WOW. I love how everyone is so open about it!

I'm not really comfortable with sharing mine all the time, and it isn't exactly famous in the sense that they were someone everyone looked up to. It comes with a lot of baggage and although I used to be more open about it, some of the more painful memories have started making their way to the surface and I have since fell back into a sort of hermit-hood.

I'm not going to say whom, but I will tell you that I was a Roman emperor. And god, is that a hard life to remember.


I first began remembering my FPL when my mother blew up at the mere mention of his name. "I don't ever want to hear that in my house again!" "That man was a lunatic and !@$%&*%$# insane!"

It hurt me quite a bit at the time, and I left the room with the book I had been reading. I didn't know why I felt the way I had, but it bothered me tremendously that I felt like she was talking ABOUT me rather than TO me about someone else.

Afterwards, I started having memories of it, spontaneously most of the time. I did undergo a regression at one point and remembered two very long and detailed moments in that life, although years apart. When I was done, I was crying. Partially because it had been so emotional and also because I didn't want to accept it. I didn't want to believe that I had been someone who is recorded in history as a monster.
I guess it added to the effect that prior to my knowing of this, I had an instense fear of being viewed as psychotic, insane etcetera. Although I've never really delt with that in this life, nor done anything in public that would constitute such comments; I do remember getting bullied at school for being "weird" or a "freak" and someone did on one occasion call me "psychotic".

I didn't finally accept it until I read what happened to this man's daughter. My reaction scared me. I froze. My mind was drawing blanks and trying to fill them in. I felt like I was going to puke, but I was so rigid with panic and heartbreak that I couldn't do anything. I wanted to scream and cry, but I couldn't. And I don't react this way to the horrendous things that happen to people. It disturbs me yeah, but I don't get all worked out of shape like that.

I went to bed that night shell-shocked and almost unable to speak.

It sunk in in the morning that yes, I was in fact this man but that who I was is no longer who I am.

I did a lot of bad things in that life. Things I wish desperately I could say "I'm sorry" for. But the words needed to describe the intense guilt that is left over from that life, just don't exist within my vocabulary.
I was not punished physically or in another life for it. Simply remembering is my punishment. Sometimes I'm glad to know about this life, because then I hopefully won't make the same mistakes. But there are times, oh so many times, when I wish I could forget and never remember again.