Life has a funny way of throwing challenges at us when we least expect it. For years, I’ve struggled with the weight of my family’s issues, trying to navigate their constant drama while also dealing with the bizarre occurrences that seem to follow me. The world around me doesn’t always make sense. And sometimes, it feels as if something bigger is going on—something no one else is acknowledging but me.
When my mum and I left my grandparents' house, I thought it was the beginning of a new chapter. The atmosphere there had become unbearable, and the tension, coupled with the ongoing issues, pushed us to seek refuge with our partners in the UK. But life has a way of shifting things unexpectedly. My mum and my partner are both gone now, and the problems they left behind haven’t gone anywhere. In fact, they’ve only intensified.
I live in a council flat with my new partner, yet my family somehow still manages to create chaos. There are people who believe I own the flat, despite the fact that I don’t. They’ve gone so far as to try to make me homeless. It’s as if the drama is never-ending. Behind my back, my family talks down to me, spreading lies and creating unnecessary conflict. I’m constantly caught in their webs, made to feel like I’m not worthy, not good enough. But I think there’s more to it—more than just the typical family dysfunction.
My family is obsessed with money. They thrive on feeling superior, constantly seeking ways to elevate themselves over others. And that includes me. From the moment I was born—halfway through my mum’s divorce and conceived with someone else—I've been seen as the outsider. The one who doesn’t belong, the one who wasn’t meant to be. It’s almost as if my mere existence unsettles them, and that’s where the cruelty begins.
But as much as they hurt me, it’s made me understand people, emotions, and life in a way that many never do. It’s pushed me to look beyond the surface, to question the motives behind people’s actions, and to sense that there’s something more going on in the world than most realize.
I remember being around 7 or 8 when I had a terrifying episode of sleep paralysis. It was a regular thing for me back then, but one night, something different happened. As I lay there, unable to move or scream, I could clearly see the shadow of an adult figure sitting on the edge of my bed. I know many people in the sleep paralysis community chalk this up to the brain’s defensive mechanisms during a panic state, but this felt different. There was something undeniably real about that presence.
Then came the dream. I fell asleep, only to find myself in the exact same situation again—but this time, I could move. I could scream. I could fight back. I began throwing everything around the room, kicking and screaming in desperation. And in that moment, the shadow figure stood up, opened the door, and left.
When I woke up the next morning, my room was a mess. The covers were on the floor, and the door to my room—something I always kept shut—was wide open. That dream has haunted me for years. It felt so real, and even now, more than 25 years later, I remember it as if it happened yesterday. There’s something about that moment that sticks with me, as if it was a sign or a warning.
But that’s not where the strange occurrences end. More recently, something else happened that made me question reality itself. I received a phone call—one that I can’t quite explain. The woman on the other end of the line had my first and last name, my phone number, and told me that my name was written down on their emergency contact list. I’ve had the wrong number call before, so I thought maybe someone just dialed the wrong number. But they didn’t just get my number wrong—they knew my full name. And they didn’t stop there. According to the woman, I was listed as someone they could call in case of an emergency. Who would put me on their contact list? I never gave my number to anyone, let alone for something like that.
It felt like a glitch in the matrix, a rift in the fabric of reality. How could something like that happen? It still unnerves me. I can't shake the feeling that something beyond my understanding is at play here, something I’m only just beginning to grasp.
All of these strange experiences have led me to question everything—my family’s intentions, the odd occurrences around me, and even my place in the world. It’s hard to trust what’s real when the lines between normal and bizarre blur so easily. And when the very people you should be able to rely on—the ones who should protect you—are the same ones causing the most harm, it becomes even harder to find peace.
I wonder if I'm trapped in some kind of glitch, caught in a world that doesn’t make sense, where everything feels a little off. I wonder if anyone else feels it too, but no one dares speak up. And if I’m the only one seeing it, does that make me the crazy one? Or am I the only one who’s truly awake?
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