2 AM; Who Do You Love?

I wasn't going to post tonight, but I'm feeling all kinds of sentimental tonight. I'd like to think that it's the medication I was put on for the current catastrophe of a health problem I'm having, but it's probably just me. I prefer to be funny, good story telling Cass. Sometimes I'm life lesson Cass. But there's other times where I just need an outlet and feel like if I don't speak now, I might explode. I don't think anyone would glue me back together, so it's probably better if I stay in one piece.

Tonight I found myself in a situation that honestly frightened me more than the stories my spirits tell me of their deaths, spiders or birds ever could. If you know me, you'd know that the mere sight of a bird makes me scream and run like a little girl who was just offered candy from a stranger. It's completely ridiculous, but I digress. A very dear friend of mine was in need of help and was having an impossibly tough time, and I didn't know what to say to her to help her. I kept trying to say the right thing, and then wondered if I said the wrong thing, what would happen to her and how it would make her feel. And, for a brief moment, I saw myself seven years ago. It was a moment too long, and I became more afraid that nothing I said was going to help, only make things worse.

She is an amazing girl who deserves a beautiful life, yet no one's ever told her that. No one's ever treated her like it was okay to be who she was. I remembered the times that I sat in my room and wondered if I'd ever have a chance to fly, and I looked at where I am now and still found no answers for her. Luckily, she is an incredible girl who is smart and funny and found a solution for herself. And I told her I'd always be here for her, but that I would probably never know the right thing to say, and we talked about some things. And it brought up a lot of stuff.

I grew up enchanted with everything, especially shiny things and love. But my environment shattered my enchantment of love before I was five, although it never ruined the fascination of shiny things for me. I'm twenty five and should still never drive in Vegas, but that's beyond the point. I want to have a perfectly imperfect love story with someone. I want to savor the times when things suck and you're confused, but still know you're with the right person. I've never had the stability to say that anyone would stick around. And, as much as I hate to admit it, my spirits don't help. Most of them are young girls whose lives were taken far too soon, and I know how easily that could have been me. To hear their stories, it scares me away from relationships and becoming close to anyone even more, seeing how easily a life can change; how quickly. I've watched as a relationship changed in front of my own eyes because of someone trying to do the right thing, and having someone else lie to them and have it almost end in their death. Then they drowned themselves in alcohol, and I never got the person I loved back. So shit happens, and sometimes it's no one's fault.

But I'm not good with the unknown, and I've never trusted myself so much either with knowing how to handle keeping someone or something for myself. My first reaction is always flight. And then I realized that for a girl who is afraid to trust herself, I'm in a pretty unusual situation. I help spirits on a regular basis, and they come to me for help because they trust me. They see something in me, and there's a reason each medium gets a specific spirit. I've always helped and I've always sat passively and wondered why they trusted me so much and why I could dedicate my life to them, but never be able to have any kind of life for myself. And now I know that I've been blaming them when it's never been their fault.

Sometimes life isn't about you, though. And maybe sometimes you're not meant to have what you want. And sometimes what you want and what you need aren't the same things. There's always going to be someone that knows what you need, though. In my line of work, I get it all too often, but I believe the same goes for anyone in any situation. There's always someone on the outside looking in. And maybe that person is right. If you push them away to protect yourself, you'll never know. You can say you can control your life all you want, and you can put up every wall in the world, but then you forget to give yourself a chance. Maybe that someone who knows what you don't is just trying to give you that chance to fly.

You Will Be Remembered

Today would have been my grandma's 84th birthday had Scleroderma not taken her. For those of you who don't know me well, you don't know that my grandparents had an extremely large hand in raising me. My mom was a single mom going to school full time to try and make a better life for us, so most of those first outings and first times after the age of two or three were with my grandparents. Cancer took my grandfather eleven years ago, though sometimes it seems like just yesterday.

My grandma was a strong woman. She wasn't ready to pass when she did, but Scleroderma ruined her heart, destroying the right side completely.  Her body just couldn't hold up any longer, though her mind was strong. She passed suddenly in the winter of 2009. Though we knew her time was coming, we had gotten a call one morning that they had found her in her apartment still breathing, but she was gone before she reached the hospital. 

She was more than a grandma to me. She was a confidante, a best friend, and a lot of times she played the roll of mom. Not a day goes by that I still don't think of her and miss her. Last year I wasn't strong enough to post a tribute to her, and this year I'm crying the whole way through it, but I want her to know that she will be remembered.

 

 This week has been particularly hard, not just because of what today signified, but because our beloved kitty Lila also passed on Tuesday. We had, had her so long that we couldn't even remember when we got her. She was an older kitty, but also in good health, until one day she wasn't, and the next, it seemed, she was gone. Pets are truly part of the family and it's been hard getting through this week without her little meows and leg hugs around every corner.

   I know I owe some of you comments on your blogs, and I thank you all for the comments on mine. I promise I am getting there. Please bear with me until a few wounds start to heal. I'm going through some other things involving my gift and in general am having a trying time this week.

I Will Drag You There. Do You Hear Me?

Hi all. As some of you may or may not know, I am having a spirit problem of epic proportions over here, which has halted my regularly scheduled updates. Because of one spirit, I am now minus my gift, or my super powers, as I prefer to call them for laughs, my spirit girls, and mostly all of my sanity. You know what I do have, though? I have every medical issue that said spirit's living person is having.

I know what you're all saying over there. But Cassie, don't you have medical problems? Yes, I do, but this crap isn't mine. How do I know that? A: Never had these symptoms before, and I think I'm over getting new stuff at this point. And B: I just do. Don't argue with your friendly neighborhood psychic. It will get you kicked. I'm sorry, did I say friendly? I meant polite and kind and appropriate at all times. Yep, everyone laughs when I say that. I'm so offended. Lying isn't funny.

In this person's defense, he's gone to the doctor. I'm pretty sure my absent spirit girls pushed him there, but he went. His meds worked for two days. For two glorious days, I wasn't coughing, spitting up tiny particles of blood, having respiratory problems and having chest pains that rivaled an elephant parking itself on me. It was kind of amazing, and then BAM! And he's all, complain, complain, complain all over Twitter about his medical issues, but did he go back to the doctor? No, he went out of town. Jerk. And yes, I totally follow my spirits' people on Twitter if I feel it's necessary and have to get a message to them. Gotta love how easy the internet makes stalking. It does, however, make it easier for me to find my spirits' person. Not that I'm stalking them, but I digress.

So as I'm sitting here tonight for the second late night in a row, coughing like a maniac with no sore throat, and totally unable to breathe like a normal person and all that jazz, I finally broke. Desperate to flip out at someone, I decided to be intelligent about this for once, knowing that I'm not really shy and am totally capable of doing this. I turned to my beloved and rad friend, Cephelia Jackson (I will never tell if this is her real name or not. Secret keeping is the only super power I have left.), to remind me that what I was totally prepared to do was not sane. She's like my little sanity keeper. It's worse than being a zoo keeper, and she doesn't get paid enough. See: She doesn't get paid at all. It's probably not legal.

I politely told Cephelia Jackon my issue after about an hour of complaining, and asked her to remind me that it is not sane to write this person a direct message on Twitter and lose my shiz on them, because seriously, I can have medical problems all on my own. I even went as far as to type my short, albeit, to the point letter to her. I think so you can really get a grasp on how much this sucks right now, it's mandatory to share this letter with you. It's pretty epic, if I do say so myself. Which I do, so I'm probably the only one that thinks this.

"Hi, You don't know me, and I don't really care. If you do not go to the doctor, I will come there, drag you there, and then sit in the exam room while you change into those snazzy gowns with no backs and watch. I will grab you by your ear and I will drag you. If I have to beat you over the head with something and drag you there, that can be arranged too. Trust me, I'd be doing us both a favor. Because if you are okay with feeling like this, you are a dumb ass, but that's fine. However, a one hundred and twenty pound girl's body can not take the same shiz as a two hundred and twenty five pound man's body. How do I know all of this from clear across the country and without being a stalker? Because I have LMCP (His spirit.), and bitches ain't dumb after they die. So really, don't make me come over there. It's two women, one dead and one alive, against one man, and that will never, ever end well for you."

Okay, so in retrospect, that was a terrible, terrible letter. And in reality, I would never, ever send something like that to someone, but I think it's fair that I'm super annoyed that he won't go back to the doctor. It's because he knows something is really wrong and is afraid, and I get that, but obviously this is a man who needs friends who care about him, because he doesn't have anyone who really gives two flying farts about if he's well or not. I will be fine and this will be gone in another hour for me. It will come back later, but it usually doesn't last more than an hour or two. He's dealing with this pretty concretely. So guys, although I normally don't ask for this, can you all pray for this poor kid? Seriously. I don't think he needs any more issues than he already has, and right now I just feel really bad for him. Maybe if we all send good vibes his way he'll, you know, go to the doctor.

Come As You Are

I had another post planned for tonight, but I'm going to skip it for something more important. These days, I see so many people wondering around pretending to be something they're not. I'm not much of a makeup girl. I put myself out there pretty unapologetically. I figure that if I'm ugly without makeup, I'm just ugly, and makeup isn't really going to help. This is me. If you like me, you like me, if you don't like me, it's okay. Maybe this keeps me from getting a date, but eventually you are going to see me without makeup, and I'd rather know now what you really think of me. I'm just being up front. It's not that I'm unwilling to wear makeup, but I've had enough people see me for something I'm not inside and outside, and I'm just so tired of it. I don't want to hide behind anything anymore.

I believe as humans we are most vulnerable when we get out of the shower. That sounds dumb, but hear me out. We've got no makeup to hide behind, we've not done our hair. We are the core of what we really are. With that in mind, I decided to do something different, and I encourage you guys to join me if you'd like. I decided I was going to post a picture of myself post shower, no makeup, my hair still drying, crazy and not done, my glasses on, listening to music that fills my soul. The only thing I have on is Chapstick because I'm nearly Napoleon Dynamite when it comes to that. So won't you guys join me in just being yourself? You're beautiful just the way you are!

Life Unexpected

Lately, I have had a spirit who has been deeply affecting me. She's made me realize that you don't really know anyone or their story, and you can't judge them until you do. She's opened my eyes up to someone's life in a way that scares me, but lets me know that what I'm doing is so important. To keep from revealing her real name, I'm going to call her Little Miss Cupcake Pants, or LMCP for short. I have no idea why I call her that as a nickname, but I do. Because of her, this post is going to be about heartfelt and sentimental things, so if you're not in the mood for a bunch of mushy stuff, hide yo kids, hide yo wife, hide yo eyes, cause they telling lots of mushy stories up in here. I'm sorry, I love this guy. LOVE. I'm so sad he's gay. *Sigh* But I digress, because before I get into all the sentimental stuff, there's a few things I want to address.

The first is that I am officially published as a paranormal author online. You can go here to see the first in my series or articles that I’ve been asked to do. (If you can't access it without having to sign up for an account, let me know and I'll post the article on here.) I don’t know how many more articles there will be in this series; we’ll just have to see how it does and go from there. Let me know what you all think. I can't say enough how much I appreciate the wonderful person who approached me about doing these articles and has been posting them for me. Thank you!

Second, I have to address a comment that Miss Kitty made on my post called The Oompa Loompa Bridesmaidzilla, because it’s one of the funniest comments I’ve ever read in my life. Also, if you’re not reading her blog, you need to be. Anyway, Miss Kitty, I hope you enjoy the Adventures of Mom and Aunt Bev. I’ve actually had people ask me if I’d make Team Aunt Bev t-shirts. It mortifies and amuses Aunt Bev all the same, but she loves that section of the blog. Also, I have pictures of what my mom made me wear in the eighties. It was a terrible, terrible decade. When people tell me they like to dress like they’re in the eighties, I instantly wonder if there’s therapy for that. Maybe that’s mean, but seriously? And, by the way, you’ll be glad to know that they no longer sell this bridesmaids dress. I hope someone protested on the grounds that it had blinded them with all its ugly.

Now I shall move forward with the post. As I said, LMCP has really made me think about a lot of things, and included in that are the things that have happened to me in the past that made me the way I am. LMCP came to me because I had a similar experience in the reverse to her, and I understood what it was like to have someone try and kill themselves and try to stop them, but knowing that I never could. To know that someone is going to do what they want to do because they don’t feel like they have anything to live for is the worst feeling in the world, and LMCP knew I’d understand that. And, in a way, I think maybe helping her will help heal what I’ve been through as well. Sometimes my gift does more than I give it credit for or realize until it is all said and done.

In theory, part of me feels like LMCP and myself were meant to meet, and I know this is why she came to me. The only person I’ve ever loved tried to kill himself more than once. All he wanted was for me to lay down my guard and be with him, and I couldn’t give him that because I was scared. I felt like I had to save him, but I couldn’t save him. Nothing I could give him was enough to save him. Even though I know that the only person you can save is yourself, there’s still a certain something that is engrained in your head telling you differently. It says you have to be a protector, you have to stand by someone’s side, and you have to fight their battles for them. If only that were all possible, but it’s not. The only ones I can help are my spirits, and even then sometimes things go awry. They were once people, after all. They all still have their own distinct personalities attached.

One of the most common questions I get from people is why I do what I do; why I help spirits. It’s because I don’t want anyone’s life to end the way that LMCP’s life has ended; the way that my friend tried to end his numerous times, and there be no closure. What I do isn’t just about crossing over the dead, but allowing the living to move on, too; to know it’s not their fault someone has passed. When people think of a psychic medium, they think of someone who deals with the dead, but a lot of times it’s about healing the living, too. It’s about putting closure to a life ended unexpectedly. Losing someone in your life because of fate and having to find your way without them is the hardest thing to do. I’m just here to make it a little easier if I can.

Over my years of doing this, I’ve also learned that I can’t help every spirit that comes past me. Sometimes helping the spirit will cause self danger to the human who is not ready to hear the truth and can not deal with it. Sometimes bringing closure to a spirit by telling their loved one the message they have is not a possibility. If it destroys the human’s life, then what good did it ultimately do? At times, I have to find a compromise for my spirit, a way for them to cross over and leave the human at peace. Other times, I don’t even know their person. I used to think that was the worst part of this, but I’ve since learned that the worst part is knowing who a spirit belongs to and not being able to tell that person they’re needed. Not a lot of things truly haunt me, but that is one of them.

Hide Yo Dogs, Hide Yo People, They're Setting Off Fireworks Everywhere Up In Here

Hello, everyone. I hope you're all having a happy Fourth of July weekend. If you aren't from America, then I still hope you're having a good weekend and enjoying the silence as fireworks do not fly across your skies and scare the heebies out of your dogs.

Before I even get into this post, I want to address something from the last post, as well as a comment made by the amazing Miss Zoe. (Sorry I added a y to your name when I emailed you. I had a half a migraine and was just done with the day and shouldn't have been emailing. You can kick me later.) I know the last post was a lot to take in, and as I've always said, I never ask anyone to believe me. I, too, can be skeptical and find I have to have proof of my own gift in which I trust, because that's just who I am. So when Miss Zoe left her comment, I appreciated it. I am going to look into prior residents of the house, which is well over one hundred years old, and see what all, if anything, I can find. Our area isn't exactly known for keeping records, and we've been trying to figure out information about Aunt Bev's house prior to her parents owning it to no avail. I don't expect miracles, but if I find them, I will keep you all updated.

But this is a safe place here where you all can share your opinions and beliefs, and as long as you respect me, I will also respect you no matter what your belief. I mean, I see dead people and typically like guys ten years or more my senior who have an assortment of mohawks, piercings and tattoos, so who am I to judge someone who doesn't believe? It goes both ways. All I know is this is my reality. It's weird to me that other people don't have these experiences, no matter how severe. I've done this my entire life and know no different. But I also know it's strange for people who've never done this or have never had an experience, and that's why I don't want to make this blog all about my experiences. I don't want to force it down anyone's throat. If anyone feels I'm doing this, please let me know and I will make a separate blog for these stories.

To wrap up this little PSA, I wanted to let those who are interested know that Nichole crossed over shortly after I wrote the last post. Apparently, my dog went with her. He can come back any time now. I miss him sleeping with myself and Greta.

To also follow up with something else I said that left people scratching their heads in confusion, I bring you my PSA about Vegas; Las Vegas. Sorry, I always wanted to do that. Anyway, I know a lot of you know about my health problems and are wondering how Vegas is possible. Please understand that I can, by no means, just go to Vegas. This is going to take clearance from five different doctors, and the only way I would be able to go in the first place is because I would be staying with a friend. I wouldn't be forced to go out everyday if I didn't want to. If I needed to sit down / sleep / take a day off, I could do that just like I could at home. The problem the doctors have with me working is that I didn't have the freedom to sit down when I know I'm going to pass out, or lay down when I can't keep going, or take a day off when I have to. If I go on this trip, I will be able to do all of that as needed. So it's not like I'm going on a normal vacation like anyone else would when they go to Vegas. I'm going to be far from the life of the party, plus I have to get permission from my doctors, and I have to magically come up with the money to do so, and my wonderful friend still has to want me, so this whole thing is just a maybe. I'm still sick and lame. It's fine. Whether the maybe works out or not, I am still eternally grateful to my friend for the offer.

Since it's the Fourth of July weekend and I have so much to do, this isn't going to be a real post. Okay, all of that is a lie. I have nothing to do, but I'm trying to send out some emails tonight and don't want to take the time to upload the pictures I want to upload for an awesome post I have about my day out in the mountains. Therefore, I'm going to share a bunch of random things with you that I thought were worth sharing. Some are funny little quips, others heartfelt truths. I hope you enjoy them.

* Over the years, I've learned that I should just introduce myself to people using the monologue from the opening sequence from Season 2 of Ghost Whisperer. And I quote: "I might be just like you, except that from the time I was a little girl I knew that I could talk to the dead. Earthbound spirits, my grandmother called them. They're stuck here because they have unfinished business with the living, and they come to me for help. In order to tell you my story, I have to tell you theirs." Or maybe this is more fitting. "I'm Cassadee Willows, just an ordinary woman from an ordinary town. I might be just like you. Except from when I was a little girl, I knew I was different. I knew they needed me. Is it a gift, or is it a curse? All I know is, I can talk to the dead." I don't know, you pick.

* I often joke that I'll be forever alone, just like the meme. And as much as I think that could easily be true, there's a lot I've learned from flying solo. One of those things is that a couple is only as good as the sum of its parts, and if each person isn't allowed to be their own person, then there's no substance there.

* I have no idea what we were even talking about to even get into this, but OBF and I both have mutual love for the Bed Intruder guy. We then realized that we mutually are able to come up with a ton of variations of "hide yo kids, hide yo wife" on a daily basis. Somehow, she came up with the following. "Hide yo bras, hide yo undies." And I finished with, "Those trannies are taking ALL the clothes." If I do get to go to Vegas, obviously you can understand the kind of time we're going to have. I'll try not to get arrested, but not promises. (But seriously, the only thing I could get arrested for is jaywalking, but with my luck, that would happen.)

* Giggling ridiculously is like being drunk. You make the same bad decisions in the euphoria of it all. Seriously, this is why I don't drink, but I do giggle ridiculously a lot. Maybe I should stop that.

* The other day I was driving into town to get some noms when I came across two bunnies. As I got closer, they didn't just pick up and run like most would. They looked at me in the car, looked back at each other, and then took off in separate directions. I think I interrupted a clandestine bunny meeting, and since it was less than a mile down the road for me, you better bet I'm locking my doors, locking my windows, because they're taking everyone on up in here. See, I told you I had about a hundred variations of the "hide yo kids, hide yo wife" comment.

* I've been asked to write up an article about myself for a friend of mine to post to a paranormal website. I will let you all know when that is finished and where you can find it.

I apologize for the short post that cleared some stuff up, but I've suddenly been distracted by some new Antoine Dodson videos and this is where my concentration ends. Everyone have a safe and happy July Fourth, even if you don't live in America. And remember, hide yo kids, hide yo wife.

An Angel Named Nichole - My Newest Little Spirit

Before I even get into this post, I want to thank all of the wonderful new readers who have come along and commented on my blog. I am so humbled and so giddy over this, it's crazy. You've made my year! Also, as many of you know, there's been a running joke for about two years now as to if any men are reading this blog. I can officially report that I have at least one solid male reader. I guess that joke's out the window.

Let me just start out by saying that I had two other posts in line to put up before this one, and then yesterday happened and it changed everything. When I was a child, I had a very dear friend who I will call Original Best Friend, or OBF for short. OBF and I lost touch when I moved to another school district, but I always still thought about her. Rewind to all of these years later, and we found each other again. This is the only thing, I repeat, the ONLY thing Facebook is good for.

OBF had moved to Vegas, the place where I was once looking forward to moving to prior to getting sick. Imagine how delighted I was when I heard she was coming home for a visit and wanted to get together. I could hardly contain my excitement as we got together for the first time in about fourteen years, maybe even longer. I was worried we'd have nothing to talk about or have had grown apart, but it was like time had never passed. There we were sipping on our drinks, eating, and sharing stories all over again. Her mom was also there, and instantly I felt at home with the both of them.

Long story short, OBF's mom is moving out to Vegas with her to start a new life. She will be coming back to get the rest of her belongings and drive them cross country come October, and I've been invited to come back with her. Not only will she not have to make the trip alone, but OBF is gracious enough to put me up in her house for awhile so that I can visit! She is the sweetest person in the world, as is her mom, and I am working out the details as we speak. Hopefully I'll be able to go and spend some time with OBF. Yesterday just did not give us enough catch up time, and I miss her and her mom already! I'm praying that they have a safe trip back to Vegas!

While I was hanging out with OBF and her mom yesterday, however, we got to talking about my psychic medium powers and other things of the like. When I knew OBF as a kid, I never talked about what I could do in the paranormal world, so I wasn't so sure how she would take it. It turns out their family is also very much connected to the paranormal world, and her mom is also working on becoming a master at Reiki, which is beyond awesome.

As we were talking about all of this, it was mentioned that the house that her mom lives in was haunted. Immediately I got the name Nichole and knew she was a nine year old child that seemed much younger. I asked them if they were aware of this child, and they were not, but I told them I'd know more once I got to their home.

OBF and myself arrived before her mom, and I was instantly drawn upstairs. I was trying not to be too biased about the situation considering they had told me about the man who used to be in their attic, but I was being pulled there concerning Nichole anyway. When we got into OBF's old room, the air changed completely. It wasn't her room, but the door to the attic that was in her room that the energy was emanating out of. No matter where you were in the room you could feel the energy reaching out and wrapping its arms around you. It was awkward since energy doesn't actually have arms.

I asked OBF if I could go up into her attic, to which she obliged. There was one part of the attic of which she had never ventured back into because of the energy back there, and man it was strong. She said it was the side of the attic that the man had hung out in, although they felt they had gotten rid of him when they blessed the house. I agreed with this, but there was a much different energy pulling me back there, so she turned on the light and I ventured back into the depths of the attic.

As soon as I was back there, the energy became immediate in the corner of the empty shell of a space that I couldn't get back into because of the lack of floorboards. I could feel someone back there, hunched over and chained up in my mind's eye, yet I couldn't actually see her. I quickly realized that this was Nichole, and that she had been heavily abused.

Earlier in the day, OBF and I had talked about a dream she had regarding a young girl that fit the image I was getting of Nichole who had once been locked up in a mental asylum. The story slowly unraveled in that attic. She had been locked up, still wearing her little gown, but when they failed to fix her, what was done to her was something I had dealt with before, because it was common for the day over one hundred years ago. Not knowing what to do with Nichole, she was locked up in the attic and left to die, and die she did. But the reason she was the way she was, was only partially because she had a mental disorder, and had a lot to do with her father abusing her as young as two or three. It broke my heart to know that she was still being held up there by her father, a man who chose not to pass on so he could stay there and make sure she didn't leave the attic, as if she were the evil one, as if she would tell of his sins if she did.

Because I couldn't actually see her, I didn't know what to do, so feeling as if I were being touched by something in the direction opposite of where she was, and my arm facing her feeling as if it were being grabbed and yanked on brutally, I backed out of the attic and found myself on the stairs by OBF, and then the light was turned off. As soon as that happened, I could see Nichole. She had scooted out of her corner and was now crouching down where I had been. I said something to OBF, who said she could see lights in the place where I was seeing Nichole. I told Nichole that it was okay, that she didn't have to stay there and that she wasn't really chained up anymore, so she could come with me. I promised I wouldn't hurt her, and I'd get her out of there and never make her have to go back up to the attic again. Slowly, she trusted me and made her way over to us. I reached out for her and took her little hand, and I physically led her out of that attic, because she wouldn't have ever gone alone. She was too scared, but the man was nowhere around and I knew I had just one window to get her out of there.

When we got her out of the attic, she told me she never wanted to go back up there again, and I told her no one would ever, ever take her back up there again. She was safe now. She didn't want me to let go of her hand as I led her out of OBF's room and down the stairs to the living room, a place she hadn't been in a very long while. I assured her it would be fine, and assured myself that I was too tall for the job, having to lean toward her to make sure I didn't yank on her frail little arms. Although she was nine, she was behind in both growth and mental state. Physically and mentally, she seemed more like four or five.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, I put her beside the door so she knew that freedom was just steps away. When she sat down, she had a teddy bear, one that wasn't with her in the attic. She must have grabbed it from somewhere, a place that was probably once her room, or the last place it had fallen when she was being dragged up into the attic and to her doom. She happily sat there, glad to be free, and I again promised her she'd never have to go back up into the attic. In fact, she wouldn't ever have to be in that house again. When I left, I was taking her with me to her new home. Since OBF's mom was moving, there was no way I was about to leave her there with that man, nor did I have time that night to try and clear the house. The best thing I could do was remove her from the environment, leaving him trapped with no choice but to cross over, which hopefully he's done by now, or else he's just really pissed and alone in that house. Either way, good for him, because the last thing I promised her was that he would never take her to that attic again or hurt her. Little did I know I'd have to keep that promise to her in a very terrifying way very soon.

OBF and I spent some time talking while her mom, who had since been in and out of the house, was running some things over to the Salvation Army. I kept an eye on Nichole, who was in her own little world with her teddy bear, unaware of the world around her. At first I thought it was possible she was autistic, but she doesn't seem to display any of the other red flags other than acting younger than she is and able to amuse herself with certain items in her own little world. Eventually, we made our way into the room one closer to where she was, so that we were only about fifteen feet from her, if that. OBF's mom came home and we sat talking, Nichole still playing with her teddy bear.

While we were talking, I kept catching something out of the corner of my eye near the door. It looked like a man in a brown shirt, but for the most part I ignored it. The one time I did turn my head it ended up being the girlfriend of the neighbor in the other side of the duplex, so I was thinking it was possibly my imagination and the whole time I had been seeing the girlfriend. But then the man appeared in full force, and I turned just in time to see him bend down and grab Nichole, and I instantly knew this was her abuser, who, up until this point, I had not seen. I watched for a second to see if he dared try to take her back upstairs with us sitting so close and with him knowing that I could see him, but he did. I excused myself and shot out of the chair I was in, blocking the staircase. I had made her a promise and I wasn't going to let him drag her back up to her hell, because I knew if he did, it was possible I'd never get her back down now that he was in the house. I wasn't going to leave her there for eternity. I had made her a promise.

I yelled to OBF and her mom to let them know that I was as crazy as I looked, but I had to be. The man slid past me with Nichole, but I grabbed onto her little arm, just not hard. I stared down the man for several seconds, and he yelled at her, yelled at me, and tried to pull her away. I just kept staring. Angry, he realized that I was stronger than him and that he would not win, so he let her go and huffed his way up the stairs. I quickly got her off of the stairs, assured her she would be okay, and brought her and her teddy bear into the room to sit next to the chair that we that I was sitting in.

Questions were asked, and I explained to OBF and her mom what had happened. I didn't explain the man, but I didn't have to. OBF's mom then told us that earlier that morning there was a man in a brown shirt in OBF's room, and she had seen him. It was clear this was the same man, and he had been there with one purpose earlier, to make sure Nichole didn't make any noise up in that attic so no one would find her. She hadn't, and he left the home to see what was going on with things being moved in and out, people coming in and out. He didn't count on a psychic medium coming over and knowing she was there anyway.

We left Nichole next to the chair for a few minutes while OBF got up so that I could walk her through what had just happened. When I turned to look up the staircase, the man was standing there staring us down. I knew he didn't dare come back down the stairs as long as we were wise to him, though I didn't doubt he'd try and sneak down them and grab her if he thought we had stopped paying attention for even just a second. I took this opportunity to point to him and say, "You, Sir, are a douchebag." He turned and left the top of the stairs after that. I guess he's like the one guy I dated who got a text message from someone he worked with saying he was an asshole, which then caused him to cry and quit his job. He just couldn't handle the cold, hard facts.

When we turned to go back in the room where we had been sitting, Kristan was with Nichole watching over her. Now let me tell you a little story about Kristan. Kristan is one of my murdered girls who came from a string of girls who were murdered by the same guy. Most of the other girls have either crossed over or have proven to be extremely helpful when I am working paranormal cases and someone needs help. They will go out to people's homes and help a spirit cross over if I can not do so. But then there's Kristan. Kristan will go out of her way to not help you. She sticks with me at all times, probably because of this, and is highly hysterical and good for a laugh, which often ends in me looking like a nut ball who is laughing at the air. It's fine. In fact, Kristan had her panties in a bunch yesterday because she didn't like the restaurant we had chosen to go to. I had to remind her that she was dead, she wasn't eating anything, but it still didn't help, and she stayed and pouted in the car the entire time. But add a cute little child, and she was in that house being helpful quicker than you could say conspiracy.

Kristan played patty cake with Nichole while we talked some more and the men came to take the washer and dryer while the dryer was in mid cycle. When that was all said and done, OBF and her mom came over to my house to dry the towels that hadn't gotten to finish drying to all their glory. Before we left for my house, I explained to Nichole what was going to happen, that she was leaving the house for good just like I had promised, and that she was going to a new home, one where I would be and Kristan would be also. She wasn't allowed to go outside without someone holding her hand, so I led her to my car, opened the door, got her inside, and prepared her for her new home. I didn't put her seat belt on, though. I'm pretty crazy, what with putting dead girls that only I can see in cars, but I draw the line at the seat belt. Let me just ask you something. What exactly is going to happen if we wreck and the dead girl doesn't have her seat belt on? Exactly.

When we got to my house, OBF had to let Nichole out of the car, because she was sitting on the passengers side with her teddy bear and wouldn't crawl across the seat. OBF took it well, though, and even asked me if Nichole was out of the car. I took Nichole's hand again and led her up the steps and into the house. I introduced her to my mom, who didn't quite know what to think, and then as I showed OBF around the house, I took Nichole back into my room and tucked her in just like she had asked, though the dead don't really sleep. The whole time she was excitedly asking me if this was her new home and if she could stay, and if we really had all these animals, because she always wanted one and was never allowed to have one. I fell in love with her cute little smile and told her yes.

The remainder of the night was spent watching awesome videos with OBF and chatting into the night when we had to say our goodbyes, but hopefully not for long. I went into my room to change into my pajamas, where I was greeted by Nichole asking me if she could keep the puppy. I assumed she meant Greta, who had followed me into my room, and told her we could only share. She said she didn't mean her, she meant the white dog with spots who was just like her. Immediately I realized she was talking about Rodeo, our beloved dalmatian that died just a few years aback and is constantly causing Greta consternation by sleeping in her spot when we go to bed at night. I told her that she could have her very first puppy, and she seemed very happy with this.

When I woke up this morning, both she and Rodeo, who had cuddled together the night before, weren't in my room. In the middle of making my coffee, she showed up to tell me that Kristan had taken her and introduced her to a bunch of people who she was going to meet when she crossed over, which was going to be soon. Rodeo was going to walk her over with Kristan, and she was excited now that she was getting to know some people who would truly care for her, unlike her family had.

I had been wondering all night just how it was that I was going to cross her over. She's so cute and sweet, and I barely wanted her to leave, yet knew I was going to have to coax her to the other side. I didn't want to do it too soon and was planning on working my way into it now that she had just gotten into an environment where, for the first time in her life and death, she was finally happy. It turns out, Miss I'm-Doing-Nothing-to-Help-You, aka Kristan, is actually helpful if the person is under the age of thirteen and less than four feet tall. Who would have thunk it? Not I, that's for sure.

But I learned something in the last twenty four hours. I learned that even though I doubt it sometimes, I am doing something good with my gift. If I hadn't gotten to see OBF yesterday, I wouldn't have been able to help this little girl, and who knows how long she'd be stuck in the hell she was living in. Yesterday was pure fate, and I can feel that something bigger is going to come out of it. I also learned that Kristan actually is helpful, which is probably a shock to every one of my girls who has ever known her. Sorry, Kristan, but you know it's true.

What I have to ask of you all now, though, is that if you can spare a prayer for Nichole to please do so. Please ask that she finds her way in Heaven and is finally at peace. She is always welcome here, crossed over or not, but please help me pray that she finds a place where she doesn't ever have to come back to this earth for any reason, where she is happy and safe, where she gets all that she deserved to get in life and more. Please help me put this poor wonderful little soul to rest.

To Fathers Without Daughters and Daughters Without Fathers

I know this post is a bit late for Father's Day, but there's a reason for that. I was not planning on doing a Father's Day post, nor have I ever done one or talked about Father's Day or fathers in any capacity that wasn't full of complete snark. I'm going to try to turn the clock around on that one tonight.

As many of you know by now, I am, by all means, a discarded daughter of a careless father. My father walked out on us when I was five, I didn't see him again until I was eight, and then he walked out on us permanently when I was thirteen and very ill...on Christmas. I spent weekends of hell at his shitty apartments, usually one room, watching him abuse his girlfriends and also myself more than a time or two. He was a bastard of a man, and I'm sure he still is. Actually, a man wouldn't do what he did. Only a monster would.

So when Father's Day comes around, I have nothing nice to say about any fathers anywhere, because I always assume they're all the same, even though I know that's not true. I just can't break myself down to the core enough to admit that I got the short stick in fathers and was unlucky. But it's not like that for everyone, and I need to stop thinking that way. Sometimes, I think I'm just jealous, and I know that it affects my relationships with men. I didn't think anything could change that.

Then today came along, Father's Day of all days, where my hatred toward the man who was more of a monster than a human being is strongest, and did change that for me. Most of you know that I'm always dialed into my Twitter. I check it periodically throughout the day on my phone app and post on it. When I'm online, I'm always signed into Twitter and go back every half an hour or so and read the updates. My life really is that boring, but in my very poor defense, I usually end up sending several dozen messages between myself and my friends each day, be it through direct message or @ replies. Okay, yes, my life is boring. Moving on.

A tweet came up from someone I follow, but do not know and never will, which is probably what makes this more interesting for me that I took it to heart. This person posted about how his daughter never contacted him on his birthday or Father's day ever, and how he still loved her and it hurt him. As soon as I read that, I realized that in this situation I will immediately take the girl's side on this. I always do that, I always side with the daughter. And then I had to go stand in the corner and think about what I just thought, because that was a really horrible thing for me to do.

I took some time to reflect on this, because I'm working on fixing what's broken inside of me and what someone else broke, and fix it so that I can reclaim my life and not be anyone's victim anymore. When I thought it out, what set me off about this post was that I know my father tells people that I won't talk to him and he still loves me. This is the same man who sent me a card for my eighteenth birthday, after five years of no contact, with a glory note about how he no longer had to pay child support. I know no one believes his crap, but he's still spilling it all over the county. He wants sympathy. He wants to cry until someone feels bad for him, but he doesn't love anyone but himself, and he doesn't care, because he knows how to find me and for twelve years never bothered to do anything but hurt me and send me nasty letters. I was old enough when he left to remember the truth in what happened and how he treated me, and I don't want him around me, but still he lies. He went as far as to tell an old mutual friend that he saw us all the time, and when mutual friend told us, we were shocked and appalled. But that's not the point of this post.

When I really sat back and thought it out, I realized there are also dads in a position where they want to see their kids, they really do love them, and circumstances don't allow it. There are moms who are angry with the person they had their child to over personal reasons, therefore turning the child against their own father. There are daughters who get misinformation, and the father suffers. So sometimes when a dad says he misses his daughter, he really does miss his daughter. He really does want that contact. He really has tried, but the mother has given the daughter a false story she believes that makes the father the bad guy, and now she doesn't want anything to do with him. I'm not speaking for the person who posted on Twitter in particular, because again, I don't know him, but he made me think. There are fathers out there who care, and by no fault of their own, are hurt because their daughters don't care for them the same way my father doesn't care for me, and it really sucks.

So even though this is late, as the old adage goes, it's better late than never. To all those fathers out there who haven't abandoned their kids, but who have been abandoned by them for reasons that aren't their fault, and also reasons of miscommunication and false information , I wish you a Happy Father's Day. Let's just make a pact. I don't have a dad, but wish I had a good one, and you all don't have contact with your daughters, so from me to you, I mean this from my heart.

Also, it's awkward when you're a psychic medium and the last person you thought would have a kid turns out to have a kid. Welcome to my crazy day of bad psychic vibes and information that gets me to the church, but not the right pew. Hopefully tomorrow is better.

The Story of My Life In Spirits and the Paranormal + Help Identify Leah M.

I grew up in a world where I didn't have to question if the paranormal existed. I knew that it did. With that knowing and that gift came a lot of secrets and keeping things inside. When I try to look back on what made me who I am, I keep going back to being that child who tried to sleep in her bedroom while an old lady who no one else could see would knit in a rocking chair in the corner of my room. I remember looking at her and knowing she was there and wondering why no one else could see her. I remember not telling anyone, because even as a child, I knew no one else would understand.

As I got older, as in the last ten years or so, the paranormal has been more widely accepted. I felt like I could "come out" so to speak and talk to people about what I do. But it's really just been in the last few months that I feel like I can be completely open to all my friends, plus to the internet world. This decision was made because I realize I want to use my gifts to help people. I want to help as many people as I can, and my personal life has to take a back seat to that. To be fair, though, my personal life has always taken a back seat to this gift. I just didn't know it until today.

I grew up hiding my gift, therefore, indirectly hiding myself and who I really was from my friends, family and the world. After you get to a certain age, that becomes a part of you. If you can hide the one huge thing that you do, the thing that is completely normal to you but not normal for anyone else, you can hide the little things, too. Before you know it, your song is being sung only by you, your future written in a book only you have the ability to read. It's like you become this little complicated story within yourself, but everyone else sees this easy, breezy, relatively normal person, and it's a lie.

I don't regret my gift, nor do I want to push it away. In fact, over the years I've realized that helping those who have passed, those who others can't, is more important than my personal life. It's okay to put what I want on the back burner to do the job I was born to do. This is in my blood. This is a part of me. If I wake up one day and I can't read people, or help those who have passed, or anything like that, I would be completely lost and feel like my purpose was done in this life.

I'm going to have to find someone who shares this with me if I'm ever going to settle down, and I know that. My goal is to help as many people as I can with my gift, but it would be nice to get what I wanted for once. It would be nice to have a little family and a relatively normal life, but still know that the person I'm with understands that what I do is in my blood and shares that with me. But I love what I do enough that I wouldn't give it up for someone or hide it or be someone else just to be with someone.

On the same token, I realize that sometimes I sabotage my own relationships. I'm slowly coming out of my shell and trying to break the mold I put myself into over the years. Simple questions like, what's your best childhood memory, become emotional for me to answer because I feel like that's so private. That is not that private. I'm just used to keeping everything to myself and letting people see who I am today, who I am now, and just the basics. I'm not used to opening up, but I want to. I want to find the right way to do that and the right person to do this with. So far the only people who see me inside out are the spirits that I help. It's funny to think that they can become friends or a part of you, but they can. I connect with them and their stories. With as many psychic mediums as there are in this world, they wouldn't come to me if there wasn't a connection.

So I guess what I'm saying is that sometimes I feel like I'll spend more sleepless nights being woken up by the dead who inevitably forget that the living sleep, than I will by screaming babies or romantic nights out with someone special. But you know what, that's okay. It's not how I pictured my life, but I'm following a path that is in my blood. One day I will get what I want, but not until the time is right, and I find someone who feels just as lost in this random little paranormal club that seems so small in such a big world. Nothing will ever be perfect, but it will work.

And to end this blog, I'm going to put something out there that I put on Twitter. For those of you who know about my abilities, you know that I confirm any information that I get from each spirit who comes to me, plus I work with a lot of murdered and missing people. This is not because I do not believe in my gift, because I do more than I believe in anything else. However, I also know that it is careless to not confirm circumstances and the like before I dive into anything, because there are plenty of things out there who will try to trick people like me, plus people who could be hurt if I'm the teeniest bit incorrect, and hurting people is not a business I am in.

This is why I would love to get into paranormal investigating more than I have. I know how to investigate, I just would love to do it more. I think it would be amazing to be able to take my abilities and use them to capture solid evidence of the paranormal. That's my butterfly eyed dream job, but I'm getting off track here, so I digress.

I am very scientific, plus cautious in the way that I use my gifts, therefore, I need your guys' help with something. The other night I had almost gotten to sleep after lying there helplessly for awhile when I had one of the worse nights I had ever had as far as spirits go. I spent over an hour listening to a spirit begging for help, and worse yet, I couldn't get her attention to calm her because she didn't know that she had passed, and I couldn't see her, though she was quite loud. Finally, after over an hour of this, I was able to get one of my other deceased girls who was in the upset spirit's plain, therefore allowing the upset spirit to see her, to let her know she had passed and calm her. That's confusing if you're not used to the paranormal, I know, so if you want clarification, let me know and I can do that.

I looked for the crying spirit the next night to no avail. I was both scared and worried that she wouldn't come back for help, especially knowing that the spirit who had gotten her attention had taken off again to do whatever it is that she does in the spirit world to keep the balance of good and evil at bay. (I have an idea of what she and some of my other girls do, but it would be a lie if I said I knew exactly what they did.) The new spirit was out there alone, and I wanted to help her. My heart was broken for her, especially with what had gone on the night before, and I kept asking her that if she could hear me, she needed to come back to me. She needed to tell me what was wrong if she could. I was only here to help her.

The next night she came back. This time I could see her, and she was aware she was dead and somewhat able to communicate, although it was a bit tough on her. All she was able to tell me in her struggle to learn how to communicate in the spirit world was that her name was Leah M. She did say her last name, but I was unable to make it out, and she was unable to repeat it to me. I believe it was something like Manchester or Mangotti, but don't hold me to that. She was about 5'6 or 5'7, around 130 pounds, with long, straight dark hair down just an inch past her breasts, side bangs that hit around the corner of her eye on her left side when looking at her, and blueish green eyes. Her cheekbones were high and pronounced and her lips were fuller.

I have been unable to find her in a database to confirm the circumstances of what happened to her, so this is where you guys come in. If you know anyone who is missing a Leah M that fits this description, I have her and there is a reason for it. For reasons concerning the fact that this is someone's friend, daughter, sister and loved one, I will not elaborate on how she died in a public forum, but if this is your person, please let me know and we can discuss this further. I want to help her, but I can't help her until I find out where she came from. She has been trying to ask me for certain people, and as she gets stronger as a spirit and understands how to navigate the spirit world a little better, I'm understanding her more and more, so if you contact me, I will know if she is your loved one.

I have this fear of contacting families on my own, and I wish I wasn't such a wimp. In this case she's asking me to contact her roommate specifically, a twenty two year old Spanish girl whose name I am having trouble understanding. It's very pretty and classically Spanish, plus it starts with a P. I will never spell it or pronounce it right, but it sounds like Pe-ay-ha when she says it. I think it's a nickname, though. The girls would have lived somewhere just west of the Mojave Desert. The roommate, P, would wear a lot of turquoise jewelry, and Leah has a tattoo of an eagle on her ribcage, just under and off to the side of her left breast. She would have been into graphic design or some kind of arts. Some of this stuff is stuff I've been told, and others stuff I am psychically picking up.

I think I've put enough information out there that you will know if this is your loved one or not. That way, this gives the family and friends a chance to contact me, so that my fear of going to jail in connection with a case because I called a family who didn't believe in mediums and freak someone out doesn't come true. If you know this person, please contact me. You can find my email address in my profile. It is your choice to believe me or not; I'm not asking for you to, but I want to put Leah to rest, and I know that's all you want too.

Needs More Superglue

There's a lot of things in my life that I think feel neglected right now. This blog is one of them. Greta Hayley is one of them. I am one of them. My novel, it counts, too, even though it and my blog do not have feelings. There has been a lot going on for me right now, and nothing at all at the same time. I'm worried for a friend who got bad news and is trying to power through it when I know she wants to break down and cry. I worried that one of my other friends is gone, and when given the chance to corner and confront someone for a straight answer, I got scared and ran away and cried in my car. I'm worried because I feel so jumbled and angry lately, and I think it's because my childhood emotions that I was forced to keep inside have caught up with me. In all of this, I'm just trying to figure out what to do to make it all better, to cover up everyone's cuts and bruises and scars so that they can dance another day in all their glory.

This week, I've been what I like to call in the most adult terms possible, icky, icky, blah, blah sick. I thought maybe I was over exaggerating about how sick I actually was until I got on the scale at the end of this week and realized I lost nearly eight pounds. Sure, there's days I feel like I need to lose weight, but not like this. When I was younger, I got so sick that I dropped down to ninety eight pounds, which was so unhealthy for my height of five foot five and for me personally, and I don't want to do that again. But when I get this sick, I have no control, so I'm hoping this was last week's thing and we can move on from it.

I also have a friend who feels like she's just done with life, and there's been a few moments this week that I've agreed with her on that, and I know that these aren't my real feelings. And I know that they're not hers, even if she doesn't. There's something bigger going on, and I don't want anything to happen to her. She doesn't realize she's special to someone all the time, but even though she might not be a friend in my neighborhood or country, she's special to me because she is smart plus talented. She deserves to keep on living and keep on going, and I feel so helpless and useless to her, because I don't know what to do or say to make her feel better or make her smile. Any suggestions?

Sometimes I feel like there's no one out there that's meant for me, and sometimes I feel like there is and we just haven't met yet, but I'm going to make him so happy and him me. Other times I just really don't want to keep trying with love and putting my fragile heart out there to find another guy who lies, cheats and wants to bring me down. I know not all guys are like that, though that's not generally been my experience. The two men in my life that have believed in me and shaped me into the girl who is remotely okay and can keep forging on are no longer in my life. One is my grandfather who sadly passed way too soon from prostate cancer, and the other is the friend I suspect has passed via their own hand.

I've been working to help people with their paranormal problems, because I really feel this is something that I not only want, but need to do with my life. I feel like I could best be used traveling to help people who are having hauntings, helping the police with missing persons and suspicious death cases, and working with paranormal teams to help them get evidence of those who have passed, plus help the spirits in the haunted locations find peace and move on. There's so much I want to do and I feel like I want nothing but for the world to either stop right now, or spin faster so that I can get to the good part. I am sincerely trying to get it there myself, but I think I need a little cosmic, universal help.

I also feel like, although my psychic medium abilities are gifts, they are also a curse, too. I hate it when I pass someone on the street and immediately know their life story without ever talking to them. I hate when I connect with someone I don't even know or barely know because I know their story and I want to fix it and them. I hate that superglue won't just put them back together and solve their problem.

I know a big part of this has to do with the place where I am right now, in a literal way. I hate where I live. The only good part about it is my doctors and my friends, who are amazing. I hate everything else about it. I hate the area. I hate the general population of rude, stuck up, one track minded people who are stuck in a tiny little box and cause their own problems. I'm tired of having no peace and quiet because our neighbors think that we don't exist and have absolutely no respect for anyone, including each other. I hate that I heard the neighbor's boyfriend yelling and telling her that he was going to kill her last night, he swore he was going to fucking kill her, yet her family of whom she lives with and obviously heard it deny it, so there's nothing anyone will do to help her. I may not like her, but that doesn't mean I want her to die.

I love my mom dearly, but I am tired of living with her, too. It seems like the more we're together, the more we both realize this isn't working. It makes me feel like crap because I'm not allowed to work, so I can't make money to get out of here and break the cycle. I'm doing everything I can, from paranormal stuff to working on my novel, to try and find a way to make my own money on terms that my doctors would approve of, but that comes with time and a lot of work. So far not enough time or work has passed for me to make money.

Worse yet, my mom is already looking at my first paycheck as her money, whereas I'm looking at it as my way out of here. I am happy to give her money if the situation allows, but she thinks I'm going to turn it all over to her and continue living here. I know if I do get that paycheck from a book or a paranormal case where there was a reward, the argument it's going to cause could be the end of our relationship. Either that or she'll insist on moving with me and living with me wherever I go, and I can't have that. I won't. I'm sorry, but I need to be on my own, and I know that she's going to continue to suffocate me when I move out, because she doesn't know how to be alone without me. She taught me to be an independent woman, yet she consistently makes comments that she wishes we didn't live together, but she couldn't live without me so I'm stuck with her. It's not going to work out for her that way. I just haven't found a way tell her yet without starting a fight.

I want to go out west. I've had my eye on Vegas for several years. I like that everyone from every walk of life congregates there. I love the desert. I love the endless possibilities. I love that there's always something going on so that even insomniacs like myself will never be bored. I like a chance at freedom and starting over, because that's something I'm not afraid to do. These days I feel trapped, like I'm never alone with my own thoughts, and I'm ready to move forward from this phase of my life, but my body won't let me. It's frustrating. I find myself having arguments with inanimate objects, such as my sewing machine. I find myself becoming miserable and copying the miserable, sarcastic and rude actions of my mom when around her, but I'm fine when I'm not. I love my mom, but I don't want to be her.

At the core, I am a sweet girl with my heart on my sleeve. I tell sarcastic jokes and am one big riot to cover up the fact that I'm hurting because of what I've been through. It's to cover up the fact that I'm lonely in a way that friends can't solve, and that I'm also not wanting to date anyone because I've learned that everyone who cares leaves in one way or another. I guess one day I'll meet that someone, but I feel like that time is too far away. Everyone who I've connected with and just knew we'd work, they didn't feel the same. There's something about that, that reminds me of my childhood days when my dad left and didn't really give a damn, and now my adult days where I'm glad he's gone, and it makes me wonder what it's all really about, because it's not the hokey pokey.

But one day I'll overcome my illness, understand myself, be free, and write that novel that will move someone. One day I'll solve that paranormal case that changes someone's life, helps a spirit, and helps a family move on. One day I'll raise money to help Outpost For Hope so that every missing person is accounted for, which is something that is only a distant dream now, but something I'm so passionate about. One day I'll have myself a cute little house and a permit to save abandoned and abused animals. One day, all of this will come, but I'm sure being slammed with feelings of consternation in the meantime.

And while that's true, if you have a paranormal problem you want help with, just ask. I'm free. I promise. I would never charge someone for an issue they're having. If you need a medium that is the most skeptical medium as far as wanting proof of their own gifts and is all about using equipment in an investigation and helping spirits move on, I'm your girl. If there's a case that happened to a friend or family member, let me know. I'm simply here to help.

For a Friend

I have amazing readers and friends on here, so I am appealing to you all today as friends, as daughters, sons, nieces, nephews, moms, dads, aunts and uncles. My friend got some very terrifying news today, some unexpected news, while at a doctors appointment, at the young age of twenty five. She is someone’s daughter, niece and friend. She is loved, and we are worried for her. I know that there’s a lot to pray for now, especially with the horrible devastation that the tornadoes have left in various parts of the country and are continuing to leave. But, please, I am asking you to save a prayer for her. Thank you.

Acceptance

I always bare my heart on this blog. Sometimes I wish I knew why, and others I don't bother to question it. I'm afraid of what the answer may be. It's sometimes scarier to know the truth than to create your own lies. The following is something that I didn't know if I was going to share at all, far more mass share. I think five people in my life know about this, and only because one has abilities much like mine and figured it out, the other person has shared this journey with me on a more personal level, I went to my logical friend for advice, the other for a shoulder to cry on from a girl who is just like me in this world of paranormal things, and the other was a new friend who I felt in my heart was someone who I could tell this to and should. Basically, I didn't tell anyone without a specific reason, and now here I am telling everyone.

But the truth is, although I don't know that this belongs on a public forum full of personalities, opinions and friendships that create my little space, I'm going to share it for exactly two reasons. One: I don't know how to get this out of me, and I don't know how to deal with it. I don't think that I ever will know how to deal with something like this correctly, whether it be true or just a mirage. I have tried everything to deal with this, but I feel like something inside of me is closed off, and this is the only way that I know how to open that door. Two: You all have been with me through this saga as well, so I'm going to put this out there for you and trust that I know my readers and my friends as well as I think I do.

I don't know if I've talked about this before, but I have dreams, very vivid ones, that usually end up being precursors to something that is going to happen, if not a window to what is happening while I sleep. When I get these "dreams," they're very different from everything else, and I know without a doubt what they are and know what to expect.

I once had a dream that I was another woman who was jogging through the woods, when I was attacked by someone and killed. The details were very specific. I was her. I knew everything about her, right down to what she was wearing and exactly how she died. Four days later I saw her face on a news source, and I knew who she was before I had even heard the reason for her face being plastered there. Then they said how she died and when. She died while I lay asleep, having gone to bed very early, in a time zone three hours ahead of hers. It was still light where she was when she died. She had gone for a late evening jog. She had died during the same time, on the same day that I had the dream. She died while I was having the dream. I know this because I woke up flustered, sweating, looking at the clock for answers, just fifteen minutes after they had estimated her time of death to be. That wasn't a coincidence.

Another time I had a dream about children dying, seven of them, in a fire. I was in there with them, an adult, but not myself, helpless to save them. At first I thought they were in a school, being that there were so many kids of different ages. They were all dressed Amish, so it wasn't weird to me that small kids to teenagers were in the same, two floor building. When I woke up I could still feel the heat on my skin. I rolled over. It was half past six in the morning. When I watched the evening news, there had been a house fire that had killed seven children, ages ranging from toddler to teenager, all Amish, in their home that morning. The fire had happened at quarter past six.

There's been many other "dreams," too many for me to dismiss them, in my life. If I tried to recount them all, I'd spend the next five years of my life doing so right here, writing about them. Those are just two examples. I know the difference between these "dreams" and regular dreams. I never feel like I've slept when I have these "dreams." I don't know what else to call them, though, when they're not really dreams, not traditional ones, at least.

I hadn't had one in awhile, nor had I thought about them. I was sleeping soundly and enjoying it far too much to waste my time thinking of the horror that could await me one night when I shut my eyes, and the newscast that would inevitably follow and prove me right. I don't anticipate them and I don't enjoy them, but I know there's a reason that I'm the one to get one. I always accepted them, I was always okay with it happening to me, because I knew there was a purpose. And then last Tuesday happened, and I don't feel like I know anything anymore. My world crashed down around me and left me reeling in confusion, trying to figure out what's truth and what's a mirage.

The night had been a hard one. I hadn't slept well; I woke up over everything. I tossed, I turned, I kicked, and I didn't know why, because that's not particularly normal for me anymore. When I woke up at just past seven to let Greta out, I decided to go back to sleep since I felt like my legs had run a marathon and my brain a fast sprint, all while I was attempting to sleep. I shouldn't have gone back to sleep. I should have waited it out. I should have stayed up anyway. But I didn't. I regret that now.

When I laid back down, I was quickly swept under, drifting into a heavy, almost coma like sleep, and this is how my dreams always start. My dream felt real, as they always do. There was nothing about it that made me feel like I was sleeping. Sometimes I was subconsciously unsure that I was.

Please bear with me, because this is difficult for me to talk about. I may tell this badly, it may be confusing. The truth is, I won't know how this is going to come out until I'm done writing it, something that I'm not used to. I plot, I design, I plan my stories and my posts so that I know what to expect, and it settles my heart. This time that's not the case.

It was mid morning. There was a chill in the air, but not enough of one that I had to put long sleeves on, though I was wearing pants. I threw on my boots, the only shoes that don't have to be tied, just like I always do and walked to the mailbox. I opened it and pulled out a letter, one single letter was all that was in there. The envelope wasn't white, yet a slight cream color, although I could tell it wasn't an old letter. The name on the front was mine; there was no return address. I flipped it over and opened it up. Immediately, I wished I wouldn't have.

When I put my hands on the letter, pulling it out and exposing the writing, my finger sliding over some of the words, images rushed through my head, an entire scene playing out in less than five seconds, but too vivid for me to ever forget. In those images, that scene, I saw Friend kill himself. I won't go into details, I can't. When I came to, I was still standing on the side of the road at the mailbox. I knew what I saw. I knew how I felt.

Confused, scared, humbled, upset, and ready to explode at a second's notice, I raced up to the house, letter in hand, shaking. Home alone, I put the dogs outside, leaving only Greta Hayley in so that I wouldn't be bothered. She sniffed around the letter, and then took a place on the couch next to me while I read it. The letter was specific, highly personal, containing things no one but he and I would know. I wept my way through it; I was a mess. I couldn't get over just how personal the letter was, how detailed, how much it sounded like him. How much it was him. It was, for all intents and purposes, a goodbye letter. It didn't explain a lot, it just revealed things to me, things I knew, some I didn't, and left me knowing, wishing, that I would have said the things I should have said.

I woke up in a panic, but I wasn't done panicking. I was trying to breathe. Somewhere within this state I was in, Greta, who had previously not been in my room, having been let outside and my mom waking up for the day when I let her out. She usually doesn't come back in with me in the morning, but she was there. I took a few deep breathes, told myself it was just a dream, and then flipped over. He was sitting at the edge of my bed.

I was awake, I knew I was. He didn't really say anything, but it was the way he reached over and touched me that let me know that what I hadn't told him, he knew, and it was okay. Just as he touched me, Greta woke up and started flipping out in the direction of where he was, not looking at me, but instead at him. He stayed for awhile; she had always really liked him. When I heard my mom come back the hallway to see what all the chatter was about, I got up, letting Greta out of my room, which is what she decided she had wanted when he didn't go away immediately. She didn't understand. My mom asked me if everything was fine, I told her it was, went to the bathroom, and went back to sleep. I slept until later in the afternoon. I couldn't function or understand what had just happened.

To this very moment on this very day, I remain confused about what happened. I spent until Friday barely able to function, holding back tears so no one asked me what was going on, and faking smiles. I clocked out. I didn't want to know what had happened and if what I had seen was true. I didn't want to think of Friend like that. I pulled myself together around Friday and decided I had to know, but that's been a journey with no answers. I keep hitting walls like they were built there specifically to keep me out.

I don't know if I'll ever fully accept that I may never know what happened to Friend, or if what happened to me that morning in my room was something much darker, much more sinister playing with me, tapping into my worst fears and playing on them. I've never had that happen before, but I guess there's a first time for everything.

The people I've discussed this with have been helpful. One told me she was sorry about my friend killing himself, and was there if I needed to talk, before I was even sure if he had or not, which brings up a lot of issues for me, a lot of fear. She's a lot like me. Another assured me that she had a feeling I knew the answer to my own dream, because she knows how accurate they are, and so do I. The list of things that were said to me goes on, but none bring me comfort.

Friend may still be out there alive and fine, and I'm over here practically having a coronary and diving into episodes of Breakout Kings like I dove into Criminal Minds when my grandma died. I watch them on repeat and pretend the world doesn't exist. I build up my own little world of magic. I block everything else out. It keeps me going until I can start making it without faking it, until I can move on. I just wish I knew the truth.

I haven't talked to friend in months, nor had I thought of him in awhile, not because I don't care about him, but because I'm still in love with him and handled it how I had to. I don't think I ever won't be, but that's my problem, not his. I have a big mouth and a big heart, but that mouth gets me in trouble. In order to keep from telling him how I feel, which is unfair to both him and his girlfriend, and foolish and rude on my part, I had to stop talking to him and delete him on Facebook. This makes me a hypocrite, I know, but every time I saw his status updates, I was jealous. I was jealous because he had someone and I couldn't have him. I was angry because I had missed my chance to be with him. I hated myself for not telling him how I felt. But mostly, I just knew that no matter how much I loved him, or he me, we would never work out because our lifestyles were too different.

None of us are wrong in the way we live our lives, but there's a large gap in the way we do it, too much for us not to end in heartache. I had to do what I had to do in order to not continue to salt my own wounds and confused and upset him. Because of that, I couldn't give him a reason for why I was bowing out of his life again. I had done it too many times because I was scared, and frankly, he deserves better. But if I gave him a reason, I'd be admitting my feelings, which would only make me feel better, and this isn't about me. Doing what I need to do in order to be able to breathe without feeling like my heart was falling out of my chest was one thing, but taking down him with me was another.

So I guess my message to you in all of this is one that you hear on TV and it sounds cliche. I can assure you as a girl who has lived, loved and learned, but will keep learning and being confused until I'm 93, say what you have to say, no matter how afraid you are. That way, you'll have no regrets. You'll know the truth and you'll learn how to deal with it. It's always better to know than not to know.

There's a lot of things I should have said to Friend, and I have a feeling that's going to haunt me, literally or not so much, forever. I should have told him I loved him, but had enough guts to either try with him, or know that it would never work and be mature enough to just be friends. I didn't. I kissed him and ran like a scared little girl in the school yard. But I was scared. It still didn't make it right. Because of the decisions I've made, things snowballed out of control. I keep thinking of the what-ifs. I know if I wouldn't have been scared and we would have been together, his life especially could have gone in a totally different direction. A lot of really bad things happened to him, and I do blame myself for some of them. I had my chance with him, and if I would have taken it, he wouldn't have met the same people he had, had the life he had, done what he had done to himself because of things that had happened to him. But it is what it is now. Decisions have been made, but I will never forget things he said to me, things that chilled me to the core, but let me know that I loved him. Things that let me know I could love, because I always wondered about that.

I don't really know the real reason why I felt I had to post this. Maybe it's because I wanted to let you all know what happens when you don't say the things you're afraid to say. To let you know what fear can do to you; that it can turn into more fear and land you in an unending circle of it. Maybe I just needed to get things out. Or maybe, just maybe, somewhere down inside I'm hoping that someone who knows Friend will see this and confirm or deny if he's alright. But under no circumstances do I want him to know about the dream if he is fine, because he knows about my gift and it will ultimately do no good. So I guess in the long haul, it's better that someone he knows doesn't find this, doesn't see and run back and tell him. I guess it's better if I find a way to move on without ever knowing, and always wondering if it happened or if it will and I simply knew something ahead of time. I've never been able to stop what I've seen before, and I guess the lesson here is to learn that God is in control and nature will take its course, and there's nothing I can do. I just have to sit back and accept life as it is.

As Deep As a Parking Lot Puddle

My heart and prayers go out to everyone who was and is affected by the tornadoes. My prayers are with you and your families. I can't imagine the heartbreak and terror you've endured over the past few days, but my thoughts, as well as the thoughts of my readers and thousands, if not millions of people are with you. God bless.

My heart also goes out to Krista Dittmeyer's family. I am truly sorry for your loss, and I know this is not the way you wanted to bring her home, but she is permanently home now. Sometimes life takes things from us before we expect it, but I hope that your family finds a way to heal, and her little girl is able to move on with life remembering her mother loved her and never meant to leave her. Although this isn't the way I would have wished for you to find your daughter, in a way you are lucky that you haven't spent your lives wondering where she is and were able to have a finite answer. I'm sorry things turned out this way.

There is always someone out there who knows something, so if you do, I urge you to come forward. This family is suffering. They deserve answers, and their daughter deserves justice. She was a mother, a sister, a friend, and a daughter, whose life was taken before she had a chance to live it. If this was your friend or relative, wouldn't you hope someone had the strength to come forward for them?

And in other, less important news, I present you with the clusterfuck that is the following.

* So, I heard back from CD rack guy, just like I knew I would. This email confirmed that this guy is one of two things. One: He's a very poor troll, who is, possibly, new to the game. I, however, am not and appreciate a good troll, but not when I'm legitimately trying to sell something. Two: He is one of those people who makes you want to track down Bill Engvall just so you can have him personally tell the guy, "here's your sign," while handing him one. Since I like to take the Penelope Garcia stance toward the world, although I've been proven wrong time and time again, I choose to think it's the first one, which is why when I responded to his email, I did not get angry, point out his troubles with reading, or make a mockery of his lack of common sense; that would have just earned me an uncalled for and whatever discount and let the troll win. Instead, I did things in this order: laugh, respond, block, and delete all emails from said troll.

But I am getting ahead of myself. You all are probably wondering what the email said. Well, my fine furry friends, he emailed me at 7:30 this morning to ask me if he could pick the racks up today and if I'd (aka my mom) be in the office today, since he didn't want to pick them up where I lived, so we agreed that since my mom's work was in a closer town, he could pick them up there. Let's just start with the fact that today, again, was not a day I told him I was available, and move on to the fact that I asked him if he wanted to meet Wednesday post him asking me if I could still meet Tuesday (another day I did not tell him I was available on) and three times before that, and, after checking his email for a yes or no about Tuesday, he still didn't bother to get back to me until today, Friday. Nice move, douche. Apparently a simple yes or no was too tough and ignoring me until the day he wanted to meet which, again, was not a day I told him I could meet him, was more appropriate.

Also, he couldn't figure out he wanted to meet today before today? A lot of people are leaving or already have left for work at 7:30 and can't check their personal email at work, therefore not seeing it until they return home and the day is done. Maybe if he had let me know before today, we could have made arrangements. This guy clearly has problems and I wish him the best in life. Regardless, I answered him with a simple no, and then bid him adieu from my life via the block feature. Adults these days. This is why I don't give a meeting place address until we've confirmed a day. Bet me this guy would have just shown up anyway and then regaled me with a wah wah ranting email about how horrible I was for not showing up when I never said I could.

* Last night, my mom and I were sitting on the couch and minding our own business, while a cat meowed in the background. It was just a typical day at our house, until the cat jumped up on the couch and we turned to greet him. Me, the epitome of calm, cool, and unafraid, screamed like a girl and jumped off of the couch. In his mouth, our lovely cat was carrying a baby bunny that he had managed to get into the house. He then decided to lay it down on our other cat for some reason. My mom picked it up, and when I got up to help her lay it to rest, I found out the baby bunny was not only very alive, but also just fine; there wasn't any blood or a spot on it. I bent down to pet the quiet little creature and said, "Hello, little bunny." Just at that moment, the little bunny raised its little paw as if to say hi. I realize that was a coincidence, but let's pretend not. In honor of this, I decided to name the little bunny Konnichiwa. It's Japanese for hello. I also decided it was a girl. I didn't look first.

And, in case you're wondering, Konnichiwa was taken out and reunited with her little family. We were going to keep her until morning and then call a wildlife place to properly take care of her, because she was just standing there still as could be once we got her to safety, but then she hopped away like a little boss. Also, our kitties are not allowed out now. We want Konnichiwa and her family safe.

* Yesterday, I was starting to wonder if a retirement home hadn't come and recruited me. I thought about eating supper at four, playing canasta at five, and turning it at 5:30 or six, tops. Instead, I took a nap, ate a late dinner, skipped canasta, and spent the night watching The Game Show network. Yep, I'm now retirement home certified. If I stop writing on this blog, you know where to find me.

* Today, my mom's client called her because he couldn't find his garage door opener. My mom told him the last she had seen it, it was in the kitchen cupboard. He said he couldn't find it, and fearing that some creepy person had taken it in a walk through of the house, we made the almost half an hour trek down there. My mom got out of the car, me following, and then walked up to the kitchen, opened the drawer, and wouldn't you know it, but there it was. She showed him and he said he wasn't looking in that kitchen. There's only one kitchen in that house.

To be fair, there used to be a kitchen down in the basement, but it's not there anymore; it hasn't been for years. That's where he was checking, though, and he never bothered to check the actual kitchen. People amuse me.

* There's a website called A Bad Case of the Dates, which features bad dating stories from all over the place, as well as emails that people have received from dating sites. One email asked the reader / potential date, "If you had to pick another gender to be other than your current one, which would you pick?" I can't imagine why the person never responded to that email. I wasn't aware there were more than two genders, were you?

* I love the commercials for rosacea medication that basically say the medication could kill you as one of the side effects, while treating said rosacea, but you'd be a pretty beautiful corpse. I'm sorry, I'm not willing to die for pretty.

* We were watching a show where they were auctioning off Bernie Madoff's items. They said Bernie Madoff may not outlive his 150 year jail sentence. Gosh, I'd hope not, unless he found the Fountain of Youth, instead of created and executed a ponzi scheme.

* Original Becky's boyfriend is convinced that "a Jonas brother" is some kind of creepy person. He legitimately has no idea who they are, but he thinks they sound creepy. Obviously, I can see what she sees in him, because that's one big win.

* Do you remember me telling you all about the most evil, ugly bridesmaids dress on the planet? Hefty makes cups to match. Plastic ones, at that. The cups are prettier. The vote on that is unanimous.

* Original Becky and I were having a conversation about a movie about vagina dentata and centipedes. No one would believe that conversation unless they saw it. Unfortunately, Original Becky saw those movies. I did not.

* I love Dr. Phil. He says the darnedest things. He was filling in for Sharon Osbourne on The Talk and they were discussing who stayed up and watched the royal wedding and who didn't. One of the girls Tivo'd it and he says "If you watch it now, it's not like there's a spoiler alert. You know they went through with it."

In continuation, the girls kept talking bout the wedding. Dr Phil, who didn't get up to watch the wedding then says, "I got up at 8am and I've seen it ten times, so we're even." Yep, guys, that's all our television news and other channels have been about is showing the royal wedding over and over and over again. As happy as we all are for the lucky couple, we're not sure why we're seeing the wedding in repeat here, either.

In other, unrelated quotes, Dr. Phil also said, "Men are out of their dept in a parking lot puddle." Amen to that.

I think that about covers it for tonight.