything with missing persons cases.
I thought about calling the police about what I had known, but never dealing with anything like this before, I didn't know if I could. I didn't know if they'd believe me, think I was crazy, or suspect me from hundreds of miles away. I was scared. To top it off, I had never been in a situation like this and actually wondered if I was going crazy. Plus, when this story blew up, it blew up and it led to the biggest search ever conducted in the history of that state.
While I wrestled with what to do, she stayed here and things changed. Her body was moved; it was dumped. A month and a half later the body was found right where she told me it would be, right in the position she told me it would be in. A few weeks later another dead girl popped up. The same guy had killed her and, just as the first girl told me it would happen, this person had increased and was beginning to get a taste of killing and liked it. She said if he wasn't caught he would turn into a serial killer. She also knew the guy. She had one class with him, so when he offered her a ride home because she couldn't get back into the place she was at, and she had left her keys in there, she thought nothing of it.
Now I was stuck in a moral versus insanity quandary. Was I losing it? How could I be losing it? How did I know this stuff? How did I know such exact, specific things before they were reported? There was no way I could have! Right? But I knew them down to the last detail. Three more girls popped up, all killed by the same guy, and then the first girl told me she was going back home. She was angry because the police had questioned the guy who killed her and the other girls a number of times, yet they had nothing to hold him on so they couldn't arrest him, even though they had an idea he could have done it. Still, they weren't positive. I haven't seen her since, but one of the other girls moved right in here. She's a prankster and not exactly a joy to live with, but I like her anyway.
It took them until last month to announce that the guy who killed her was a serial killer. I knew this since late October of last year when I was told he was going to become one. I knew for sure a few months later when he took another life. There were a lot of things they announced last month, specific things about the way her body was found and what had been done to her, such as she had been tortured, held and killed somewhere else and then moved, that I had known.
Then the guilt came. I knew this stuff for months before anyone else did. I knew what happened to her and where her body was far before her family had any peace. Was it my fault these families suffered as long as they did? Could I have helped them and didn't because I was afraid? Yet I did nothing. But I didn't know if I was right, because I had never had this happen. I had no way of knowing this stuff and I didn't know what would happen if I called the police and found out I was wrong or right. In my heart I knew I wasn't wrong, but I didn't know how to handle it.
Now this is happening. I also have another young lady who has repeatedly told me to call her dad and let her know where the paperwork she got murdered over is. She's given me a phone number and extremely specific details regarding her murder; details that haven't been reported, as well as very specific details as to where this paperwork is. Part of me now wants to play Devil's Advocate and call that number just to see who's at the other end. If it's her dad, I'll know it's for real. But a larger part of me doesn't now how to handle this. If it is her dad, what do I say? How to I handle this? Her body has never been found, although it's assumed she is dead. So do I just tell him that his dead daughter is talking to me and then come out with all these specifics things I shouldn't know and that were never announced? How does one go about doing something like this?
As much as I want to use the logical explanation, which is that I'm nuts, I have far too much proof to back what I'm being told and what is happening. I have several people who can vouch for me telling them specific things about these dead women and then having it turn up in reports days, sometimes months later. I can't explain it and I don't like that. Despite what I do, I'm a logical person and I want proof. Then, when I get it, I still want more.
I can't control the people who come to me and the people who don't. I can't all of a sudden see someone who is missing and tell you what exactly it is that has happened to them. Often times I can see a picture and tell you if they are dead and alive. Sometimes I know how, but I don't have the details that I do when I see who I see. I just get feelings and impressions. And there's no guarantee that I'll see anyone. I can't pick who I do and do not see. It's up to them if they want to come to me or not. I don't control that. They do.
This has really messed with me emotionally. I don't know what to do, but I feel so guilty no matter what I do. There's not much more that I can do for this current girl as of now. They are looking in the right place for her. It's just a matter of time before they find her. But if this happens again, if I find I know something like the back of my hand, do I suck it up and call the police? Or do I sit by again and see if things unravel the way they have been, where I end up being right and did nothing because I didn't trust what I saw or was told?
The reason for me not giving specifics on what girls I've seen and am dealing with is the media attention surrounding them. I don't feel right, even though I've done nothing wrong. I guess there's the fear that if I put the information I know paired with the name of these easily Googled women, that somehow I'll get in trouble. It sounds so selfish, I know, but with my health problems and my inability to travel due to doctor's orders, I'm in no position to be in any kind of trouble. Maybe one day I will reveal the girls I've seen, and maybe once they find the current girl I've been seeing, I will tell you who she is. That way, you can do your own research having the dates my blogs were posted versus the dates the information was announced and judge me for yourself. But I don't know how comfortable I'll be, and I wonder if the families found out, if they'd blame and hate me for not coming forward, or feel like I'm exploiting their daughters. That's not something I want to do. Before I even post things like this, I always get permission from the girls so that they know I am not looking to violate them.
How crazy do I sound right now? I know.
Also, I've often wondered why it is that I mostly see girls, and in cases having to do with murder, always. They are all around my age and have been brutally murdered and sometimes tortured beforehand. I feel like maybe, because of me being close to their age and the pain and trouble I feel from being sick, I draw them in. Maybe it's something I'll never have an answer to. But there's one thing I know for sure, no matter how crazy I feel, I know I am not. I've been evaluated; it was required by my health insurance so that they knew I wasn't being a wackadoodle and making up my symptoms. I've not so much as an anxiety disorder and I feel mentally stable. It's just that I like things I can explain. I like reason. I like logic. I like science.
Anyway, all of this has thrown me into an emotional loop of confusion, and blogging, unfortunately, has been at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to things I'm thinking about. Mix that with the fact that this is the first holiday season without my grandmother, who I was extremely close to, and that keeps being thrown in my face every time I turn around with the upcoming season, and my mind is a little preoccupied. I'm okay, but I just have a lot to deal with.
I'd also like to give novel update. I've been struggling with my novel. That's never been a secret. The problem was, I just didn't know why. I used to be able to write decent stories in a month, so I thought this would take me, at most, a year to knock out a really awesome story, check it, recheck it, and then check it again, but that hasn't been the case. I had to find out why, and to do that, I had to find a piece of myself that I didn't know I was missing. I tried to blame being sick, but I knew that wasn't the real reason for my lapse of writing. I also wanted to blame a brain fart, and although I'm sure it lended itself to the issue, it wasn't all its fault either. There was a reason my brain was letting out ghastly sounds.
The truth is, the novel I started contained a character that was everything about myself that I was afraid to deal with, mixed with everything about myself I wanted to be. Let me explain. She was the girl who was battle scarred, and she tried hard to hide it by doing what I never do, and saying whatever is on her mind. I mean, I do it for the most part, but I also hold back a lot depending on the situation. She does not. And she's a blast to write, don't get me wrong. All of sudden, though, I just couldn't write her anymore and I was so stumped as to why this was. I tried everything, but no dice. I moved on to another idea I had partially done, only to find that I couldn't write her anymore either after awhile.
That's when I realized I had completely changed. I didn't identify with these characters anymore. It's not that the ideas will go to waste. One day I will be able to use them and write them freely, but my grandmother's death changed so much about me, and there's still so many scars from the pre-change that I've not been able to go back to those characters yet and connect. One day when I am able to peel away the salt from the wounds I will be able to go back and write those characters again, but right now there's so much emotionally sorrow surrounding them. Besides that, I've been through a journey of growth and truth with being sick, and find myself at a much less hectic and much more finite place than previously before. It affects my writing immensely.
The stories I'm writing are deep, which I want and love, but they don't reflect me as well as they could. I need something new, hip, fun and something that someone reads and can see my personality from and not wonder where it all came from. There's no shame in starting over and see if that cures my problem. I will always have those ideas. I can always go back and finish them. But writing a novel is about more than just writing, which I found out. It's about finding your heart, and I guess I'm still finding mine. It's okay, because my focus is working hard to get it right. I'm working hard, but I'm just not getting it right. As long as I keep working hard, it will happen. I just have to keep going until it feels right, and keep going I will.
And because you all had to read about a whole lot of no-fun, I shall share two funny things with you that happened today.
Have you ever bought those packs of Nestle Tollhouse cookies that you just break apart, put in the oven and call it a day? You know, the ones that have forty per pack. During Dancing With the Stars tonight, I got a hankering for one, so natrually I broke up all forty of them and made them. But because there were forty as opposed to the twenty four that I thought there were, therefore needing two pans, it took me a little longer than I thought to do and I missed about a minute of DWTS. I commented this to my mom and she said the most bizarrely common sense thing ever. She asked me why I didn't just make one pans worth and put the rest back in the freezer. And let me be honest, it never occurred to me. There's forty in the pack, so I made forty. I can not be the only one thinking this way, right? Right?
And to further prove I don't come from the most educated area of the world, I will tell you the second story. The area I am from is filled with a lot of hicks. The schools are by far way too overcrowded and because of this the curve has become so low that we're not exactly producing rocket scientists here. Then, there's the other few who just think it's ridiculous that they're dumbing everything down and get completely space-eye bored. I'm one of those people and have several friends that are, too, but generally you can sum us up as the trailer park of the East. I live here, so I think it's fair for me to judge. Maybe I'm wrong. Also, I realize there are some really nice trailer parks out there. I'm not talking about those. I'm talking about the pink flamingo, lawn ball kind. And yes, you'll find quite an array of both of those things here, minus the trailer park.
I've worked hard to class myself up while still staying with my roots. I'm a country girl at heart, but I also enjoy some of the finer things. I like the balance, and where I came from keeps me from getting my head up in the clouds. If I ever become one of those people, I'm confident I know at least twenty people who would not hesitate to literally smack me. Hard. Which is the way I like it. And, as my uncle says, "if I ever act like that, just shoot me. Don't even put up with me." I fully agree. Then again, sometimes my roots come out. Like when I say things like this.
"She's just about gonna have an excitin' day."
I'll just leave you all with that.
Because Mommy wanted the holiday to be fun, she threw a Halloween party for us puppies and kitties, and my grandma and Aunt Bev last night. She gave us all pretty gift bags and we got more treats. But that's not important to the blog. What's important is that, to add to the creepy atmosphere, she got candles that dripped blood and put them in skeleton candle holders. Look how neat they were as they burned!
SPOOKY!
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