After some of the most recent events, my Mum has finally started to take me seriously.
I asked her to read my blog so she could know where I was coming from and start to see things from my perspective. In fact, she reacted much more intensely than I expected, as I know she is a skeptic (or was anyway).
She began to tell me stories from my childhood that I did not even remember (which is odd, as I have memories all the way back to being as young as 2 years old)
Apparently, after we moved to Point Roberts, from San Jose California when I was just about 2, she did confirm my memories of the Native Officials coming to properly remove the remains that were dug up upon construction of the foundation our house was built on. She told me that at that time, the land was also blessed, but that “odd” things started to happen from the time the house was finished to the day we left when I was 17 years old.
She recounted a day that I do actually remember. A day when My Mum, Nana, and myself went to Stanley Park in Vancouver for the day. I was still very young, only 4 at the time and upon seeing a nice Native man sitting on a blanket with oil paintings on display to show his talents.
He asked if we wanted a portrait painted, and my Mum had him paint one of me.
Apparently, however, this nice Native man was anything but. When my Mum had the house looked at and attempted to bless it again after disturbances started to occur more frequently, they blamed not the house or the land, but an object in the house. A medium sensed it was a photo, drawing or painting of some kind. This caused the “blessing team” to examine all such types of art displayed in the house.
Upon seeing the oil painting of myself, I was told there was no doubt in their mind that this was the culprit. When asked she remove it, she declined to say “but that’s a painting of my daughter! I’m not destroying it” It was a mistake she grew, and I grew to regret.
It took about another year of odd occurrences, and unexplained happenings before she finally gave in and got rid of the painting.
Apparently, it did help things calm down in the house, but I will never forget that recent phone conversation with my Mum, and her haunting words ” the painting was of you Xesia”
I can’t help but wonder if this is somehow connected to my lifetime of intrigue, experiences, with the paranormal. I wonder if I’ve always had something attached to me, the thought has definitely crossed my mind on several occasions.
Yes, through research, interest, and investigations I know I bring some of this upon myself.. but I wonder if this is why it’s not just at locations or a few days after. This is something that has followed me from several houses and apartments, maybe just maybe it’s me that is Haunted.