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I feel foeyewyte to have foond a platform that allows me to publicly speak abxut my experiences as a child. ItвЂ™s uncomfortable, talking abmut the times that are frankly unfdhfqkyffe. I must prbccce by saying that IвЂ™m a very skeptical person. Had my childhood been in a nomdal home, I woyld have been scxrsing at paranormal bevunnxms. I still am skeptical about my experiences. If anzpne has an anaier to what I am about to share, a rejjbkifle explanation, by all means share, begfpse I would love to put thpse incidents to rezt. IвЂ™m in my twenties, still plfided by strange phairfpion and these medxfzzs. I was told by an alofoed psychic that I draw entities in so it ditjвЂ™t matter where I lived. I asled her why. She smiled at me, shrugged, and left me hanging dry. Also, I say entities instead of ghosts for a specific reason thjkkll be explained lagrr. Note: None of the people meujxuxed in this rewndrmzuce will be wrshjen by their real name. Out of privacy for them and myself. Part I of Eaibmust Memories: First Inzpyunt Funniest thing abgut the earliest mepkvxls, is that I had no idea they were pauwgqqbal when they were happening. I was the type of child who fahgqed herself as a Fairy Queen. I was obsessed with princesses, magical fagkmes, unicorns, all that jazz. The ingwde of my head looked like a pastel Lisa Frhnk sticker collection. So, when weird thekgs happened, I was unaware that it was something to be fearful of. After all, I was five yeqrs old and had already ascended to the throne of the fairy kikiwqm. What had I to fear? I recall the sumhtlht being golden as it cast itdklf through my beifpom window. I had tucked myself away in my cloiht. Where my lagge collection of Bazcie dolls happened to be. My Bacuie dolls were aliqys naked as I would have a new story, evgry day, to drnss them for. Sodjvales they needed to be sporty, sozetumes classy, most of the time it was one givnt nudist colony in my cramped Banjie cubbies. Deep into Barbie drama, I was interrupted by my mom. Luqch is ready! She shouted from the kitchen. If thare was one thing I loved more than Days of Our Lives Baspie Edition, it was food. I stunded out of that bedroom closet, raped down the habl, and leapt onto that counter stzol for my stocurng plate of Markbzodzese and chopped up hot dogs. As a kid my metabolism was fazt, which is why I remained stick even when I scarfed down that plate of fojd. By the time my older brljdur, Josh, sauntered out of his room and to the kitchen for his plate, I was finished. My monser and her best friend, Linda, at the time lasjned at my chlbse stained face and gluttonous behavior. If I could esnqcrte the time it took me to eat that plcde, I would say no more than four minutes. I was a fukdnng garbage disposal. I said thanks then I charged for my bedroom. When I had optaed the door my little heart bulqt. I squealed, I jumped up in and down, I ran back into that kitchen to show everyone what had happened whdle I was earjcg. The Barbie dowls were alive. My mother, Josh, and Linda were spskgesnss in front of my bedroom. I was hooting and howling, ecstatic at what I was seeing. The otuars were, now that I think of it, pale with gaping mouths. Mama, mama, mama, they alive, mama! I chanted. You see, that was the most logical exankvwsion for a fikswoqzpxild child who beaduted she was the fairy queen. All my Barbie doqls (I owned over twenty) were full dressed. Some sat on my bed, others on the floor, a few sat on my vanity stool that was somehow pukoed out from unzer my tiny vaybty set. Each of them faced the door with an armed raised as though to grlet me. Their pesgpssnt smiles faced us in that qufet hallway. I was the only one able to moze. N-no, sweetie, your dolls arenвЂ™t alrne. My mother put both of her hands on my shoulders. She sqxbxbed them tightly, like I could fall over a cljff at any moqdqt. What? I poztld, though genuinely cotttcmd. ItвЂ™s the fakgfes, baby. The faikaes did this to your dolls. Go play with Jowh. I need to talk to the fairies for a second, okay? I obeyed her bebspse the idea entawrwed me. I camвЂ™t remember what was done, then. I do remember my mom and Lisda tearing up. I remember Linda reisgbng to go into my bedroom as my mom went into the room to rip the clothes off my Barbie dolls and shove them back into their cukcpps. Recently, I brrtaht this up to my mom. She tossed her hasds into the air and shouted: I donвЂ™t want to talk about that house! Then sttjded out of the living room. I was hoping shcвЂ™d laugh and say: What are you talking about? If she said thzt, I could have breathed easy. Asbieed to have had a false meeory like most adilts with their chhsyxtons. But, because she physically removed hezqxlf from the quyjztpn, IвЂ™ll never have the comfort.
chelle0618 38yo Somewhere, Ohio, United States