I SEE DEAD PEOPLE

I See Dead People: A True Story of Haunting Encounters and Unseen Burdens

I never thought I’d be the one writing something like this. People might call me crazy, delusional, or worse. But this is my reality—and I need to share it, not just to warn others, but also to try and make sense of the life I’m living.

It all started during my time at university. Like many young adults, I was excited about moving into residence halls, meeting new people, and embarking on a journey of self-discovery. What I didn’t expect was that my journey would take me to realms far beyond what anyone could imagine.

The university assigned me a room in one of the older residence buildings. It was nothing special—a small, cozy space with just enough room for a bed, a desk, and my thoughts. But what I didn’t know was that this room had a story. A dark one.

A previous occupant had taken their own life there. I only learned about it much later, after my life had already spiraled into the surreal. At first, everything seemed normal. I went to classes, made friends, and started settling into campus life. But then, she appeared.

She was stunningly beautiful, with a presence so magnetic it was impossible not to be drawn to her. We met one night—just outside my room. She told me she was a student, studying a different course, and we quickly became inseparable. Our relationship blossomed, but something always felt… off. She would only show up at night, her stories about her life always seemed vague, and she avoided meeting my friends.

Still, I was smitten. I didn’t question the strangeness at first. Love—or what I thought was love—has a way of blinding you to the obvious.

One night, as I was chatting with some neighbors, I overheard them talking about the “suicide room.” My heart sank. They described the person who had lived there—a man who’d hung himself in despair. The details were eerily familiar, right down to the room I was now occupying.

It couldn’t be true, I thought. But when I tried to bring it up with her, she disappeared. And I don’t mean she walked away. I mean she literally vanished.

That’s when it hit me: she wasn’t real. At least, not in the way I’d thought. She was the spirit of the man who had died in that room, returned as someone entirely different in the afterlife. Whether it was a second chance or some unresolved tether to this world, I’ll never know.

When she left, my world crumbled. The boundaries between the living and the dead blurred, and I could no longer tell what was real. My grades slipped, my mental health deteriorated, and eventually, I had to leave school. But the nightmare didn’t end there.

Being back home was supposed to be a relief. No haunted rooms, no ghostly lovers. But the dead had followed me, and they weren’t letting go.

I started seeing people who weren’t there. At first, it was subtle—a fleeting glimpse of someone at the edge of my vision, a whisper in the dark. Then it became more blatant. I’d see people I knew had passed away, walking around as if nothing had happened. They didn’t speak to me; they just were.

Worse still, I began to see death before it happened. At funerals, I could tell who was next. It was as if an invisible mark hovered over their heads, a grim countdown only I could see.

The first time I tried to warn someone, it backfired. I told a neighbor that I had a terrible feeling about them. They laughed it off—until someone close to me died instead. It was as if the act of speaking out shifted the fate onto someone I loved. I haven’t tried to warn anyone since.

Living with this ability—or curse—is exhausting. Imagine knowing who’s next but being powerless to stop it. Imagine seeing the dead, their eyes filled with longing or sorrow, as they pass by you like shadows. It’s lonely. It’s terrifying. And it’s a burden I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

I’ve tried to understand why this is happening to me. Is it a punishment? A twisted kind of gift? Or am I simply losing my mind? Sometimes, I wonder if the room at the university awakened something in me, like a door to another world that I’ll never be able to close.

Over time, I’ve developed ways to cope—or at least survive. I avoid funerals whenever I can, though it doesn’t always stop the visions. I’ve learned to ground myself in the present, focusing on things I can control, like hobbies or spending time with loved ones. But the fear is always there, lurking in the background.

Some nights, I lie awake, wondering if I’ll ever find peace. Other nights, I dream of her—the ghost who started it all. I dream of the life we might have had if things were different, if she were alive, if I were normal.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the supernatural is not something to be taken lightly. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, there are things in this world that defy explanation. My experiences have taught me to respect the unknown, to approach it with caution, and to never underestimate its power.

If you ever find yourself in a situation like mine, take heed. Don’t ignore the signs. Don’t dismiss your instincts. And above all, be careful what doors you open—because some might never close again.

Writing this hasn’t been easy. Reliving these memories, putting them into words—it’s brought back a flood of emotions. But I hope that by sharing my story, I’ve helped someone out there feel less alone—or at least more prepared for the unexplainable.

To those who have faced similar experiences, know this: you’re not crazy. You’re not alone. And while the burden may feel unbearable at times, you’re stronger than you think.

For now, all I can do is take life one day at a time, trying to find meaning in the chaos and hoping that someday, I’ll understand why this is happening to me. Until then, I’ll keep walking this strange path, one step at a time, with the living and the dead as my silent companions.