Day 13 – 999

The house feels different. Not emptier, or sad but peaceful; calm.

We once had this house exorcised, soon after the stepmonster passed away, to remove all traces of his evil energy. The exorciser had a great deal of trouble removing him (not knowing anything about him, just that there was an incredibly unpleasant evil energy here that didn’t want to leave). It took a long time and he had to call in the big guns: Jesus, Mary and a number of the Archangels. The stepmonster still didn’t want to leave and hung on with everything that he had.

Since we brought Mum home, the energy here changed but not as much as she did. For the past seven years she has been nothing but bright, happy, funny and grateful. Literally, as she stepped through the door, it was as if she became possessed. Having not mentioned the stepmonster in six years, she was suddenly calling out his name and looking for him in the house. We obviously put that down to the house triggering something deep in her memory. However, it didn’t explain the ringing of a windchime inside the house, which started to ring at the same time every evening – without a hint of a breeze. It’s never done that before. Never. It didn’t do it last night after she left. Could it be that Mum was possessed? It certainly looked and felt like she was.

Yesterday was absolutely horrific. It’s hard to describe other than to say that Mum was possessed. In response to handing her her dressing gown, she started screaming nastiness at J, her eyes changing colour and the expression on her face terrifying and contorted. He’d literally done nothing at all to her. She then did the same to me when I offered her a drink, food…even when I looked at her. It wasn’t just the screaming but the aggression that came with it and the sheer look of absolute hatred on her face. It really was as if she was possessed, repeating the same words over and over like an incantation.

It got so bad and my trauma was so triggered that I eventually couldn’t look at her, felt physically sick, felt numb from head to toe but also as if every cell in my body was aching and a migraine hovered. The air in the property felt so dark and heavy that it was hard to breathe.

We put up with the horror all day and then, as it was unrelenting, and had been going on more or less since we brought her home almost two weeks ago, I decided it was time to do something about it. I dialled 999 and when asked which service I wanted, replied that I really didn’t know.

I was put through to the police and a very kind young officer patiently listened to my tear-filled description of a living hell and said, “Don’t worry, I will call an ambulance for you.”

About an hour and a half later, I received a call from the ambulance service. They asked a set series of questions about Mum’s condition and I felt convinced that because she wasn’t armed, bleeding, or having a heart attack that we would be left to deal with her indefinitely. Obviously, the social services were not taking the situation seriously and I thought it would the same situation with ‘999.’

I was told to expect a further call from the ambulance service which came more than four hours after my initial call to the emergency services, from a gentle young woman. She could hear how traumatised I was and was extremely understanding and kind to me. We went through more questions; again, I was concerned that they would think that we were overreacting, but instead she said that this was a category 2 call, (category 1 is when someone stops breathing), and that an ambulance would be with us swiftly.

About 20 minutes later three of the nicest paramedics arrived at the door. They each had a specific thing to do, with one of them talking to me away from Mum whilst the others carried out various tests on Mum. One of the three also had lived through a similar experience and said that he couldn’t do it. Knowing that a trained paramedic also couldn’t cope long term with a demented relative did offer some sense of relief.

Mum was eventually strapped onto a wheelchair and removed from the property. The paramedics kept her occupied and she didn’t look back as they wheeled her away.

A migraine instantly started thumping (a c-PTSD symptom) and I felt emotionally numb. I hoped that I would sleep – the first night in two weeks without the prospect of a movement sensor going off – but no such luck.

I had turned the ringer off on my ‘phone but still got up a few times in the night to check whether there had been any calls from the hospital. Thankfully, none. I eventually fell into a distressed sleep and woke up to the lightened energy in the house.

It is now 9.30am and the hospital have just called – the doctor treating Mum wanted to get further background to the situation – she also let me know that Mum is confused but calm (after I asked), which is a massive improvement on the past almost two weeks.

The sun is shining outside but having not emerged from this property in 13 days, I am feeling a little agoraphobic. So many options of things to do, things that will lift my spirits, things that we had hoped to do with Mum; go out for breakfast and then a country walk, that I am filled with sadness and grief, too. Sadness and grief, with a heaped spoonful of relief on the side and sprinkling of guilt and failure.

Life is complicated, isn’t it?


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