I was a very grandmotherly child and often visited my grandmother’s house when I was in middle school.
She was my grandmother on my father’s side, but my father had died in a tragic accident when I was very young.
My grandmother, who had lost my grandfather early in life, was very protective of me, saying that I was her only blood relative.
However, my mother did not get along with my grandmother very well, and we never went into her house together.
I made it a routine to visit the shrine with my grandmother every Sunday morning.
She was a very religious person, so we always went even on rainy days, and we never missed it since shortly after my father passed away.
The hand that I held with my grandmother was very warm and I loved to visit the shrine.
My grandmother always put her hands together, bowed deeply, closed her eyes for a very long time and prayed.
I would always say a simple prayer and watch her serious profile.
After she finished, I would always ask her, “What were you praying for?” I would ask.
My grandmother would just smile and never answer.
I didn’t mind, I just looked forward to the ice cream she would buy me on the way home each time, and chatted with her as I went.
This is a sudden change of subject, but I have had a strong psychic ability since I was a child and was always plagued by psychic disturbances.
I had kinbaku every day, and I had insomnia because I could not sleep for days on end.
Even when I was sleeping, I was touched on the legs and stabbed in the stomach with a needle-like object, and it escalated over the years.
I visited my mother and a psychic several times.
They charged me a lot of money and nothing they did worked, so I had given up on them.
By the time I was in the third year of junior high school, the psychic disturbances became even worse, and I experienced a number of car accidents and
I experienced repeated nightly kinbaku (a kind of bondage) and visions (hair and insects on rice, etc.) which made me mentally ill.
She stopped going to school.
My grandmother came to our house when my mother was at work and always held my hand.
The time with my grandmother was the only time I felt at peace.
My mother came home late from work and didn’t have much time to talk to me.
I vomited every day, became anorexic and then bulimic, was always unstable physically and mentally, and even attempted suicide several times.
Each time I failed, and I continued to be in the worst state of mind: it was hard to live, but I could not die.
I could no longer go to visit with my grandmother.
Right after graduating from junior high school, my grandmother, who was my only support, passed away.
I cried a lot.
I retreated to my grandmother’s room for a while.
I spent many days crying, hugging the clothes she used to wear.
Even then, my mother went to work with a nonchalant look on her face.
I became a little angry with her.
About two weeks after my grandmother passed away
I gradually noticed that I was no longer experiencing psychic disturbances around me.
One of my four friends told me over the phone, “My grandmother took all my pain to heaven. ”
She told me over the phone.
I cried a lot on the phone.
A year later, my spiritual disorder was completely gone, and my mental and physical condition had recovered.
I was able to go to a correspondence high school and was enjoying my days with the support of my part-time friends.
My grandmother’s house was to be moved out, so I went to pack up my belongings.
I was already feeling calm and went to visit the grave every day.
When I was sorting through the closet, I found some of my grandmother’s old diaries wrapped in a furoshiki (wrapping cloth).
The diaries were kept every Sunday.
I was stunned when I read the diary.
The first page was the day my father died.
I had been told that it was an accident, but in fact it was a suicide.
The cause was my mother’s infidelity.
I was shocked. I cried.
But when I turned to the next page, I instantly felt cold all over.
There, my grandmother’s anger toward me was written. From one end to the other.
It started with the sentence, “I am the child of an unfaithful husband.
I want to kill you” and “I hope you die,” and so on.
She was praying at the shrine for me to die in pain.
For such a long time, week after week, for a long time.
She was praying for me, the little girl next to her, to be cursed to death.
My grandmother’s fervent prayers were answered, and I suffered a great deal.
My grandmother also died in agony.
I burned the diary.
Even now, many years later, I still cannot forget what happened.
I have never told anyone about it.
