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Ghosts in the Room 3/20/2015 7:52:19 AM
I once lived in #313, the most haunted room in The Putnam Hotel, an old relic of a place, in DeLand, Florida, often investigated by Ghost and ParanormalHunters. The following is a piece of information you can find at
http://www.meetup.com/riphunters/events/34270882/: “The RIP HUNTERS MEETUP GROUP investigated the Putnum Hotel in July 2011...I took my team of 6 people to the first session in room 313 and I set up the equipment...right at that moment I saw a shadow figure come through the door right behind my team...I could feel this entity standing right next to me for a few minutes.”
I took refuge in that room, starting at the end of 2007, raising my then,one-year-old grandson, abandoned by his mother. The hotel was rumored to be filled with alcoholics, drug dealers, drug users and various amounts of people with criminal records. Families were often placed there by Social Services as a transitioning place between finding or fixing their housing. Rooms were broken
into, children where taken by Child Protective Services and drunks were staggered all over the place. It wasn't unusual to step off the elevator and find camera crews and paranormal professionals inspecting some spot in the hotel.
The arguments were loud. The rooms were worn out. The carpet was old and smelly, the curtains, dry rotting and the paint peeling off walls. The elevator was frightening, breaking down at least once a week, and every time I got on it, I prayed to the good Lord that I would arrive upstairs or downstairs safely. To
most, the place was so disgusting, they wouldn't even visit me. There was one person, my step-sister, who would only park downstairs and drive us to our once a month run for supplies. My way of staying in touch with the outside world was through my Facebook pages using an app on my cell phone and what I saw on the television.
It was hard to sleep, at night, because the bars (JR’s Saloon and Club Envy)downstairs had Country Western or Rock Bands and/or music playing almost nightly, so loud, the floors thumped and the walls vibrated. As bar patrons spilled out into the parking lots, socializing, arguing and getting into fights, the noise from outside was
unbelievable, .
I wasn’t the type to sit around downstairs, knock on residents doors or drag a chair out into the hallways and sit, as so many others were. I awakened each day, thanking GOD, and posting on Facebook. In the beginning, Facebook filled the dismal emptiness I had felt. I refused to post anything about my current situation or recent
past.
I had been laid off, in 2005, while on leave to have hip replacement surgery. While trying to recover, I received the news. I was unable to obtain the rehabilitation
therapy I needed because I had no insurance. My severance pay and unemployment benefits ran out, eventually, and it wasn't long before I realized I couldn't pay the rent, utilities, car insurance, car payments, or buy food. I felt
like my mind was scattered and my life was quickly falling apart. It was hard to concentrate.
I sold everything I owned except for my car, a few outfits, one pen, and a notebook. I was now three months behind on the car payments, but we slept in that car, in front of the Health Department. I moved it here and there
ever so often to avoid being caught with my one-year-old grandson sleeping on the backseat, and risk having him taken away from me. I washed and made use of public restrooms wherever I could. Luckily, I had a $400 a month pension check that had started coming in, and we weren't there very long. My Post Office Box was about to expire; and I went to retrieve my mail for the very last time, and there lay the Social Security Disability Check I applied for February of that year, 2007. My damaged hip and bad back had deemed me eligible!
We checked into The Putnam Hotel. I'd learned to appreciate the little things – to smell the flowers. As, I mentioned earlier, I began making posts on Facebook. I described the beautiful sounds of the birds singing in the trees outside my window. I described my Grandson's laugh – I wanted others to hear the melody. I spread the news of the gentle breezes while sitting on a bench, in
the tiny park across the street, watching my Grandson play, during our once a month outings. I hoped to get to know my Facebook Family and Friends by asking playful questions. What is your favorite color – I'll tell you what that color
means? If you could afford to live anywhere, where would you live? I put heavy thoughts into each question I posted. Answering my questions became one of the
favorite things that people wanted to do.
But, I wasn't a favorite to all. I was under constant attack, by people who knew where I lived, many of them family members! I was labeled fake. Told to
get a life. I was told that I do not face reality. I was called phony. Every time I posted the simplest things, it would send certain people into a rage. I refused to stop my posts, gently defended them, and was attacked even more viciously. They used revealing my living conditions to other Facebook followers, I guess, as proof of my phony and unrealistic posts!
After living in my car, The Putnam was Luxury! The drunks rushed to help me carry grocery bags, those sitting in the hallways greeted me cheerfully and once a month when I ventured from my room I held pleasant conversations with
residents as I waited for my ride. The haters actions hurt me. They became ghosts haunting my mind, giving me nightmares and spooking my thoughts. On one hand, I was humiliated, but on the other hand, I became liberated. I remained in my own “Peace.” I stayed on my own path of
redemption. Someone’s opinion of me did not have to become my reality. I was going to get my life back. I wrote my first novel, “To Dance with Ugly People.” Writing became my escape and it made my life rich and rewarding.
Whenever I would suffer writer's block, I would pray for guidance. Then, during the night, the next idea or the answers to my questions just seemed to pop into my head. I also knew no ghost or person would ever dare harm me. I felt protected. There was a lot of pain and experiences in my life that left me strewn and unsettled to a certain extent, but writing brought it all out of me, and
left me feeling strong and cohesive again. I lived at the The Putnam Hotel (It is now an empty and condemned Eye Sore) for three years, until late 2010, writing, living and surviving. I never saw a ghost or ever felt threatened. I ain't afraid of no ghosts - Living or Dead!
