Camila D. Rodrigues
Active Member
I have memories I'd like to share.
They are precious to me.
The truth is, my family and friends don't like to talk about these things, they don't believe in them and they are against me trying regression therapy. So, I keep it to myself. A forum like this is a paradise, because I can finally tell all the things I remember. And they are a lot.
I remember many past lives, but I'll focus on my last one.
Because I have detailed memories... (And I'm sorry for such a long post)
I was from Detroit, a poor neighbourhood, and I grew up in a yellow wooden house by the train track. The house was a two storey one. It had a front porch with a tin roof. And I remember the inside of the house. As soon as you walked in, there would be a staircase on the left, and the old living room on the right. The flooring was a greenish carpet one and the walls were made of wooden panels. Also, we had a wooden TV, black n white. There was a corridor to the kitchen. And a small laundry room between the kitchen and the living room. The kitchen had a window to the backyard. And the backyard had a wire mesh partition all around. I don't remember if the train track ran behind the house or by the house. But I remember that, when the train passed by, even the soil would tremble and shake. I was so used to that. People threw garbage near the tracks, furniture parts and, sometimes, it smelled. The train stopped running after a while.
I remember that I lived with my mom and grandma. My currant's life mother was my grandma in Detroit (she has a few memories from Detroit, as well, and something related to the name Candice).
I remember that my mother, in the past life, was called Susan. I don't remember the surname. But she was kind of detached from me. She was a smoker. And she would often smoke by the kitchen window, looking out. My mother didn't talk to me that much. We were strangers in the same house. I don't remember a father. I think my mom was a single mom. But I remember her boyfriend. The guy was called Anthony, and they would fight a lot. They had the scariest fights. Yelling and shutting doors.
I was closer to my grandma than with my mother.
Grandma lived with us. Grandma and I, we slept in the same double bed. We would talk for hours and hours before sleeping. And she was my saving boat. I loved her (now I love her as my mother). My favorite memory from childhood was a trip to Aspen. With me, mom and grandma. We went by bus and stayed in a cheap hotel. Also, from my childhood, I remember being terrified of the washing machine. I was always in horror of being trapped inside the laundry room.
I think my grandma died when I was seven or eight. It really broke me. In this currant life, I'm terrified of losing my parents. I'm always scared of them getting sick, because that's how I lost my grandma. I lost her to the hospital.
When I was 14 or 15, Susan's friend asked her if she could take in a boy that was almost being taken away by the social service. This boy's mother was an addict and he had been on and off the system his whole life. My mother said yes. And, eventually, she took the boy to our house. He was just a bit older than me. And he was an odd one, wouldn't talk to us, or even look at us, he had been neglected way too much. He slept in the couch and he barely ate. I'll call him Jay. At first, I was scared of Jay, but he was a good person.
He stayed for a few weeks. Then, he retuned to his mother and older brother. Months later, he was taken back to our home and stayed longer. Eventually, he was part of the family.
My mother worked the night shift. She slept the whole day and woke up only for work. She was always in a bad mood. And she would often say stuff regarding lack of money and cutting down expenses. She hated her life, I think. And I felt responsible... being the anchor of her younger years. For that reason, I really got attached to Jay. He was a calm person. He was strong and resilient. So much had happened to him, and, yet, he had dreams and a beautiful laughter. He was my model. And I looked up to him. Not only that, I loved him.
Since we were so close all the time, we started dating.
He kissed me while we were listening to music in my old record player. I wish I could remember the song, but I don't. I remember we studied in different schools. He studied further away, but would take me to my school everyday. I remember he later got a job and bought an old car. We would stay together at night. He would come back home from work, and I'd be waiting for him in the stairs. We would put on a record in my bedroom and listen to music together. And other things. Good times. I don't think my mother knew. I don't think anyone else knew. We kept it to ourselves. We were lonely people. So, we just stayed lonely together.
I was 17 or 18 when we went, in a group of friends, to a construction site. It was kind of a thing... many local teens would invade construction sites at night to watch the sunset and get drunk. This memory, in particular, is really strong in my mind. We were a group of five, and we walked up the stairs to a higher floor. And we watched the sunset. The most beautiful sunset I had even seen in these last two lives. Detroit was beautiful from above, full of life. There were many constructions going on in the neighbourhood, with cranes and machinery in the horizon. Jay and I, we watched the sunset away from the others. And, into the night, we watched the city lights. Then, he took a ring from his pocket. And asked if I would marry him after we got a house for ourselves. I said yes. It was an amethyst ring.
Now comes my most traumatising life event (that has influenced my currant life).
I died in a car accident. In this currant life, I have a recurring nightmare. Ever since I was a child until now, every six month, I dream that I'll walking alongside a street, and there's blood on the asphalt. And, then, pieces of a person. It's always terrifying and I wake up immediately. But it's always myself that is dead on the street, and I can't look at my own body. I don't remember the accident. I don't remember what happened. But I remember one thing that breaks my heart.
I remember being on the ground, not feeling my body, but thinking that I wouldn't tell Jay about the accident, or he would be worried. And I didn't want him to be worried. Then, I think I died. However, I don't think I went away immediately. I stayed near him, and my presence almost broke him. I remember things he did after me. I remember places. They are harder to remember, but it's mostly darkness. Jay would lock himself up and stay in the dark for long hours. He would cry. He would pray and say to God just how unfair it was. Just how unfair. And that's my last memory of that life.
I was born again in 1988.
In Brazil.
Because I went back to my family... my grandma, that is my mother now. She was 20 and had just gotten married.
I remembered Jay when I was 3 years old. My family went to a wedding and it made me remember that I had a fiance. And that I loved him to death. I remembered his face and the sunset from Detroit.
I'm 33 now, and I had a total of one boyfriend in this currant lifetime. And I dated him due to social pressure. I'm terrified of having to date or marry anyone else. People say I'm sick on the head, that I need a psychiatrist and that my past life is in the past... but it's hard to be with someone else. It's too hard.
In my head, I still have a fiance.
I know, it's been 40 years. He's probably 60. Married, happy and with another family. And it's not my place anymore. Still, I miss him. I miss what could have been for us. I even miss Detroit. And that small yellow house.
Finding him now would be like trying to find a needle in the haystack.
This is my story and I hope I didn't write a whole book in here (looking back, it seems like a book).
A lot of people say I invented all these things, or maybe that I remember them from movies and books. But it's not. I know what is memory and what is creation. Creation requires effort and energy. Memories... they simple invade you, they rush into you, they scream, they are easy to spot and hurtful. And these memories are so strong that they have reflected in my currant life for all these years. And they will linger until I die again.
I've always missed something from the bottom of my soul.
At least, now that I found this forum, I don't feel so alone anymore. Thank you all so much. I feel better after putting it all out.
They are precious to me.
The truth is, my family and friends don't like to talk about these things, they don't believe in them and they are against me trying regression therapy. So, I keep it to myself. A forum like this is a paradise, because I can finally tell all the things I remember. And they are a lot.
I remember many past lives, but I'll focus on my last one.
Because I have detailed memories... (And I'm sorry for such a long post)
I was from Detroit, a poor neighbourhood, and I grew up in a yellow wooden house by the train track. The house was a two storey one. It had a front porch with a tin roof. And I remember the inside of the house. As soon as you walked in, there would be a staircase on the left, and the old living room on the right. The flooring was a greenish carpet one and the walls were made of wooden panels. Also, we had a wooden TV, black n white. There was a corridor to the kitchen. And a small laundry room between the kitchen and the living room. The kitchen had a window to the backyard. And the backyard had a wire mesh partition all around. I don't remember if the train track ran behind the house or by the house. But I remember that, when the train passed by, even the soil would tremble and shake. I was so used to that. People threw garbage near the tracks, furniture parts and, sometimes, it smelled. The train stopped running after a while.
I remember that I lived with my mom and grandma. My currant's life mother was my grandma in Detroit (she has a few memories from Detroit, as well, and something related to the name Candice).
I remember that my mother, in the past life, was called Susan. I don't remember the surname. But she was kind of detached from me. She was a smoker. And she would often smoke by the kitchen window, looking out. My mother didn't talk to me that much. We were strangers in the same house. I don't remember a father. I think my mom was a single mom. But I remember her boyfriend. The guy was called Anthony, and they would fight a lot. They had the scariest fights. Yelling and shutting doors.
I was closer to my grandma than with my mother.
Grandma lived with us. Grandma and I, we slept in the same double bed. We would talk for hours and hours before sleeping. And she was my saving boat. I loved her (now I love her as my mother). My favorite memory from childhood was a trip to Aspen. With me, mom and grandma. We went by bus and stayed in a cheap hotel. Also, from my childhood, I remember being terrified of the washing machine. I was always in horror of being trapped inside the laundry room.
I think my grandma died when I was seven or eight. It really broke me. In this currant life, I'm terrified of losing my parents. I'm always scared of them getting sick, because that's how I lost my grandma. I lost her to the hospital.
When I was 14 or 15, Susan's friend asked her if she could take in a boy that was almost being taken away by the social service. This boy's mother was an addict and he had been on and off the system his whole life. My mother said yes. And, eventually, she took the boy to our house. He was just a bit older than me. And he was an odd one, wouldn't talk to us, or even look at us, he had been neglected way too much. He slept in the couch and he barely ate. I'll call him Jay. At first, I was scared of Jay, but he was a good person.
He stayed for a few weeks. Then, he retuned to his mother and older brother. Months later, he was taken back to our home and stayed longer. Eventually, he was part of the family.
My mother worked the night shift. She slept the whole day and woke up only for work. She was always in a bad mood. And she would often say stuff regarding lack of money and cutting down expenses. She hated her life, I think. And I felt responsible... being the anchor of her younger years. For that reason, I really got attached to Jay. He was a calm person. He was strong and resilient. So much had happened to him, and, yet, he had dreams and a beautiful laughter. He was my model. And I looked up to him. Not only that, I loved him.
Since we were so close all the time, we started dating.
He kissed me while we were listening to music in my old record player. I wish I could remember the song, but I don't. I remember we studied in different schools. He studied further away, but would take me to my school everyday. I remember he later got a job and bought an old car. We would stay together at night. He would come back home from work, and I'd be waiting for him in the stairs. We would put on a record in my bedroom and listen to music together. And other things. Good times. I don't think my mother knew. I don't think anyone else knew. We kept it to ourselves. We were lonely people. So, we just stayed lonely together.
I was 17 or 18 when we went, in a group of friends, to a construction site. It was kind of a thing... many local teens would invade construction sites at night to watch the sunset and get drunk. This memory, in particular, is really strong in my mind. We were a group of five, and we walked up the stairs to a higher floor. And we watched the sunset. The most beautiful sunset I had even seen in these last two lives. Detroit was beautiful from above, full of life. There were many constructions going on in the neighbourhood, with cranes and machinery in the horizon. Jay and I, we watched the sunset away from the others. And, into the night, we watched the city lights. Then, he took a ring from his pocket. And asked if I would marry him after we got a house for ourselves. I said yes. It was an amethyst ring.
Now comes my most traumatising life event (that has influenced my currant life).
I died in a car accident. In this currant life, I have a recurring nightmare. Ever since I was a child until now, every six month, I dream that I'll walking alongside a street, and there's blood on the asphalt. And, then, pieces of a person. It's always terrifying and I wake up immediately. But it's always myself that is dead on the street, and I can't look at my own body. I don't remember the accident. I don't remember what happened. But I remember one thing that breaks my heart.
I remember being on the ground, not feeling my body, but thinking that I wouldn't tell Jay about the accident, or he would be worried. And I didn't want him to be worried. Then, I think I died. However, I don't think I went away immediately. I stayed near him, and my presence almost broke him. I remember things he did after me. I remember places. They are harder to remember, but it's mostly darkness. Jay would lock himself up and stay in the dark for long hours. He would cry. He would pray and say to God just how unfair it was. Just how unfair. And that's my last memory of that life.
I was born again in 1988.
In Brazil.
Because I went back to my family... my grandma, that is my mother now. She was 20 and had just gotten married.
I remembered Jay when I was 3 years old. My family went to a wedding and it made me remember that I had a fiance. And that I loved him to death. I remembered his face and the sunset from Detroit.
I'm 33 now, and I had a total of one boyfriend in this currant lifetime. And I dated him due to social pressure. I'm terrified of having to date or marry anyone else. People say I'm sick on the head, that I need a psychiatrist and that my past life is in the past... but it's hard to be with someone else. It's too hard.
In my head, I still have a fiance.
I know, it's been 40 years. He's probably 60. Married, happy and with another family. And it's not my place anymore. Still, I miss him. I miss what could have been for us. I even miss Detroit. And that small yellow house.
Finding him now would be like trying to find a needle in the haystack.
This is my story and I hope I didn't write a whole book in here (looking back, it seems like a book).
A lot of people say I invented all these things, or maybe that I remember them from movies and books. But it's not. I know what is memory and what is creation. Creation requires effort and energy. Memories... they simple invade you, they rush into you, they scream, they are easy to spot and hurtful. And these memories are so strong that they have reflected in my currant life for all these years. And they will linger until I die again.
I've always missed something from the bottom of my soul.
At least, now that I found this forum, I don't feel so alone anymore. Thank you all so much. I feel better after putting it all out.
