About Me

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Please join me in my sexy, crazy, rational, irrational, and colorful paranormal life! To follow me, click on the follow button to the right and proceed as directed. I'm also on Twitter. You can find me @BeingBrice. For any questions for me or to contact any of the guest bloggers please email me at beingbrice@gmail.com

Thursday, July 23, 2009

The Brice Curse

Before continuing with my blog, there is a part of me that needs to be explained. The Brice family Curse. I know most of you out there probably don't believe in any of this stuff, but just bare with me. You see, my first name (Brice) is my mother's maiden name. Hence, the reason why, as a female, I have a male's name. The Brice's are from South Carolina; the low country to be exact. The only reason why my maternal grandfather and grandmother ended up in Georgia was because my grandfather got recruited to be a surgeon for the Harbin Clinic in a VERY small town just out side of Atlanta called Rome. Growing up (and even to this day) I always detested and loathed Rome. In fact, the only time I ever felt "at home" was when we were in Charleston or any surrounding towns in the Low Country area.

As a child, weird things would happen to me a lot. I would see things, but was always told that it was my imagination. I went to a private school called Darlington, and our lower school's campus had a house that survived the Civil War. Third, Forth, and Fifth grade were held in this old plantation home. Now, the only reason why this house survived Sherman was because he actually stayed there. When I was in the fifth grade we even got to go into the attic and see where the old bullet holes and blood stains from the Civil War were located. Being a child with a "wild imagination" meant third, fourth, and fifth grade weren't the best years for me. My memories of seeing disembodied spirits passing through while trying to focus on a spelling test still haunt me to this day. Oh, my parents had me tested... they did all sorts of things to try to "fix" whatever was wrong with me. Being a Presbyterian in this little town meant that the only ghost "we" believed in was the Holy Ghost.

Fast forward to high school. At the beginning of my sophomore year, I got really sick. One day, I felt as if I couldn't stand up, and when my mother picked me up, all she could talk about was my blood shot eyes. The next morning, I woke with my lymph nodes under my arms so swollen that I could not put my arms down. When I went to the doctor, she tested me for all sorts of things. This first being "Cat Scratch Fever (yes, apparently that is a real sickness)," and the second being mono. Both came back negative. As time went on, I got sicker and sicker and sicker. I had spinal taps... I was tested for diabetes... everything under the sun was done to me. I was poked and prodded. But everything came back negative. At one point, I passed out and ended up in the E.R. with a body temperature of 92. Another thing that would happen to me was I would wake up in the morning with massive scratches all over my body. All the doctors thought that I was scratching myself in my sleep, and it wasn't until they found a cluster of scratches on my eye ball that they took a second look. All at once, I would start to loose feeling in all four limbs, and my mother and father would have to sit by my bed rubbing my arms and legs until I could move and feel them again. Eventually, I recovered. I gained strength back and became an active teenager again. No one ever figured out what had happened to me.

Time passes. I would still continue to see things, but I soon learned to ignore it because, lets face it, people think you're crazy when you start talking about seeing spirits. After High School, I went to London to continue my education. Then from England I went to Los Angeles, always seeing things, and noticing that every time something truly terrible would happen to me, I would have scratches all over my stomach and my back.

About three years ago (before I met my now ex), a girlfriend of mine in LA wanted to go visit a physic. I had never been to one so I told her I would go with her. She went first. All of her questions were answered, and then it was my turn. OK, you have to keep in mind that I didn't tell this lady one thing about me. Not even my name. She had not seen my driver's licence nor had she talked to me long enough to pick up on any type of accent. She turned, looked me dead in the eye and said, "Now! You're the real reason why you two girls are here, and I'm going to have to ask you to come back tomorrow so we can speak in private..."

What she told me has defiantly changed my life, and it is a huge part of being me. As for now, we'll leave it at that.

Tune in next time...