It’s late where I am, and dark earlier with the slow turning of the season into late summer and early fall. Thought I’d tell you a story.
My supernatural experiences in this life are few and far between – with most being abstract experiences that I could talk myself out of believing in later, when my skeptic-mind took over and the reality of it turned into fading memory. But here is one story that stands out, as my only haunting.
I dated a guy once, for about a year. We ended up living together, not because we wanted to necessarily, but due to convenience; I needed a place to stay, he had the room etc. Nevertheless, we set up playing house, sharing a bed and all other personal space.
Now, this guy, was special. He was magical. He had a way with energy… a knowing; an ability to project his energy onto others, and to evoke energy from others. He was electric.
He was a popular DJ in our town and when he got up on the decks, you could be half away across the next parking lot over and you knew he just got on the decks.
His energy would radiate out in the music in waves. I know – sounds crazy right? But, it was true. It was uncanny. And, when he was up there on stage he looked like a god, towering above the crowd; like he was 12 feet tall and some kind of Adonis. Whereas in real life he was a chain-smoking, high anxiety guy with a kind of grey aura and little semblance of himself onstage. Except, he had these crazy bright blue eyes, that could pin you to the wall from across the room. It was like his soul was forced through these pinholes, with the light constantly threatening to overflow.
He was impish, and innocent, like those people you meet who you could swear have never been here before. There is a sense of wonder there, and of naiveté and yet, the uncomplicated wisdom that some children have, before they are taught not to. He was fiery – with a quick temper that burned out equally as quickly. He forgave deeply and forever.
But – he drove me crazy. He talked all the time – constantly. He wanted my opinion and advice on anything and everything, looking to me for all of the answers in his life. He never left me alone. When he wasn’t talking, he was on me physically. His energy, this way he had about him, was extremely draining for me. I felt I never had a moment’s peace, in this world or the etherial, ’cause he showed up in my dreams too.
Eventually we fought all the time, and I ended up treating him really badly. He would run me a bath at night and I would yell that it wasn’t hot enough. He would cook me dinner and I would complain about the food being too spicy. I threw away his favourite old rock t-shirts because they all had holes in them and ‘why are you hanging on to these crappy old things?’ God I was awful. And thinking back now, I never really in my life have been that nasty to anyone else. I don’t know what it was about us that brought that out in me – though I have thought about it a lot over the years – because I’m not a bitch (I swear), and it’s confounding. Possibly it could be that, when there is such a power differential in a relationship, people fall into these rolls that are, weirdly enough, exactly what the other person is looking for. That’s not meant to take away my responsibility for being nasty, I just mean that he gave me all of his power, practically force-fed me with it, and I had a hard time respecting him day-to-day. My friends noticed it too, because if I was in the room, it was like the whole rest of the world ceased to exist for him. He would look at only me and speak to only me. It drove people crazy. Thing was, I never asked to be put up on the pedestal either. Like, I am not one of those people you know? I am not into ‘momming’ anyone and have no resemblance to a hen in the hen-house, clucking about, making sure everyone’s ‘I’s are dotted and ‘t’s are crossed. I am not that warm frankly – and have no inner need to be needed in that way. Some women do – I’m sure we’ve all met her. And I’m not knocking you, mom. All people have their places in the world. Not me though – I am an introvert by nature and orientation. When I’m out and with people I am a social butterfly, but they drain me. I absolutely need a lot of alone time to recharge my batteries. Perhaps I just never had enough energy for him. The more drained I got, the less energy I had to cope with the drain, the worse my behaviour was as a result.
Regardless, after a while in that house, I started to feel funny… I started to feel watched. Mostly when I was alone in the house. The more I began to notice the feeling, the stronger it got. It became so strong in fact, that in walking through the kitchen to the back door, the hair on the back of my neck would stand up and I’d get goose-bumps and waves of anxiety running through my body. Eventually I realized I wasn’t only being watched but glared at ferociously. Whatever was happening was really pissed off at me. It got worse and worse, to the point where eventually there were places in the house I couldn’t go anymore; upstairs to the studio, the kitchen, the basement… and then, eventually the whole house was off-limits to me. I could only be inside the house if other people were home (there were a few roommates). Otherwise I would go into full-on panic and anxiety attacks and end up sitting on the back porch until someone got home. Sometime for hours. No shit.
It occurred to me that maybe it was some kind of ghost, and not that I was just losing my mind. So I left little offerings and I tried to speak to it and apologize for whatever I had done. I actually felt this making it even more pissed off. In my memory I see myself in this stark white room with elongated cupboard doors surrounding me – white floor, white light – I’m begging to be left alone and I see this dark black glare hovering right above me. Big eyes and big, big mad.
Eventually we broke up of course, and I moved out thankfully. He and I did talk about the weird feeling I had at that house, but he had never felt anything, and neither had anyone else for that matter. I ended up chalking it up to my own propensity for anxiety, too much partying, not enough sleep and my usually rich and overactive imagination.
Skip to years and years later: me and that guy are still friends and actually were best friends for many years after that, if you can believe it. We worked through all of that nasty stuff and came out the other side as much better friends than we ever were lovers. For all of his intensity, he has a soft and royal heart of gold – something I can appreciate as a friend, but as a lover, weeell, I always needed someone who was as bull-headed as me ya know? Someone I could go toe to toe with – who could keep me in line.
So ok – have to fill in some back story here. There are few layers to the story. This guy had a girlfriend years and years ago, way before me. And it was similar to us, but reversed. This woman was absolutely head over heals for him – I mean the sun rose and set on his shiny brow. He loved her, but she was so intense that he found it draining (sound familiar?). She was also rather odd. For one thing, she had that sensory disorder, synesthesia. If I remember correctly, among other things, she could hear colours as music in the air.
There was other stuff too. The day he met her he was at an out-door festival kind of place when he came upon her on the street making a chalk drawing. She looked at him and said she’d known he was coming. Eventually that week when they got to hanging out, she gave him a painting she had done months before, of him! I’ve seen it myself – a realistic painting of him with angel wings, siting up above a brick wall. Funny thing: he’s rubbing his forehead in the painting, in a very characteristic, only-him kind of way. He’s full of anxious and worrisome kind of energy, as I said, and he used to rub his forehead in this way whenever he was trying to figure some things out. Rub forehead, light cigarette, moan-and-groan, smoke more, talk talk talk, run around in circles, talk more, gesticulate wildly, light another cigarette, rub forehead etc. Similar to a Woody Allen character, but with more angst. It’s just very him – and so here is was in the painting, rubbing his forehead. When he first showed me it I laughed out loud with surprise. Also he’s wearing a ring in the painting that actually does belong to him in real life. It’s a family ring – an heirloom.
They went out for while and were in love, but eventually he couldn’t handle her oddities, as I said. He talked about her running into the cold fall nights to listen to the whisper of leaves for hours and hours spinning around and around in circles, laughing and cavorting – all by herself. She would commune, it seemed, with nature on such a deep level, that she appeared to not be living in this reality much of the time. Somewhere else deep in her mind, or deep inside the mystery. At any rate, after friends complaining about how weird she was, he broke up with her one night. He went to bed and woke up in the morning full of regrets, began searching for her to take it all back, only to find she had thrown herself off a bridge the night before. She fell to her death.
Years later, he had moved cities, moved away from all of those friends and that life and grief and moved on. One night he was setting up a local church for a rave, which among other things, entailed him being up on a ladder, hanging a disco ball, when the rung he was standing on… well, broke. He fell three stories onto his back. Those that were there to witness said he had blood coming out of his ears and eyes and nose. They thought he was dead.
He survived, but was paralyzed for six months and had to re-learn how to walk, talk, feed himself, use the loo, everything. This is the man I met. He had degenerative disk disease, nerve damage to his spine and legs, constant pain that he took daily meds for, frequent, sometimes crippling attacks on his legs from shattered nerve endings. Some mornings he couldn’t put his feet on the floor because it felt like electric shocks running up his body. I realized this after knowing him for a while, the pain I think explains a lot of his anxious nature, and the threat of an eventual demise in a wheelchair.
Yes, he had all of that stuff going on due to injury – but he also told me, when he told me this whole story, that he felt like he deserved it. All of it. He said he felt that she, his ex, or her ghost, had never left him; that she was angry and vengeful, but still loved him dearly. He said that he’d had inklings of her, sitting up on his left shoulder – that he could almost feel the weight of her there. He said that she made the ladder break, to make him fall the same way she did, to experience what she did. And he, fell graciously, into the fate she had laid for him. And out of a sense of guilt, and love, and shame and responsibility, he accepted that, and he didn’t want to let her go either.
Now this may be the case, we thought, but it was in the spirit of telling a good ghost story, that we had these conversations. Whether or not he actually believed in it, beyond his own feelings of guilt and grief, was another story. When super-natural things happen, I think we can tend to think that we are just imagining it, or super-imposing our own experiences and thoughts on the happening, as there is generally no way to prove its authenticity.
Jump to years later – he had moved to a smaller community outside of the city. A kind of meeting place for hippies and party people and fringe types, off in the woods. One day he met a ‘psychic’ at the local coffee shop. And of course, when meeting a psychic, one is always a little skeptical, especially amongst our people, where everyone wants to be psychically inclined. So he was like, oooookaay psychic-lady nice to meet you. She said, ‘No, listen, I’ve told you this because you have a spirit living with you and she’s not doing you any good.’
She told him that the spirit was a woman and she lived on his left shoulder. ‘Ok now you have my attention’, he was thinking. Then she told him that she was ‘M’, (his ex’s name) and she told his that she was wearing a white t-shirt with a certain design or saying on it, which was the shirt that ‘M’ had been wearing the night she died. At this point he fell over in shock. She went on to tell him that ‘M’ was feeding off of him, which was the reason for all of his bad health problems, his grey colour and aura, his lack of energy, his anxiety and restlessness. She was using his life-force to empower her to stay on this plane with him, and it was making him ill. She said that ‘M’ felt that he still needed her, and that she wanted to protect him and keep him safe. The psychic told him this was very bad, that eventually he would just get sicker and sicker and that it could kill him. And that it wasn’t good for her either because she hadn’t moved to the next place. He needed to find a way to tell her that it was ok for her to move on. He needed to let her go.
This was all very emotional for him – he thanked the woman and they were about to part when she turned around and said, ‘Oh yes, ‘M’ wants to say sorry to your other girlfriend, who is now your friend. She was menacing and tormenting her at the house you lived in together, because she didn’t like the way she was treating you. She sees now that you are friends [and approves I guess], and wants to tell her sorry’.
So – I wasn’t out of my mind after-all. I actually had a ghost. A rather pissed off ghost, but nonetheless.
I’m not sure if my friend ever really has let her go. We haven’t talked about it. I can only guess he has, because he is happier, and healthier now that I’ve ever known him to be in the past. He’s still in pain yes, but he’s lost the kind of grey pallor that he used to have. However, if he has done anything to move on, it’s been a personal endeavour that he’s kept to himself.
ciao for now
Skye on her Isle