lol, ghosties.
Yeah, this is one of those random entries where the more scientific of my friends are going to be like..."Yeah, Mary's a psychopath." xDD But August is upon me, and somehow I am compelled to be more sharing this month than usual, even if some of the things I post seem very odd to you.
I have reason to believe, oddly enough, that something was...off...in the house I used to live in in Virginia. Strange things were always happening that could not be explained, and I often felt such a dark energy in the house that I was terrified of being by myself. I literally could not fathom being in that house alone, even in broad daylight.
At first, I thought that that fear was me being immature and incapable of accepting adulthood, or whatever other degrading reasons I could think of. It was hard to remain cheerful for very long in that house, no matter what the general atmosphere of its inhabitants was. There was always...a darkness, one that made the air seem stagnant and gloomy even when the windows were all allowing bright sunlight. Plants and animals never survived long, no matter what we did. I always hated going home to that place, for not only was it my unintentional prison for no long, but it harboured something that I could easily feel and did not like.
Doors would slam in the house even when all three of its inhabitants were together and knew that nobody else was around; so hard that the walls would shake. A free-standing mirror on my vanity often quivered and shook as though a small tremor was happening underground. My guitar would play a few notes at a time in broad daylight and frighten the cats. The tv volume or channel would change quite randomly. The VCR would stop in the middle of a movie and rewind. The overly sweet smell of honeysuckle or jasmine would suddenly flood the house in the dead of winter, when we had nothing in the house that would emit those scents. And there was always the awful sense of being watched.
Every rational explanation was eventually ruled out as these strange things kept happening, and I continued diving into the pits of despair in such a dark atmosphere.
But then we moved into the house next door, my late grandmother's abode, in August of last year. The feeling of darkness was still there, and again I strongly disliked the thought of being in the house alone. But other than that, all the strange things and even the feeling of being watched were automatically gone. I loved the "new" house and its feeling of great pleasantness and light. I loved coming home to it and so did Mom. While my depression and anxiety were too deeply set in, I did feel a vast improvement even upon moving day.
Debbie and her family moved into the other house shortly thereafter, and it was less than a week before my niece Becky started reporting much of the same things that my parents and I had encountered through the years. Mom and I actually avoided going over there for visits as much as possible, because we realized the strange darkness of the air was still present. It felt foreboding, almost sinister, to walk into that house. My skin would prickle all over and I'd feel that I was somehow, in some unexplainable way, in danger. It was a palpable energy.
Now that I'm in this spacious basement apartment, I feel nothing at all sinister. Even when I am alone here, I'm perfectly fine and content. The atmosphere feels bright and welcoming, and I am so much more in control of what's happening with my mind even though I'm quickly weaning off Paxil.
Very, very weird. I don't know what compelled me to recall all that, as I don't think I ever have before to ANYONE for fear of being labeled as a nutcase, but yeah.
I have reason to believe, oddly enough, that something was...off...in the house I used to live in in Virginia. Strange things were always happening that could not be explained, and I often felt such a dark energy in the house that I was terrified of being by myself. I literally could not fathom being in that house alone, even in broad daylight.
At first, I thought that that fear was me being immature and incapable of accepting adulthood, or whatever other degrading reasons I could think of. It was hard to remain cheerful for very long in that house, no matter what the general atmosphere of its inhabitants was. There was always...a darkness, one that made the air seem stagnant and gloomy even when the windows were all allowing bright sunlight. Plants and animals never survived long, no matter what we did. I always hated going home to that place, for not only was it my unintentional prison for no long, but it harboured something that I could easily feel and did not like.
Doors would slam in the house even when all three of its inhabitants were together and knew that nobody else was around; so hard that the walls would shake. A free-standing mirror on my vanity often quivered and shook as though a small tremor was happening underground. My guitar would play a few notes at a time in broad daylight and frighten the cats. The tv volume or channel would change quite randomly. The VCR would stop in the middle of a movie and rewind. The overly sweet smell of honeysuckle or jasmine would suddenly flood the house in the dead of winter, when we had nothing in the house that would emit those scents. And there was always the awful sense of being watched.
Every rational explanation was eventually ruled out as these strange things kept happening, and I continued diving into the pits of despair in such a dark atmosphere.
But then we moved into the house next door, my late grandmother's abode, in August of last year. The feeling of darkness was still there, and again I strongly disliked the thought of being in the house alone. But other than that, all the strange things and even the feeling of being watched were automatically gone. I loved the "new" house and its feeling of great pleasantness and light. I loved coming home to it and so did Mom. While my depression and anxiety were too deeply set in, I did feel a vast improvement even upon moving day.
Debbie and her family moved into the other house shortly thereafter, and it was less than a week before my niece Becky started reporting much of the same things that my parents and I had encountered through the years. Mom and I actually avoided going over there for visits as much as possible, because we realized the strange darkness of the air was still present. It felt foreboding, almost sinister, to walk into that house. My skin would prickle all over and I'd feel that I was somehow, in some unexplainable way, in danger. It was a palpable energy.
Now that I'm in this spacious basement apartment, I feel nothing at all sinister. Even when I am alone here, I'm perfectly fine and content. The atmosphere feels bright and welcoming, and I am so much more in control of what's happening with my mind even though I'm quickly weaning off Paxil.
Very, very weird. I don't know what compelled me to recall all that, as I don't think I ever have before to ANYONE for fear of being labeled as a nutcase, but yeah.