I've begun to think myself off-kilter in even dangerous ways (health-wise), but perhaps I can find help here. I've never, ever posted in a forum before, but I found this site as a last-ditch effort to find help; a Google search led me to a fellow poster to this site who seems to be in the same boat. For my part, my father, ex-husband and boyfriend (and I'm on good terms with all) have no idea what to make of it or me, but I can't find answers. So, I should start...
This will sound made-up maybe, and I can't provide many actual details that mean anything to someone 'hearing' my story. I have heard the adage that the 'devil is in the details', but this isn't true - the 'devil' is when you can't give anyone who is capable of *helping* you, any of said details. Just know that I am telling you what I can...
Anyway, I live in a house in Edmonds, WA that I rent and have been here since summer 2009. I LOVED this house until very recently. It's sort of a dump to locals in this fairly well-to-do community of McMansions. It's a throwback from the '70s, but it's the first house I had been emotionally attracted to since 1989 and I left my childhood house (and access to it, as it sold to another family) for good. Not sure why I love it, it was just perfect for me and the kids.
After a year or so, the question came up that I should leave and move in with my boyfriend. I regretted this tremendously and tearfully said as much to a babysitter friend that had helped me on a few occasions. She ventured to ask whether I wasn't bothered by some 'energy' I 'felt' in the back areas of my house (note that it's a long ranch style place with w a long hallway running its length. There's a foyer-living area in the front, open dining room and kitchen, all joined to the rest of the house by a very long hallway - off of which all other rooms (bed, bath and beyond) branch solo. I had to admit that I indeed felt a slight tendency not to go to the back rooms of the house in general - the playroom and master bedroom across the hall - but I wasn't ever 'spooked' in the least. I remember that I laughed even, and told my friend that I felt that maybe the back wasn't as 'warm' as the front of the house, but that I hadn't been pushed off - ever. We talked a bit longer, she left.
Sadly for all of us, I was a bit loaded (alcohol only), and might've had better judgement, but when she left, I decided to go to the playroom and 'talk' to what she claimed was there in the house. I sat among my kids' toys and 'told' whatever was there that I loved the house terribly and that indeed, it was the first house I'd been attached to in a very, very long time as "home". I said that my kids were attached, too. I said that I'd take care of it beyond an average renter - as I had demonstrated, spending my own money on improvements - and that I'd try to make it mine beyond landlords so that we could all love it together. Sounds asinine now, but I was loaded and I really, really did love the house like crazy. After my dumb speech, I went to bed in the back master - no big deal.
The next night at about 7pm, my three-year old son runs out of the bathroom, halfway down the length of the hall. He's stark naked, soaked, crying - and shoots straight into his bedroom directly across the hall. I see this from the living room area and of course go to him to ask what happened. My kid tells me that a 'black man' (featureless black figure that he saw as a 'man' - not African-American) looked at him through the bathroom window (opaque, no way to see ANYTHING through it; inside or out) while he was in the bath and told him to 'Get out!'. He also told my son that he was in 'his' (the man's) house' and that he (my son) was unwelcome. Naturally, my kid complied with the suggestions (as I'd have done) and ran out. I didn't blame him in the least, calmed him out of a tree and let him watch TV late with his siblings until he nearly passed out on his own. Despite myself, my convo with the friend was on my mind when I thought of all he'd said, but I think that's also the reason why the succession of events following stands out so strongly in my mind...
Let me say that my son doesn't 'see' stuff - but then, everyone probably says that. He also doesn't have any knowledge of the ideas of 'spirit', 'presence', 'energy' or any stuff like that and we'd had no reason to talk of anything like that. This did mark the night that stuff started to happen to me, however (though he will sometimes still pull the shower curtain to obviate the window to this day, my son hasn't mentioned further problems with the 'black man').
I went to bed an hour or so after the last kid did so - in the master, like always. Anyway, sometime in the wee hours or early morning, I was awakened by the distinct feel of someone blowing hard across my hand when it hung over the side of the bed. (No... Not a draft or anything like that, so don't ask - I really have experimented with my vents!) Though that first night, I was startled to a wide awake state, I tried to blow this off, but within a few days it began happening in increasing frequency. After about a week, I began sleeping with my hands under the covers, but when it seemed that I relaxed and they slipped out, something would breathe on my hand or my forearm, specifically - and creepily, at my face-level.
I moved out of my room within two weeks to sleep with my daughter's double twin bedroom. I was at peace for about a week and figured I'd kicked the problem when - this time, wide awake for a random reason - I felt something breathe on me - moving the fine hairs on my forearm. The very next night, I got up to pee and when I closed my eyes in bed moments after settling in, I heard a weird noise (don't ask me what - a faint, grumble or low voice) then felt a blast of cold wind distinctly breathed on my face with a loud exhalation sound.
After finally confessing all of this to another person, my boyfriend and confidante felt that I might have a brain issue (which, honestly, I am getting checked out - who knows? Tumors or lesions can cause manipulation of the senses). The problem is, about three months on from the "GET OUT!" incident involving my son and many bothersome nights, I had only one real period of silence for about 2.5 weeks, which ended two nights ago. Out of the blue, I had the usual hand-breathe when my hand innocently hung over the bed. Last night, however, it escalated. I had been lying awake after a pee-and-glass-of-milk at about 3am when I felt and had my blanket tugged from near my foot, down to the floor.
So, this is it! I'm exhausted. I'm a single mom of three little kids and this is going from scaring me to pissing me the F*** off because I'm existing on 2 hour periods of sleep again. I had decided to ignore it, not talk about it, and say or do nothing - even when it actually startled me. But now I need help.
What do I do? If it's not a brain issue, medically - and it is actually 'something' in or around my house, how do I simmer it down to leave me alone? I have already told it that I am leaving and that I just want to exist there until I can vacate in a few short months. I honestly feel that if I talk to 'it' further, it'll make the situation worse. I will be moving this July, but saying any of this hasn't seemed to help. The good news is this situation has beaten the 'love' of this house right the hell out of me. I just want to survive until I can afford to leave.
Any suggestions?
I'm in over my head. I've ruined a lovely life in a good house and now I go on about three hours total sleep per night - again. I can't keep this up until the end of the lease.
Thanks for reading through this diatribe and thanks for any advice.
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