A Psychic told me to

Melbourne

Hi internet! How are you? Long time no over-share. As if I needed less agency and to escape the responsibility and consequences of my choices. What is fate? Today, I went to visit my regular psychic. Regular as in this is my third visit with this particular medium. On one of those trips she suggested that in order to get my power back I had to tell this boy I loved him. Spoiler alert- he didn’t love me back. Too much of my brain capacity has been dedicated to that particular relationship dynamic and sometimes like the “meaning of life”, you just got to accept “it is what it is”, something beyond comprehension that you shouldn’t fuck with.

“It is what it is”, I would argue is the least comforting statement in the world. “It is what is”, yeah duh, if it were different it would be? And that mantra based on forceful acceptance wouldn’t exist. Acceptance sucks. Where’s your agency now? “Just reframe it”, “Our greatest human ability is to redesign our narrative”… Fuck off. Sounds a lot like looking at things the way we want to see them or creating a story that is palatable. Forever the injured pessimist. Some shit is hard to swallow and it should be and no amount of art direction is going to change that. I probably need to give every situation more time. The ‘truth’ no matter how you chose to look at it, is always true. True fact. And back to “it is what it is”. I know, torment.

The first problem is that my soul is in desolation. This is a religious term I picked up on my steady diet of “things that will help me”. Yes, I went to religion- another time, another debate. I’m currently steeping in books about the ‘divine feminine’ and science like the miasma of ideas will somehow become a delicious soup that is well balanced and nourishes me. It’s not. In my dreams I pray to my subconscious to give me a clue lest those dreams be prophetic. Am I psychic or crazy? BOTH.

The soul in desolation is a desperate state. And I think that if we were able to be in isolation and to contemplate our deepest needs then maybe big pharma would be out of business. But life is busy. Money hustle is busy times. The only answer I can come up with when I ask myself, “what does your soul crave?” is rest. I don’t want to talk about that. It will end in suicidal ideation. I’m FINE.

My intention with this particular piece was to discuss truth. Old m8 (my psychic) told me that speaking your truth is all that we can do. I think she was hinting at how it creates genuine experience. True confession- she told me that the boy (you know the one she told me to declare my love to) is my twin flame. Please no. I can’t. I thought I already had that one down (I wrote about it). It’s like she keeps leading me into the fire.

Dear, bf: the psychic told me that I still love that boy and I have to tell you my truth so you can decide if you still love me. This is all a fucking double-edged sword. Then I bought up my friend’s argument, the one who said “his truth became your truth” (I wrote about it) to the psychic and she said that’s just me looking after this boy’s shit and worrying about his truth and that I have to keep speaking my truth, unafraid that it will injure him. Cause I do injure him by my being and I do not want to open his wounds. It’s the closest I can come to allowing myself to love him. Hey, if you can repress me, I can repress you.

Am I going to do something crazy? Will I tell the boy I still love him and let him burn me and my relationship to the ground? Are we supposed to keep speaking our truths to progress through our lessons and karmic debts? This shit is fucked. I don’t think I’m brave enough for it. I’m worried that truth is the answer to my soul’s desolation. Thanks for lending an ear. Reward yourself and take a shot for every time I have used the word ‘truth’. I’m more eloquent wasted. I hope to crack this conundrum before my next plight into full blown mental illness. Fun!

xx SJ

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