I wish I had learned what it was like to be touched by a man. I wish I knew that not all men are kind and not all touches are the gentle caress that novels romanticize. I wish I knew how to decipher the signs and the clues that were seemingly spoken in a different language. I wish I knew that it is not unusual for a man to hurt a woman. For a man to disrespect her and take advantage of her. I wish someone had told me that he wasn't the man I thought he was. I wish someone would tell me it wasn't my fault. Maybe I could have known that no one would believe me, and no one would support me. Maybe I would understand that what happened to me was traumatic, as I am told I have PTSD. The diagnosis doesn't surprise me, but I can't help but wonder what would have happened if someone had told me my worth and my rights as a woman. I wonder what would have happened if I had screamed rather than lying frozen in fear, surrounded by my sleeping friends. Maybe someone will tell girls someday that a man will come along and promise them the world but warn them that they can also take it all away.

I am the person who never sleeps. I am the person who never dreams. Every night is filled with horror, and every day is filled with repitition. I am someone who has lived before--and died--more than once. I remember the place before this place, and the place after. I am the person who might be crazy or the one who has the answers. I am the person who knows so much they know nothing. I am the one who questions my sanity, my identity, and my spirituality, all while having never-ending faith that what I know is true. I am an enigma. Or am I a lunatic?

He looked pretty cute, but I was only here for a week. The beach only yards away, but he still caught my attention. Smiling, chatting, having a good time. His tan skin on full display as he grilled steaks for his friends. A guy like that seemed dependable. He didn't go to the beach much. He preferred spending time with his friends and family. Having returned home, really, all I can remember is his hat.

The man who makes promises he cannot keep,

The man who stumbles while I sleep,

His eyes narrow and they pierce,

And I fight and try to be fierce.

The man who knows how to smile,

The one who likes to sit and talk for a while,

Cooks me breakfast and tells some jokes,

Runs to the store to buy me cokes.

The man who has two faces,

One that smiles and one that spaces,

Addiction is his true lover,

Go ahead, dad, have another.

Time to celebrate the man who gave me life,

Only to make me crave the knife,

I wish for a different dad,

Maybe then I wouldn't be so sad.

I always knew that funny feeling I would get at night meant something. That feeling of something or someone looming over me as I waded through the disturbing nightmares of sleep. Bottles of shampoo would fall from their solid perches, the television would seemingly control itself, and random bangs and thumps on the walls would keep me up for hours. My brother even had to move out of his room because of the occurrences--and, of course, the feeling.

The feeling was so strong and the nightmares were frightening, but I still thought it was simply my overactive mind. After seeing an old woman standing in my doorway during the dark morning hours, I could no longer fool myself. I was a believer. I became obsessed--who was this woman, and why has she been watching me for all these years?

I visited numerous websites and found many dead ends, but I eventually found the previous owners of my 1997 home. I spent hours entertaining my theories about the spirit world and the possible spirits in my house. I researched every person who ever lived in my home, and that’s when I found the obituary.

Josephine Stone has passed away at her residence in 2003. She was 69 years old. She is survived by her husband and children.

The family moved out of the house the same year, unable to live in the home where they lost a loved one. Little did they know, she stayed. Why? I can only assume to watch over her family, but they left her, and my family had become another family to watch over. Since I began opening my mind to the possibility of the spirit realm, I have been more sensitive to spirits and feelings of evil. I have noticed that when I feel these evil entities, I also feel Josephine, and I feel safer. Perhaps she is protecting me.

The moment I truly knew Josephine is still the sweet woman she once had been was when I smelled a perfume that reminded me of my grandmother in my living room. I was filled with a sense of dread which was followed by the comfort of the smell, which made me uneasy. I asked my mom to check on my grandmother to make sure she was alright and not coming to visit after passing from the mortal realm. She was fine, which made me confused.

Two days later my grandfather died from complications after a routine surgery.