Having an addictive personality used to be a trait of mine, that I politely excused away. Until I started attracting other mentally imbalanced minds, that mimicked my mania. Which is why I need God to send me mirrors of myself…to this day. If I didn’t see how I look, draped down in guttersnipe garments…I’d never change. This past weekend, I must’ve been out in this fit. Because I was on the receiving end of unwanted attention…from someone who keeps trying to get mine. Even though I’ve never…ever…given any indication that feelings are mutual. I spazzed. The law got involved. And now I’m trying to figure out how covering myself head to toe in ignorance…can still be equated to interest. “Whew chile, the…”.

I usually think too highly of the people who lower my vibration. And the blinders that comes with this bias, baits me into getting caught…off guard. I bought into the belief of reciprocity, until I finally accepted who I was dealing with. Then, I figured out I could recoup some of what I had put in… by calling my energy back to me. But it was only so many times God allowed my recklessness to be redeemed, before requiring me to learn how to recognize patterns. So I focused, and saw the tactic used…was tongue tussle triggers…that always took place…around moon cycles. Engaging just locks me into a verbal contract…that gives permission to entities, who need to trap me into that toxicity…in order to feed off my essence.

I’ve never had the privilege of being told about myself…from someone who wasn’t avenging feelings that I hurt. And when correction comes from a place of pain…the intention is usually to induce more. Unfortunately, most people avoid telling me how they see me…unprovoked…out of fear that I’ll return the favor. So, I was stuck poking passive aggressives. The hope was for their words to make me reconsider my proximity to progress…by seeing behind any curtains that may be closed to my conscience. But all their squaking did…was reaffirm my desire to stick to the script I’m reading from. Because no one showed me anything that my shadow work hasn’t exposed. Which is slightly embarrassing. Since the people I provoked…went to such great heights…to humble me.

Flowing through the stages of my healing, requires a lot of patience. Because my progression keeps being threatened…by my predatory instincts. Writing is my therapist. But when I first started, I wasn’t tapped into the sense God gave me. So I’d use my ink to prey on the peace of others. Penning other people’s problems was easier, because it took my mind off the fear of facing my own demons. And the comparisons that came from me dissecting someone else’s reality…used to give me a sense of power. Which was so intoxicating, that I developed an addiction to consuming spirits. This left me inebriated with the kind of entitlement…that tricked me into believing I had every right to gain my confidence…off of diminishing someone else’s.

Ignoring our trauma, brands our backs with weakness. And this soft spot can only be seen…by those who target the type of disadvantage it puts us at. The energies drawn to our dysfunction, belong to souls that benefit from its presence. They’re unable to heal their own trauma. So they attach themselves to energies that can…but lack the discipline to follow through. They know our ability to heal, is the gift God gives those…who have callings over their lives. Succubus souls don’t get these calls…so they dress their red flags up as everything that’ll appeal to your lower self. With the hopes that you’ll lock in and waste time distracting yourself…tryna hit. If they’re successful…they win. Because their only goal was to hide their horns long enough, to lead you away from healing…and into your own personal hell.

There’s not a lot of things that irritate me more, than drivers who are constantly tapping on their brakes. Even when a yacht could fit between them…and the car before them. I was bored earlier, so I asked myself ‘why this annoys me so much?’ And…it’s because it reflects the type of overcorrections I make, when I’m uncomfortable. I either do way too much, to find my way back to balance. Or…nothing at all. Never in between. I’m feeling emotional discomfort right now and…I’ve been trying to imagine what a middle ground looks like. Because my default response was to freeze all feelings. Unfortunately, that just stalls the amount of time it’ll take…for me to release my foot from off the neck…of someone who wants me pressed.

Digging down deep into my dysfunction…is a side hustle I prophet from. It’s been showing me the roots of curses, that none of my eLdERs have been able to break from off our bloodline. Which wouldn’t be possible, if I wasn’t receiving guidance from actual elders: my Ancestors. When I was younger, I was taught that seeking out connections with past overs…was sorcery. But no one could ever explain why this belief never extended…to the main character of the Bible. So the older I got, the more I gravitated towards connecting with my history. Because they pay me through pain…produced from real growth. And the only way to access it, is through staying rooted in reality…and doing the shadow work. “Grab your torch and pitchforks.”

I never know who’s in my energy, until God shows me proof that I knew something about them…before it was humanly possible. I used to be surprised every time this happened. Now, I accept it’s just a side effect of the same gift…that got me diagnosed as biPoLaR. Acclimating to this acceptance used to keep me suspended in thin air…waiting for the claims of my insanity to drop. Because the people I used to unknowingly read…always found ways to convince me that I didn’t know what I was talking about…right after they saw that I did. But even though my overall experience with speaking the truth too soon has been trash…it keeps me rubbing shoulders…with souls who can relate. Which would be a breath of fresh air…if I didn’t know…

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this happy. — Is food involved? Of course nnnnnn. The half dozen blue crabs I just ate was orgas…euphor…nostalgic. It’s my favorite thing to eat but…it’s been 10 years since I cracked. And after my outer body experience, the first thought I had was to text twin the location because…it’s her favorite food too. Thankfully, I’m a big girl now. So I wasn’t waiting for the reply that I never received. Her silence just helped validate the alignment I’ve finally achieved because…I felt no ways. Which gave me a sense of satisfaction and shame. Because it’s normal to want to share stuff like this with a sister. But abnormal to willfully accept that the person I shared a womb with…no longer fits into my life.

There’s nothing I hate more than the idea of building consensual camaraderie…with my peers. I’ve been trying to shed this cynicism. But the older I get, the more I realize that most ‘friend’ groups are a collection of spirits…all in covert competition…with each other. So they seek out souls who have the emotional intelligence of an elementary schooler…in order to gaslight them into the belief of girl code. Falling victim to this outdated ideology is a pipeline to pessimism. And if you’re unfortunate enough to befriend females who desire what you have, survival instincts are needed. Just to be able to escape the matrix of the mentally imbalanced…who prefer for you to lose what you possess…so you stop reminding them what they lack.

Letting go of feelings that don’t serve me used to be a foreign concept. Mainly because I accidentally perfected my ability to drag things out…on purpose. To know me is to know that routines give me a certain sense of security. So even if an emotion is tainted with toxicity, if I’ve become accustomed to feeling it…I’ll dress it up and pretend it’s something that it’s not, just so my day to day isn’t affected. But, none of my therapists have ever co-signed my commitment to this brand of cosplay. And I never understood why they felt it was so important to distance myself from delusion…until I realized that peace requires authenticity. Which is impossible to achieve if I’m constantly swapping out my reality, with artificial concepts that make my psyche so unrecognizable…that it’s hard to tell the difference between what’s real…and what’s fake.

This will probably be the hardest blog I ever write because…I don’t want to write it. Because its presence cements my inability to renege…on my decision to walk away from a love that I want. My hesitation comes from the fact that this love transcends all logic…which makes it ethereal. And because I know how rare it is to meet the other half of your soul…in human form…I didn’t want to accept that this connection…is supposed to be my sacrifice. For the longest, I convinced myself that breaking generational curses off my bloodline…had everything to do with me holding my ‘family’ accountable for their behavior. But God has been trying to tell me that this was just my way of escaping behavior, I refuse to hold myself fully accountable for…i.e. the death of the 4 kids…that I should be raising right now.

Giving my attention to energies who thirst for it…irritates my whole soul. Because it’s never not obvious, that the only reason they want it…is to bind me to botheredness…that belongs to them. I used to see this desperation as a cry for validation. But now I feel like the spiritual purpose of it…is to trigger the opening of an access point…to energy harvest from. Which is why I only see this behavior from bottom feeder females…whose confidence is contingent…on the absence of someone else’s. These energies are usually introduced to their succubus supply, by way of the men they desire…who desire the souls that they subsequently stalk. Then, they attempt to attach their insecurities onto that target…who unconsciously challenges the superficial security that they cosplay in.

I have a habit of under reacting…with people I love. Which can lead to extreme overreactions…if my other half ever decides it wants to be compensated for its restraint. And yesterday…it decided. It’s been a couple years since my favorite cousin, who was born a week after me and twin, stopped talking to me. He was my eyes…before I could see how these nig…men act. So, I used to spare his feelings. But someone has had me in mine the last few weeks…and the anger from being separated from solid advice…blinded me with rage…out of nowhere. If I said I chose not to write things that probably put a permanent partition between us, I’d be lying. If I said I ended the scene I made, by hoping a male part finds its way down his throat…I’d be telling the truth. Normally, I’d feel remorse but…his absence has had me gagging on grief for a while.

The lack of empathy I’ve been feeling lately…has me concerned for the emotional wellbeing of those around me. Because I’ve lost all interest in making excuses for adult children. I was better at finding giveable f*cks, when I convinced myself that being spiritually enlightened…meant laying around in darkness…with people who aren’t bright. It’s always been easy to feel my way through spaces like this…but impossible to see who I’m really dealing with. Especially if there’s shared trauma. The kind of bond that’s formed in situations like these can cause a repulsion to reality. And if one person wakes up before the other is ready to…that darkness will eventually be filled with gaslighting. Which can lead to lunacy…if you don’t uncover your ability to bring discomfort…to those intentionally making you uncomfortable.

Meet the Parents will never not be Hall of Fame funny to me. Because it finds humor in how fast people forget where they come from…just to fit in with people who don’t even like them. The irony in Gaylord‍ ‍hiding who he was, to get this acceptance, came from the fact that the people whose trust he wanted…weren’t trustworthy. I’m experiencing something similar. But I’m not trying to fit in..with the people pretending they haven’t already been exposed…for the same thing they’re desperately trying to expose me for. This selective amnesia usually happens, when someone wants to humble a soul…that disturbs demons they’ve dissociated from. And instead of accepting that their defensiveness towards a specific person comes from ignored insecurities, masked by egregious egos, they part their lips to pour stale wine…that they can also sip from. Tragic.

Being emotionally balanced is boring…asf. A normal person probably feels serenity but…I feel solitarily confined. Because I’m a Gemini, with two personalities. One encourages me to say whatever will cut down to a person’s bone marrow. Just to blame it on my diagnosis…if I dig too deep. The other prefers pleasantness. I’d rather lay up with the first side. And fall asleep, pretending my actions are justified. Irrespective of how much trauma I inflict, on someone who needed to be read. But when I choose my toxicity, I summon the sadistic side of my soul…that tempts me into ignoring reality…to keep it company. Which can lead to the kind of paralyzing psychosis…that foreshadows my fall from Grace. So, I sightsee long enough to prove a point…and return right back to being regular.

I don’t know if anyone has noticed but…I hate hoes. Because I’ve never attracted a man…who isn’t attracted to them. For a while, I convinced myself that their fixation with the frequently used…was no different than my addiction to sugar. Since I know it’s bad for me…but I never consider that…until the consequences come. So I accepted the toxicity…because I could relate. But over the years, I started noticing that whenever my relationships graduated to commitment…there was always a soul, tied to my partner, who’d turn psychopathic…when her time was up. Which always birthed a weird obsession…with me. And today I learned, from an unexpected source, that this may be due to me triggering an abandonment issue…created from their dad not choosing their mom. This checks out with a geriatric groupie I have standing at attention. Who has a habit of inserting herself in the homes of others…that she refuses to leave.

It’s a few energies…in my energy…with their souls in shambles…because they don’t know what I’m going to say next. And with a diAGnOsiS like mine…I understand their fear. But, my focus right now…is on the claims that Kelly Price just made about witchcraft being done on her. I wasn’t sure why my intuition told me to post my ‘families’ failed ritual receipts the day before her live…until I heard her words. After I listened…I went to the Gang Goofy chat to gloat. Even though I know nothing will come of it, since no one takes words like hers seriously…until someone dies. Because gang stalking experiences are meant to make the experiencer look crazy…by publicly proclaiming a paranormal problem…that those reliant on white washed religions can’t relate to. Which is why I accept that all I can do is document what I go through with my own delusional demons…until God decides it’s time to validate my truth.