The Supernatural World and Me

Not Fitting In Have you felt out of place everywhere you went? How could I feel this way? I always felt uncomfortable. Why was I the only one who could see ghosts? I speak to Spirits. I could never find a logical explanation for why I was different. It is not that I am antisocial. I like people. I want to talk to them, but some things were better left unsaid. To be ignored is one thing but not to be heard is quite another. I would keep these visions and thoughts to myself. I thought it had something to do with how I interacted with my parents. My parents had a saying, "Children are to be seen and not heard." You would think that type of thinking would wear off after you have reached adulthood. When I go out to socialize, I still sit in a corner and observe everything. I still feel like an outsider and out of place. I get these visions or thoughts about the people there. I could not understand why people did not understand me. Was it that obvious I was different from them? I pick up everyone’s vibrations. Soon after reaching social gatherings, I would come down with a migraine. Could people tell I could see and hear their inner thoughts? I was always trying to communicate with them from an intellectual perspective. People were not ready to listen to what I could see and hear. I guess they thought I was odd. My parents, teachers and other adults I came in contact with thought, I was wise beyond my years. Some adults said I was an old soul. At the time, I did not know what an old soul was. I could not escape from the shadows of Spirits. I could not overcome this overwhelming feeling. When I was in school and high school, I did not fit in. We were always moving around, so new schools were always there to contend with. We moved to a larger city when I was in grade eight. It was the worst time of my life, school-wise. Boy, I did not fit in. I was new to a small secluded populated part of the city. The school was small, and only the residents of this area attended the school. The girls at the school did not like me living on their turf for whatever their reasons were. The girls of this school were MAJOR BULLIES. I could not go to school or walk down the street of this community without being attacked. My mother called the Police, and they said they could not do anything unless they killed me. I did not understand what the girls' problems were with me. I stayed to myself. I did not talk to them. They called me a coward because I would not fight back. They still kept up with these relentless attacks, day after day. I never engaged them in any way. They started rumours that everyone believed. It was pretty bad when the girls were physically fighting with each other. I was the one blamed for attacking them. A few times, the rumours reached my parents that I was the cause of the fight. My parents took the side of the other girls. My parents told me not to open my big mouth and not to put my hands on the other girls. I did not have to do anything, yet I was guilty and defeated without cause. I learned from this experience I had no one I could count on, not even my parents. The parents of some of the girls talked to my parents. The parents said that the girls accused me of physical abuse, and the girls were going home with bruises. I never hit anyone. Where did the girls get the bruises? About ten years later, I was cashing out the items I wanted to purchase, and the cashier asked me if I knew who she was. I looked at her and said yes. I knew who she was. The woman apologized for the abuse she inflicted on me. I was surprised and said thank you, and I left the store. About twenty years later, I went to a Christmas Dinner with my mother. The dinner was held at the retirement home where my mother lived. We were sitting in the dining room waiting for dinner, and my mother told me that a woman who works at the Retirement Home was from the old neighbourhood. Frankly, I told my mother I could care less. While my mother was praising this woman, I was ready to get up and leave. Then, dinner arrived at our table, and mother introduced us. Not to be rude, I looked at the woman and said hello. As the woman went on serving the other tables, she would pass our table and say sorry. I said to this woman, “Why are you apologizing?” I noticed she was in tears and crying a lot. She was having a hard time holding it together. Every time she passed our table, the woman said sorry. I did not want to ask the woman again why she was sorry. She knew why she felt guilty, and I knew why also. I did not want to relive those moments of torment again. My mother continued to praise her, and I returned to the moments of betrayal. The betrayal I felt when I was thirteen. I have had dreams, astral visits and spirits of women who came to apologize, and I did not know why or who they were. I did not want to talk to them. Could they have been the girls from so long ago? I felt I was out of place I did not belong here. At home, I grew up fast. I raised my younger siblings when my parents were not home. There was never a dull moment. The siblings always wanted something, and the house needed to be cleaned.