WARNING: This will be a lengthy read.
I'd like to start by saying I'm sort of new to YGS so if I'm not familiar with any etiquettes I apologize in advance.
Seeing as this is my first submission, I would like to give you a little bit of background information on myself so that I can try to keep all events in chronological order (which may take a while, since I've had so many.)
My name is Paige and I am a 20 year old college student, living with my boyfriend Nick. For as long as I can remember, the paranormal has always surrounded me. It was a very open topic between me and my father, and later on in life my mother began to accept it a little more as she began to experience things herself- though she still tries to avoid the subject as much as possible and chalks pretty much everything up to an over-active imagination.
I always felt as if I was a magnet to the paranormal and it wasn't until I was around 8-9 years old that my father gave me an explanation, to the best of his ability. I still remember almost word-for-word what he said because it resognated with me so much. My father said, "Alright Punk, there's something you should know. Our family is more sensitive to things then other people. It's like... They're drawn to us. It's in our blood. Promise me you'll stay away from Ouija boards, tarot cards, and anything of the sort? It'll open things you want no part in." I promised him I would and we went back to our normal, everyday lives.
So now that I've given you a little bit of insight into my life, I'll start with the very first experience I can remember.
At the age of three I lived in Pottstown with both my mother and father on the fifth floor of an apartment building. I don't remember the layout of the house very well, having been so young, but I distinctly remember that in order to get to my parents bedroom you had to go through mine, which was fairly large. There was a doorway in the back left corner leading to their bedroom and then a doorway right next to my bed, on the right, leading to the living room.
When we moved into this house, I acquired two imaginary friends, twin boys named Jimmy and Joey. My parents never thought anything of it. Here's where it starts to get a little weird.
Unlike my other imaginary friends who I "made up" so to speak, I can recall their images vividly, as if they had been actual people. They were identical, on the heavier side, african-american children with very dark eyes always dressed in the same clothing: tan pants and a white button down shirt. They quickly became my "best friends" and we played every single day. They were never mean to me and I never felt threatened in their presence, though I always thought it odd that when I asked them to come outside and play or go somewhere with me, they told me their mother needed them home for something.
Until one day we were all playing in my room, which contained a little playhouse that people normally put outside in their yard, but as I said before, my room was pretty big for being three, and we had no yard to put it in. Jimmy and Joey began convincing me that I could fly like a bird. The memory is a bit hazy with time but I remember one of them saying, "Come on just jump. I promise you, as soon as you jump we'll be flying in the sky together. We'll be like birds, just do it."
So being a toddler I began climbing onto the playhouse roof (which I could never have accomplished on my own) and faced our fifth story window. Luckily it was that exact moment that my mom decided to walk in the room and check on me, snatching me off that roof as I bent my legs to take a leap. She was bewildered as to how I had managed to get up there in the first place, but I just wailed that Jimmy and Joey had told me to do it and they should get in trouble too. My mom humored me and turned to what she thought was thin air and "sent them away to Juvie" telling them they weren't welcome in her home any longer. Little did she know, they never showed up again.
As I got older, we shared more of the little details on it and joked about them wanting me to play with them forever, but deep down I shiver a little thinking about it. Had my mother not walked in that day, I would have killed myself at three years old.
What do you guys make of it?
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