Ever found yourself wondering about those moments in life that just don’t add up? Well, you’re not alone. We’re diving into the unsolved diaries – real stories from real people that have us scratching our heads. Life’s full of unanswered questions, and there is no fancy detective work or serious investigations here – just genuine conversations about the things that baffle us all.
I worked at the public library. I scanned a guy’s library card and then went to hand it back to him. He saw me start to hand it to him. Our hands were about a foot apart. Then suddenly the card was gone. It never made it into his hand. We were both totally confused, I looked under the computer, the desk in weird cracks but never found it.
I still think about it.
My childhood home in Utah was right behind a farm with regular farm things; horses, chickens, goats, etc.
One day a peacock shows up out of nowhere and makes the farm and our backyard his own home. He cries and cries for weeks. Later, a peahen shows up. They have babies, the babies have babies, loads of peafowl all over. They became part of my everyday life. My chores were to feed the peafowl our cat food and scrape their poop off the deck every day. This goes on for 8ish years.
Then, just as suddenly as Peter (the peacock) and Petra (the peahen) appeared, they all disappeared.
No one in the neighborhood had any idea where they came from or where they went.
The time I woke up on top of my refrigerator. I don’t remember exactly how old I was, sometime in my early teens, but it’s exactly what I said; I woke up on top of my refrigerator.
I had been sleeping up there curled up like a cat, and to this day I have no idea how I got up there. There was nobody home at the time who would/could have put me up there while I was sleeping, and there’s no way I could’ve climbed up there unassisted. But there were no chairs or stools or anything around the fridge I could’ve used to climb up, and I obviously couldn’t have used one and put it back while I was still up there. I also had no prior history of sleepwalking whatsoever, and to my knowledge, I’ve never sleepwalked again since.
To this day, I have absolutely no f*cking idea what happened, and it still bugs me.
If anybody has any theories as to how this could’ve been possible, I would love to hear them.
I was gifted a diamond and emerald ring on my 15th birthday. I was obsessed with the ring and wore it every day.
When I was 17, I went on a date to watch a movie. During the movie, I put my hand in my purse that sat on my lap, and when I pulled it out, I felt the ring slip off, and I heard it clink on the floor.
I instantly panicked and started feeling around as much as possible, and since the theater was relatively empty, I even used a flashlight I had to look for it (before phones came with those)
Sadly, nothing. The movie ended, and we had a whole crew searching, I called the theater many times over the following weeks and no one ever saw it.
When I was 20, I was cleaning out a drawer when something pricked my finger, when I pulled out the item, it was the emerald ring.
I lost my sh*t. I never wore it again for fear of losing it.
On the 4th of July I had a few drinks, then a few more. The next morning I had a black eye, a bunch of $1 bills ($137 worth) and a long-time crush in bed with me.
Neither of us remembers the night before after midnight, none of our friends saw us after midnight, and we both had no texts or calls out going after midnight.
It was still one of my best 4ths ever, just with big gaps.
My mother died about a dozen years ago. At the funeral home, we received a lovely bouquet of flowers with a card from the band The Red Hot Chili Peppers that said “We are saddened to hear of Renate’s passing.” We are a humble family from southern Indiana. There is zero chance she ever had any contact with those boys. Is this something they just randomly do? They would have loved her, though. She was the warmest person you could ever hope to know.
I had a best friend. We spent tons of time together. We vacationed together. We said it was us against the world. We said that there was no one that we wanted to spend time with more than one another.
When we got different jobs than the ones we had when we met, we began to see less of one another, but when we were talking it was just as it always was.
One day I had a bad day and texted her looking for a sympathetic ear. She gave me some details about how awful her own day had been which far exceeded mine. I immediately set my own worries aside and offered her my support.
And I never heard from her again. It’s been two and a half years. I’ve tried a few times to see if she would speak to me, to no avail. All I know from her extremely limited social media activity (she never much cared for any of it) is that she’s still alive.
I suspect I’ll never know why she decided to end our friendship, which meant more to me than literally anything in my life and which, at least at one time, she felt the same about. There was a year when we would have gladly walked into the end of the world, hand in hand. Calm and content because we had one another in our lives. I haven’t recovered from our separation entirely and I’m not sure I ever will.
I met a man in a dream within a dream named Alan, who told me I was dreaming and needed to find him in reality. He gave me a present that would have an address on it, but it might be scrambled when I see them.
I woke up to my first dream and I had the present. I opened it and saw the address. When I woke up again I looked it up but there was no address or iteration of it anywhere on earth.
Fast forward about 15 years and I’m living in an apartment when, by chance, I found a personal letter addressed to a guy named Alan, who apparently used to live in my apartment. The memory of that dream came back and I looked him up online. Turns out this guy was a neuroscientist who studied dreams. I’ve been too terrified to reach out to him because of the implications that it was true and also the sheer embarrassment if it isn’t.
My dad and I have always had this strange connection that we’re never been able to explain. The top three bizarre events in our lives are as follows:
when I was 4, my parents and I were at a hotel. My dad was sitting next to me as I was getting my shoes on. He was thinking “I wonder if those people are walking to get coffee from the lobby.” I turned to him and asked, “What’s coffee?”. My dad said he felt violated in a way he had never felt before.
when I was 9, my dad was telling me about this teacher he had when he was very young. He paused telling his story to try to remember her name. I turned to him and asked, “Was is it Mrs. Cow?”. He looked up at me with a shocked expression, and said “Yes! How did you know?”. All I did was say the first thing that popped into my head.
when I was 19, I had a horrible dream one night. It was very vivid. I remember dreaming that there was a big hairy scorpion climbing up the walls in my bedroom. It dropped down and fell next to me on my bed before I woke up. In the morning, I came out to the living room and saw my dad checking under the couch. I asked him what he was doing. He said, “Just checking for scorpions.” I told him about my dream, and he looked up at me with a slight smile. “Was it hairy?” He said. We had the exact same dream.
The thief.
It was about a month after my mom had a hysterectomy, and she was still in some pain and wasn’t sleeping well. Like normal, I drove home from school with my brother and took my shoes off next to the door. My brother took his wallet out of his pocket and put it on the desk that the house phone was on, as he did every day. That night, my mom took off her gold cross necklace (a gift from her grandmother) and placed it on her bathroom counter, as she did every night.
That night, I woke up to go to the bathroom and heard the screen door open and slide shut. I figured my mom must’ve been having trouble sleeping again and went out for a cigarette. I thought nothing of it and went to bed. I heard footsteps up the stairs, and then I fell back asleep.
The next day, we slowly realized that some of our things were missing- nothing major, our TV, my laptop, various iPods, dad’s jar of quarters for slots, etc. were still there. What was missing? All of the full rolls of toilet paper from the upstairs bathroom. The shoes I’d worn the day before. Half of the contents of my brother’s wallet ($30, a condom, his middle school ID card, and a few business/membership cards were missing). My mom’s gold cross necklace. A box of Apple Cinnamon Cheerios.
I had a really nice laptop, my brother had an Xbox 360 and a PS2, my dad’s wallet had a decent amount of cash in it, my mom had other precious metal jewelry lying around… and they chose to steal about $50 worth of junk and an heirloom necklace. Why?
My parents were in an abusive relationship and when I was a little kid in grade school, they got divorced. Soon after, my mother started seeing someone, and suddenly my life was really good. My mom’s new boyfriend, whom I’ll call Tony, was a mysterious man. My brother, sister, and I knew nothing about him except he was pretty d*mn rich. We knew this because my mother suddenly got a new car, bought us all cool gifts, and took us out to expensive restaurants almost daily.
Every month or so, we would hang out with our dad and he would take us to eat somewhere. He’d ask questions about my mom like, “How’s she doing… etc.” My gut feeling told me he knew my mom was in a relationship, my dad, who was in the military, was a pretty sharp guy, and he’d ask investigative questions of that sort.
But every time my dad came around to pick us up, my mom would make sure her boyfriend was not there. Actually, for any family member for that matter – whenever a cousin would come, and Tony was there, Tony would hide in the car. Tony didn’t live with us, but he’d be in the house every two days or so.
Then about a year later, my dad calls home and says he cannot take it any longer and needs to live with us, his kids. That day was the last time I saw my mom. But I didn’t care that day. I was too enveloped in computer games and didn’t notice her packing her bags. Didn’t notice my brother going in there, talking to my mom for the longest time ever about God knows what, and like that, the next day, my mom was gone. Tony was too, obviously. That’s when the truck of feelings hit me.
Then my dad came home. He talked about how he knew my mom was seeing someone, despite her lack of communication with him and that she ran away with Tony, back to her home country. I haven’t seen, talked to, or heard from my mom since. My mom’s closest friend who went to the same church as us, stopped going to the church soon after my mom departed. My gut tells me she knows my mom’s secrets but it’s too late to give a sh*t about that anymore.
I once went to a movie by myself when I was living in Georgia for a few months. I was seeing a movie that was several weeks old so the place was almost completely empty except for a few people in the way front. I sat in the middle seat in the middle row. A few minutes before the movie starts this group of friends walks in and decides to sit in my row, and they split so that half are on each side of me. They put me in the middle of their group and proceeded to talk over me like I wasn’t there until the movie started. I didn’t say anything because I was so confused and it’s not like I can ask them not to use the open seats around me.
But, If they had picked any other row they could have sat together. Why my row? Why split the group around me? Was it just a really dumb prank? “Hey let’s just sit around this guy, it’ll be hilarious”
I must know!
You may remember back in 2002 a five-year-old girl was abducted. Her name was Samantha Runnion. She was from California. I live on the other side of the country and was 15 years old at the time. Never heard of her in my life up until her abduction. I have no explanation for what I’m about to tell you.
One night in July of 2002 I was reading an issue of People magazine. I came across an article about Samantha Runnion. Her name was in BIG letters across the first page of the article and her picture took up almost the whole page. The article talked about her abduction. There was even a picture of her mother Erin bent over, crying in pain over her daughter.
On July 15th, 2002 (which was a Monday) I watched the news on CNN of the abduction of Samantha Runnion. My mom was watching the news with me. I told her that I knew about this a couple of days ago. My mom said that she was only k*dnapped that afternoon (the 15th). I got chills like you wouldn’t believe. I ran upstairs and went through EVERY magazine I could find trying desperately to find that article about Samantha. Never found it. Looked for days. Nothing.
I know for a fact that I read about Samantha Runnion’s abduction a few days prior to her actually being abducted. I have no idea why this happened, or why I was allowed to see (or read) the future. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this experience over the past 10 and a half years. It remains a big mystery in my life.
I think about Samantha and her family often. I pray that they are doing okay, considering everything they’ve gone through.
I had my appendix taken out, and a year later I had to get it taken out again because it was growing back.
When I was with my family in South Africa we lived in two rooms. I had to live in the same room as my mother, and my brother with my dad, since we didn´t get along very well. Anyway, one night my mother woke me in the middle of the night and said “There´s someone in here”. My heart rate goes through the roof, and we turn on the light (maybe not the smartest idea, I mean, what would we do?) and there is no one there. I then remembered that we live on the 10th floor so there couldn´t be anyone in the room. So we go back to sleep after some time. In the morning our money, cellphones and things like watches were gone.
I broke into a cemetery one night with some friends. I was in mid-conversation with my friend when she suddenly disappeared. I began shouting her name, but she was nowhere in sight. I headed back to the entrance to meet up with everyone else. She was there, crying and shaking, mad that I had abandoned her. But she wasn’t gone for more than 5 seconds before she disappeared. Still not sure if she was messing with me or if some supernatural sh*t happened.
I woke up from a nap in my room and I proceeded to walk into the kitchen. My mom was baking pies, asked me how I was doing, and then asked if I could run out to the garage (detached garage – grew up in a rural area) to grab some frozen pie dough from the freezer out there. I agree, walk outside, play with the dogs for a few minutes, and then start walking to the garage. I get halfway there and the bushes rustle. A lot. I said, “Hello,” got no response, and walked nervously towards the garage. The next thing I know, I wake up in my bed. I walk out to the kitchen where my mom is baking pies. I told her I had a really strange dream and then she asked me if I got the pie dough. I freaked out. Apparently, I left 15 or 20 minutes before I walked out of my room and she started questioning how I got in my room, I said I didn’t remember, and then we both realized that I had been tracking grass all over the linoleum (I went outside barefoot). It was followed by a lot of awkward silence and confusion.
I still have no idea what the f*ck happened.
I was born into the world with two of my grandparents already dead – one grandad and one grandma on each side of the family.
Although I know a bit about Grandma, I know next to nothing about that grandad and that side of the family never talks about him. All I know is that he must have done something truly horrible, as he is universally reviled by his entire family, and any time a conversation steers in that direction it gets cut short.
Just who was he exactly, and what did he do?!
When I was little, me and my babysitter were outside and it started to rain. My babysitter said “Watch this” and walked out into the road (no cars)
She lifted her arms to form a T shape, and it started to rain heavier.
She put them down and the rain slowed down.
She put them back up and it poured again.
I’m sure there’s a valid explanation, but for now, I’m still baffled.
Fiancé and I come back to our apartment after being away all day. Get in, drop bags off, etc and I walk in the kitchen and there on my counter was a picture of a black girl. It was like a senior portrait with the name “Brandy” on it. My fiancé and I are white and we don’t know anyone named Brandy. I remember unlocking the door, so I knew the door was locked and nothing else seemed out of sorts. Just a wallet-sized photo. So naturally. I framed it and now Brandy is an unofficial member of our family.
Brandy, if you are out there, we love you. Come visit.
When we got our yearbooks in senior year, I, like everyone else, ran around and had all of our friends sign them. For the remaining weeks of the year, I kept my yearbook in my locker mostly because I forgot to take it home and it got buried under a bunch of stuff.
I finally took the yearbook home when I cleaned out my locker at the end of the year. Then it sat in a pile of other stuff I kept meaning to put away because I’m a disorganized slob. A month or so later, I finally got around to cleaning up my bedroom and I found the yearbook and put it on the shelf, but first I flipped through the pages real quick.
I was amazed to discover a two-page letter some girl had written me on two interior pages of the book. It was obviously girlish handwriting, but I didn’t really recognize it. It was a long story about how once there was a sad little princess who was trapped in a castle and everything was cold and grey. Then a handsome prince (here she described me, more or less) arrived and rescued her from the castle and took her away to a wonderful world full of light and love and color and music and the princess and the handsome prince flew away from the cold grey land and she was never unhappy again.
The story didn’t end with “I love you,” but instead it said, “Thank you. I will never forget you.”
Somehow some girl had sneaked the yearbook out of my locker, written this long story, and sneaked it back in again. To this day, I have no idea who wrote it, and I never made any effort to find out. She apparently wanted to keep herself secret and I decided to honor that. It’s been more than thirty years, and sometimes I still wonder if I might find out someday.
Back in 2007 my grandpa finally lost his 20-year battle with Leukemia. My grandma couldn’t manage well, being alone in the house they’d lived in for almost 60 years.
We moved my grandma into an assisted living residence a few months later, and for insurance reasons (vacant property) my parents asked me if I’d like to move into the house so that I could watch the house, and also to move out and not live at home. I said absolutely.
I remember right after he passed away, strange things started happening. The portrait we had of him in the living room fell off its hook. Picture frames containing pictures of him flipped onto their front during the night. I didn’t mind though because I thought my grandma was making it up.
Before I moved in, my family got a big dumpster so we could clean some of the clutter out of the house. Since we’d spend most of the day cleaning and it was summer, we’d bring the family dog with us. My grandpa loved our dog dearly. But since he passed, my dog wouldn’t go down to the basement anymore, where my grandpa spent most of his time in his office. She refused to go into the basement at all and barked at the stairway a few times.
This was weird since our dog almost never barked. It finally made me think “he’s here”. I moved in shortly after. While I lived there, things went missing all the time. I had bought a new lockset to change the backdoor lock, brought it home and put it in the cupboard to tackle on the weekend. A few days later I go to change the lock, and it’s gone. After a week of looking around, I finally found it in the trunk of my uncle’s old BMW 2002 which he stored in the garage (I happened to be looking at the car). My grandpa was always a prankster, so I almost came to expect these occurrences.
He used to wake up at 530 every morning to listen to the early news on the radio in the kitchen. I’d wake up some mornings and the radio would be on. I often heard typewriter noises coming from his office in the basement. It became comforting. I found myself talking to my grandpa out loud. Having conversations with him. I missed him. After about 6 months, suddenly I wasn’t hearing any noises anymore. Nothing was going missing. The radio wasn’t turning on at 530.
I shrugged it off for a few days, but it started to worry me. I went back to my parents and grabbed the dog, brought her back. She was apprehensive at first, but she entered the house. There was an issue though. Every time she’d been over since my grandpa died, as I mentioned earlier, she refused to go downstairs. This time though, she went downstairs and went right to his office. Nothing was any different about the office, but she wasn’t barking. She wasn’t pacing. She wasn’t doing anything.
That was when I realized he was gone. I broke down. Suddenly I felt incredibly alone. Even though it’d been about 8 months since he died, it was the first time I felt like he was gone.
Is my dad really my dad?
When I was conceived, my mother and her then-boyfriend were having some pretty bad relationship issues (he cheated on her with his ex-wife). She went on a road trip to another state with some girlfriends to clear her head and blow off steam. While there, she runs into another guy she knew from back home. He had a nice car, offered to give her a ride in it, and they spent the night together.
She goes back home and a short while after, she and her then bf make up and resume dating. Shortly after, she finds out she’s pregnant.
The bf wants her to have an abortion (I don’t think he knew about the other guy, however), but she refuses. They end up breaking up sometime during her pregnancy.
She was pretty sure that the guy with the car was the father, but didn’t know for sure. The ex assumed he was the father, but didn’t really want to fill the daddy role.
I came into the world and during my second year of life, she wrote a letter to the guy with the car (using his mother’s address, as she couldn’t think of how else to contact him since she didn’t know where he was living at the time). She tells him about me and gives him the choice of being in my life or not. We were fine either way. She never got a response.
Fast-forward 13 years. My half-sister (from my mom’s previous marriage) is having a wedding. It’s pretty close to the home of the mother of the guy who had the car. I had heard as much as my mom could tell about him and I really wanted to meet him. She goes to the house, informs his mom of my existence and leaves our phone number.
He called later that night and we arranged a meeting for the next day (we lived pretty far away from each other). We met, he was very friendly, and we began to form a relationship. He claimed he didn’t need a paternity test and believed he was the father. My mom believed it too. He died in a fire about 4 years later. The last 2 years of his life we didn’t get to see each other much, but kept in contact through the telephone. My mom died shortly after due to medical issues. I have never heard from her cheating ex bf since I was basically a toddler and I don’t even know if he’s alive.
My uncle is a pilot and wanted to take me and my grandparents to my cousin’s college graduation when I was 13. We were all waiting at the small airport outside when he touched down on a single-engine 4 seater plane (don’t know the real name of it).
When he landed, I immediately got a gut punch/stomach-dropping feeling. I wasn’t scared of flying, but SOMETHING inside me told me that something was wrong/off. I don’t know if he landed funny or what because nobody else seemed to react the way I did, but I had a very hard time shaking that uneasy feeling.
We all loaded into the plane and took off. Not even a minute or two passes by and we’re now high above the tree levels when suddenly the engine stalls….
I didn’t realize it right away, but noticed that something was again, wrong and noticed my uncle was intently focusing on turning the plane around. That’s when I saw the engine had stopped.
In a blink of an eye, we bank hard and start nosediving down. I closed my eyes and said my goodbyes to myself and we all silently went down.
There was a loud crash/noise and I felt my whole body snap forward and back and I saw a flash. Next thing I know I feel like I’m OK and so I open my eyes and see that I’m alive. I very quickly gather my wits about me and check on everyone else and everyone seems to also be alive. I look out the window because I hear something to my side and see the gas pouring out.
I shake my uncle and tell him we need to get out now and he springs into action and unbuckles his seatbelt as do I and I start asking if everyone is OK. My grandparents are in shock, but responsive and we reach over and swing the door open and get everyone out. We start walking away from the plane and see an ambulance arriving at the same time. People had seen the crash and called 911.
The entire plane was destroyed, wings snapped off, nose smashed, tail broken, and yet the area we were sitting in was completely intact.
My uncle and I were ok, we had a massive bruise later on where the seatbelt had held us, and I had a small headache. My grandpa was fine too and my grandma had like 2 broken ribs, but otherwise ok.
Still to this day don’t know how my gut knew something bad was going to happen. The biggest mystery of my life besides the fact that we survived something catastrophic like that.
Every Valentine’s Day for the last ten to twelve years, I’ve been sent a “secret admirer” card. Same handwriting, always all caps, always bearing a postmark from a London sorting office. To this day, I have been unable to determine who’s sending it.
My biggest suspicion is that it’s either my mother or my sister, my evidence being that the cards began when I was in my teenage years when I was a weird-looking, very socially awkward teen that a girl would have to be off her rocker to fancy, and the fact that there’s no way in f*ck that someone who wasn’t family would keep it up that long. But I’ve asked them about it numerous times, and they continue to budge that it’s not them. I’ve asked other members of my family and they insist it’s not them either. I’ve tried getting angry and imploring the whole family that it’s getting annoying and I’d rather know it’s them than keep getting bugged by not knowing who the admirer is. Yet still, the cards arrive.
During a vacation with my family in Turkey, I was late to dinner one day and ended up going alone, as my family was already done eating.
As I was sitting at the table, some random waiter came to me and was like “Hello, it’s a real pleasure to meet you, may I take a selfie with you?” so I was like sure why not? He then proceeded to go back to the kitchen, where I could see him being met with high fives and back claps from his coworkers.
5 minutes later, two other waiters came along and one of them just stood next to me while the other took a photo of us. Then they thanked me and walked away. They were all excited as if I was some famous celebrity or so… so I just rolled with it.
To this day, I have no idea what celebrity was I supposed to be, but based on their reactions I guess it was someone major. (Maybe a prime Turkish soap opera TV star, who knows..)
I was at a friend’s dinner party once when he revealed that one of the guests was a respected psychic. I am a huge skeptic and this probably isn’t going where you think it is, so read on. I swear every word I am about to type is true and there were many witnesses.
The psychic agreed to do a reading for us. We were all in the living room – maybe twenty or so people. She began with the expected stuff we think of when we think of a psychic doing a cold reading. I had had a few drinks and was feeling pretty loose so I was just observing and waiting for her to do anything interesting that an observant person or someone trained in cold reading couldn’t do.
About twenty minutes into it, she stopped and said “Okay, there is a stronger power than mine here and it needs to be acknowledged.” I perked up thinking things were about to get interesting. She said anyone who had anything to say should speak up. She asked us to let look around the room and allow ourselves to see one another clearly and look into each others’ eyes. If we felt impressed to tell someone something, we should.
I will admit that I felt a little drawn toward a woman I had never met. Her name was Tammy. I didn’t say anything. The room was silent and the silence got awkward, like when a teacher waits overly long for a student to respond to a question s/he clearly doesn’t know.
So she probed again. “Someone here has a strong gift and needs to tap into it. There are messages waiting to be heard. If you feel drawn to someone, say so.” There was another silence. Then, she looked right at me and said “Oh my God. It’s you. You are a gifted empath. You must speak.” I blushed and kind of laughed it off, but several of the guests insisted that I must speak my mind.
So, I said I was feeling drawn toward Tammy. The psychic asked me to let my guard down, “reach out with your mind” she said. So I tried to let my mind go blank. Suddenly, I could hear the Journey song “Don’t Stop Believin'” in my head. Not my usual stuff. Then I started to feel sad. I’m normally a pretty happy guy, and this odd wave of sadness just came over me. At the same time, the name “Mark” came into my mind followed by an urge to tell Tammy thank you. I didn’t know what to do.
The “psychic” told me to just start talking – describe what I was experiencing. So, I did. I closed my eyes and started to talk. As I got to the “thank you” part, I started to choke up and cry a little like I was actually feeling extreme gratitude.
I opened my eyes and Tammy was white as a ghost. Her friend Mark had died in the early 90s from complications with AIDS. She had been the only person in his friend group to visit him, and she did so regularly. The song had been their “pep” song, and she said Mark had died unexpectedly after seeming to have rallied a bit.
Tammy was trembling. I was shaken. The psychic was smiling and the guests were all staring at me.
A bevy of questions followed – almost none of which I could answer. I’ve always relied on my gut, but had never had that specific of an experience before. I do not believe in an afterlife, and as I said earlier, I’ve always been a huge skeptic. I couldn’t explain what had just happened.
Others asked me to “read” for them. I didn’t know what to do and was frankly a bit weirded out. The psychic told me to hold people’s hands and look deep into their eyes. All total, there were about five instances out of six attempts that night that were dead on. The one that did not work was my partner. Nothing I said was right. I was left very, very perplexed by the whole night.
So, being a student/researcher, I decided to explore it. I worked that summer with the psychic (whom I have befriended) on exploring things I do not understand. She determined that I am, she believes, indeed an “empath” and that I can feel/read/interpret emotions from people who allow my intuition to put together stories. She also believes that the world is full of emotional impressions/scars and that empaths can feel their echoes.
Since then, I have determined that I AM indeed able to do something unusual. I don’t do it as a hobby. I don’t make money off of it. To be honest . . . I do it as an “I’ve had one too many drinks” party trick because that’s about how seriously I take it. However, I do it one-on-one now because I’ve discovered one too many uncomfortably personal things people don’t want everyone in earshot to know.