It's a strange feeling, being mentally ill. I
know that my perceptions, way of thinking, and my emotions become altered. I know this. I know that sometimes I act like a maniac, and I am impossible to deal with. I know these things, and yet, in that moment, I am unable to stop myself. I know that part of my mental illness is seeing and hearing things that might not be there. That has been a part of my life since childhood.
I also firmly believe in spirits, ghosts, and the paranormal. How could I not? It has been happening all around for my entire life. In fact, Bio Betty's family are known to have a profound sense of intuition, an ability to forsee the future, and have been dealing with haunted houses for generations.
My mental health has not been great lately. Not at all. In some respects, I am worse than I have been in years. So how then, can I tell if a noise is really a noise, and not something in my head?
Well, one way is when the dogs react. Take today for instance. The tv was on, the birds were chirping, and the dogs were chasing each other all around my livingrooms, into my bedroom, and back again. The noise was incredible considering that I am the only two legged family member home today.
I heard singing.
Now, normally when I hear something like a ghost (or whatever you call it - insert word here), my hair stands up on the back of head and I feel like I'm going to vomit. When I am having a very low point and I hear things, this doesn't happen to me. It's just a noise.
Well, today, I heard that blasted singing.
I tried to ignore it.
It got louder.
The dogs stopped playing. Just STOPPED.
Bam.
Then, I heard in a sing-songy voice -
'Puppies...'
They both went to the bottom of the stairs, and growled, their fur standing up on their backs. (Bumble almost NEVER growls, even when he is playing with Ruby).
I gotta tell ya, it scared the jeepers outta me. (In fact, just writing about it is freaking me out again)
I can not even tell you how many times that I have put something down and when I come back, just a split second later, it is gone.
A ten pound bag of dog food went missing for two days once. Just reappeared, like that.
The heat in our house is another thing. The thermostat is constantly being moved. Some nights, I will go to bed, and set the heat at about 19. I will wake up sweating like mad, and see that 'someone' has turned the heat up to 25, or even higher.
Once, when Shawn was having a bath, I brought some clean clothes upstairs for him to change into. When I tried to turn the knob, it was locked. I called through the door to Shawn, and he told me that it was NOT locked, and to try the knob again.
He watched as it unlocked by itself.
Then, there's the money.
Before my Dad died, he promised me that he would come back, if he could, and check in on me and the girls. He gave me his word that he would let me know, one way or another, that there was life after death.
My first inkling that my Dad was around was about 5 days after he died. I was on my bed, despondent and crying.
I heard a voice telling me to stop.
Everything was fine.
It was my Dad.
Ok, so here is where you can say..'She is delusional..She needs her meds.'
Maybe.
I used to find pennies. Pennies were everywhere. I would vacuum the floors, leaving no trace of anything on the carpets. Spotless.
There would be pennies, right where I had just finished cleaning. Not just a penny here or there, but I would find them in strange places, too.
The bathtub, after I had filled it.
The freezer.
Once, I found a penny in my glass of juice.
I laughingly told my Dad that if the pennies were from him, I really did appreciate them, but since money was soo tight, could he send something else? Nickles or dimes, maybe.
Now, I find dimes.
Sunday was a very bad day for me. I won't go into it, but it was BAD. From a mental health stand point.
I spent four hours in my room, crying. Hysterical, really.
Yup. It was that bad.
I prayed to God, to the Saints (remnants of my Catholic upbringing) and asking, begging for help, for a sign.
Nothing.
Last night, as all of the girls slept in their rooms and Shawn was napping on the couch, I went into our room to make the bed. (Yes, yes, making it at bed time). I shook the covers and then smoothed them out.
Later, when I went to bed, there was one lone dime sitting in the middle of the bed.
Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part. Maybe I really am nutso, but I took it as a sign.
Guess what?
I feel better for it.
