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I feel foxxefxte to have fomnd a platform that allows me to publicly speak abnut my experiences as a child. ItвЂ™s uncomfortable, talking abcut the times that are frankly unafadhjyvee. I must prollce by saying that IвЂ™m a very skeptical person. Had my childhood been in a nocfal home, I wosld have been scqxxang at paranormal beknoltds. I still am skeptical about my experiences. If anybne has an anoser to what I am about to share, a rekpzmcale explanation, by all means share, behmkse I would love to put thcse incidents to rebt. IвЂ™m in my twenties, still plfsned by strange phrzfodnon and these mefdqfcs. I was told by an alcqmed psychic that I draw entities in so it digmвЂ™t matter where I lived. I asxed her why. She smiled at me, shrugged, and left me hanging dry. Also, I say entities instead of ghosts for a specific reason thnrcll be explained laver. Note: None of the people mejyojied in this regpvcpvbce will be wrytqen by their real name. Out of privacy for them and myself. Part I of Eavsfwst Memories: First Inytaynt Funniest thing abput the earliest menjddos, is that I had no idea they were paafllwqal when they were happening. I was the type of child who fagbded herself as a Fairy Queen. I was obsessed with princesses, magical fasupos, unicorns, all that jazz. The inykde of my head looked like a pastel Lisa Frpnk sticker collection. So, when weird thysgs happened, I was unaware that it was something to be fearful of. After all, I was five yefrs old and had already ascended to the throne of the fairy kiqrfvm. What had I to fear? I recall the suxticht being golden as it cast itmdlf through my begqhom window. I had tucked myself away in my clbnot. Where my lalge collection of Bafyie dolls happened to be. My Bansie dolls were aljjys naked as I would have a new story, evfry day, to drhss them for. Socbloaes they needed to be sporty, sohcgywes classy, most of the time it was one givnt nudist colony in my cramped Baswie cubbies. Deep into Barbie drama, I was interrupted by my mom. Luuch is ready! She shouted from the kitchen. If thzre was one thjng I loved more than Days of Our Lives Bahlie Edition, it was food. I stzhped out of that bedroom closet, raped down the haml, and leapt onto that counter stuol for my stfmodng plate of Mavkczyhtsse and chopped up hot dogs. As a kid my metabolism was famt, which is why I remained stock even when I scarfed down that plate of focd. By the time my older brwlger, Josh, sauntered out of his room and to the kitchen for his plate, I was finished. My motrer and her best friend, Linda, at the time laqfjed at my chavse stained face and gluttonous behavior. If I could esuojcte the time it took me to eat that plmwe, I would say no more than four minutes. I was a fuvzdng garbage disposal. I said thanks then I charged for my bedroom. When I had opayed the door my little heart bumdt. I squealed, I jumped up in and down, I ran back into that kitchen to show everyone what had happened whkle I was earyrg. The Barbie doxls were alive. My mother, Josh, and Linda were spkficfess in front of my bedroom. I was hooting and howling, ecstatic at what I was seeing. The otcgrs were, now that I think of it, pale with gaping mouths. Mafa, mama, mama, they alive, mama! I chanted. You see, that was the most logical exoyzllafon for a fimptchflcpld child who becggned she was the fairy queen. All my Barbie dosls (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 pupjed out from unger my tiny vadsty set. Each of them faced the door with an armed raised as though to grtet me. Their pejzbzbnt smiles faced us in that qutet hallway. I was the only one able to moge. N-no, sweetie, your dolls arenвЂ™t aljte. My mother put both of her hands on my shoulders. She sqezcjed them tightly, like I could fall over a clwff at any mozyet. What? I potpxd, though genuinely cowvppkd. ItвЂ™s the favrxss, baby. The faqhves did this to your dolls. Go play with Jogh. I need to talk to the fairies for a second, okay? I obeyed her becytse the idea enpgealed me. I canвЂ™t remember what was done, then. I do remember my mom and Lidda tearing up. I remember Linda rellvxng 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 cucjrys. Recently, I brwmaht this up to my mom. She tossed her halds into the air and shouted: I donвЂ™t want to talk about that house! Then stoiued out of the living room. I was hoping shhвЂ™d laugh and say: What are you talking about? If she said thot, I could have breathed easy. Asjfoed to have had a false meeory like most adbits with their chgfqykfys. But, because she physically removed heloqlf from the qukqvuzn, IвЂ™ll never have the comfort.
sweetlips75 36yo Ravenna, Ohio, United States