Nobody Believes Me — Something unbelievable happened to you?

I have a son. He's still little. We started noticing strange things back when he was just a baby. During the period when he cried a lot from colic, a glass baby food jar would crack — and it happened more than once. Once a vase cracked too. But at the time we were just puzzled, wondering how his crying could possibly cause something like that. Then it got worse. When he got a bit older, my wife and I had a serious argument one day — we weren't screaming at each other, but we were definitely raising our voices. Our son wasn't crying, but he was just standing there staring at us, and then we heard a crack. A fracture had appeared on the window. We were in shock. At that point you can't just chalk it up to a weird coincidence or loud crying anymore. He doesn't go to kindergarten. He went for about a week, and then something bad happened. He came home and said he never wanted to go back — that the kids were mean, that two boys kept pushing him around and calling him names. And wouldn't you know it: that very same day, a window in his classroom shattered. The teacher said someone must have thrown a rock from outside. Let's just say there's reason to believe the glass wasn't broken from the outside. Have we taken him to any specialists? No. I don't want my child hauled off for some kind of experiments. But I don't know what to do either. I can't keep him locked away at home his whole life just so nobody notices. I'm posting this in case anyone has already dealt with something like this. If you have, hit "Been there." At least I'll know we're not the only ones — and that everyone else is just keeping quiet about it too.

I don't know if anyone's ever experienced something like this, but for the past two years I've been living what feels like two lives. I'm a married woman, 38, with a son. No history of mental health issues whatsoever. Just a normal life — I love my husband, and my son is an absolute angel. But every time I fall asleep, I see myself as a young girl, a barmaid in a tavern. My name there is different, I look different, different family, different friends, everything is different. And it's clearly a different era. People still ride around in horse-drawn carts, and nobody's ever heard of a modern stove. But the craziest part? I speak a completely different language there — some kind of mix of Polish with a hint of German. It's not the same dream repeating itself. Every new dream, I live through a new day there. Have I seen a psychiatrist? Of course I have. He said I have some hidden dissatisfaction with my life, so in my dreams I see myself as someone else. But you know what? If that were the case, why am I not a queen in my dreams? Or at least a countess or something? My real life is definitely better. But every time I fall asleep — there I go again, working from dawn till dusk, seeing friends once in a blue moon. Do I need that? Of course not. And here's the kicker: the psychiatrist couldn't explain why I've been understanding more and more Polish. Even though I've never studied it a day in my life. My husband's name is Martim. And one time I accidentally called him Greg (that's one of the brothers from the dream). Can you imagine his reaction? "Who the hell is Greg?!" I told my husband about the dreams. But I think to this day he can't decide whether I have a split personality or I'm cheating on him. And I'm not sure which one he's hoping for more. I'm definitely not cheating. As for the split personality — I'm not so sure about that one. But I keep wondering, what if I'm remembering a past life? Has anyone else gone through something like this?

We live in a really small town where pretty much everyone knows each other. There used to be a family here — a mother and her little girl, about five years old. They had no other relatives in the area. Then the girl passed away after a sudden illness. Her mother took it incredibly hard. She'd go to the cemetery every single day. A whole year went by like that. And then the mother was gone too — the grief was just too much for her. It's all heartbreaking and awful, but here's where it gets strange. It's been three years since all of this happened, and the little girl's grave is always in perfect condition. Not a blade of grass out of place, not a speck of dust. If someone were tending to it, you'd still see signs of wear between visits. But it's like time just stopped there — or like the place is somehow frozen. Everyone in town talks about it. A lot of people avoid that spot altogether. And everyone's got their own theory. Some whisper that the mother's ghost settled there and watches over her daughter's resting place. Others say the mother worried so much about who would care for the grave after she was gone that when she died, she poured the very force of her soul into that place. And of course, some people don't believe any of it. They say someone sneaks out there every night to tidy it up just to spook the rest of us. But who would bother with a prank like that? I don't think anyone would keep it up for three years just for a laugh.