Eyeliner, a highlight of my teen years . . .

I always thought it hadn't fazed me in the least.

At twelve, my family became unwitting hosts to what would generally be described as a poltergeist though, myself, I'm reluctant to use such a label. Although I did fit the conventional model for such experiences in the popular school of thought, I don't actually believe that a storm of hormone and emotion typical of puberty was responsible.

There was definitely energy 'focussed' on me but not only upon me. At different times, we were subjected to very terrifying experiences and, yet, I was strangely detached, more an observer who occasionally became annoyed than a victim.

I got a rush of adrenaline whenever my mother described the latest event to which she had been witness but that was it. I didn't want to run under my covers and hide.

When objects of mine were destroyed -- while I and the rest of my family were away -- it definitely niggled. I'd had a wall covered with my favourite posters culled painstakingly from magazines over a period of time. One day, returning from school, I discovered that every single eyebrow of every person in each poster (dozens) had been coloured over with black eyeliner. The posters were ruined! And my stick of eyeliner was lying on my dresser. And I wanted to blame somebody, anybody, even my stepfather who had been at work! But there was no one to blame. No one that I could see, anyway.

Again, I was shocked, my heart pumping as my eyes scanned one end of the wall to the other, but I wasn't truly afraid during this episode or during others (and there were many, many more both before and after.)

I find it interesting that I wasn't afraid.