Successful Psychic Reading and My Fucked Up Nostalgia (Life? Drive?)

Please. Please be honest with me, please. Let’s unravel this desperate stagnation of my heart and progress. Where do I even start? Where do I even fucking start? Hello again, old friend, deep within me, I know you’re still there. Able to express from reality, from present events, from present concerns. My explanation need not be perfect. How much easier it is to put on the facade. So real too. I mean, it truly feels real, do you see that? Have I been fucking kidding myself this whole time? 

I have a pit in my stomach right now. I should feel liberated. After offering my first official practice of a psychic reading to a stranger, I may have expected with something going as well as it did, for me to feel inspired and stir-crazy, in a way that I have felt in like-scenarios of opening spiritual doors and assisting others on their journey. It went very well for Alhena; the young girl I was introduced to in the kitchen of M & N’s home. I should feel liberated after this. Instead, I don’t feel well. Not because of her reading but because of my own. I instantly opened myself up to the needs of my own soul, unintentionally, after giving her my intuitive guidance for her life; a life that I formerly knew nothing about. Of course, I am aware that I should shield myself energetically and not expose my own life and needs of guidance in the midst of mentoring someone else. How the seduction of my own curiosity makes it hard not to open myself up. It is difficult for me to steer completely away. 

It feels so broken. For me… I’m talking about me. So false. So fucked up and tangled. My personal needs, as well as uncovering what it is that I must do in my present day life. These things stem so deep; it breaks me open in an attempt to face facts, let go of facades, and in knowing my need to deal with these issues, head on. No face. No naïve positivity, in the event of it only blinding me and hindering me. 

I should feel liberated today. I do not. All the right plans were in place for me to feel that way today. I do not. 

Last night I fell asleep at another ungodly hour. I believe it was right before 2AM. I remember seeing the time at 1:58AM, before lying still and falling away into momentary abyss. With all my exhausted intentions to get to bed early, slipping into my sheets around 9PM, and with all opportunity to find some sleep; instead, I slipped into a fried state; a zombie state of analytics and mediocre inspiration, staring at the light on my phone. I began writing and analyzing over a temporary inspiration that hit me to speak about honoring the body, mind, and soul. 

Honor the body.
The body craves vitality, not passivity. 

Honor the mind.
The mind becomes inspired by expansion, not exactness.

Honor the soul.
The soul awakens by creation, not stagnation. 

Getting to bed at 2 in the morning is actually impressively early considering this week’s vibration of sleepless nights and spontaneous moments of acting normal in outrageously diverse social settings and interactions with people that ring to be untrue and unnatural to me. A state of survival, I’ve reached, which seemingly speaks in a way of, “where the fuck is A?” and “what day is it?”

I was up at 4:30 this morning, maybe 5. With consideration to this, going to bed at 2AM is in no way early and we can just fuck off any sort of sanity that would’ve otherwise warned me and strongly advised me to be rational and healthy, god forbid. 

I show up at my gym sometime after 6:30. Guilty for being late. I feel uneasy and nostalgic for two very different reasons. First, I feel a sense of falsely examined anxiety on top of feeling sentimental, all thanks to my tardiness itself. My tardiness, and that feeling of rushing in, seeking to regain my independence through assertion and lack of eye contact; this takes me back to the many times of running into the gym late, upon our morning group workouts. This goes back to a time when I used to consistently workout every morning with Boss Batman. This is a ritual that has not been present in my life for quite some time. Since before my competition, in October of last year, and even months before then. Whenever it is apart of my life these days I find myself wandering into an unexplained and uncomfortable state of nostalgia, as I did this morning. (If I’m lucky, it’ll be 1 or 2 days at best, if at all.) I try to fight my way out of it. Resistance does no good. I try to rationally process why it feels so uncomfortable and somewhat demoralizing even, and well, sad, to me. Today I even wore gym clothes that I haven’t chosen to wear in awhile; workout attire I often wore back in the day; that itself had the power to take me to the remembrance of badass commodore, a sense of personal dictation and fucking goodness, constantly sweating, swearing, directing attention onto me, and feeling approval, support, and my own badassery, no matter if I were struggling or beasting it out in the gym. Endorphins, at its finest. I loved even my complaining and bitching. Probably terrible, but I whole-heatedly loved all of it. Every single part of it. Feeling like something. Being apart of something.

I admire Batman’s presence in my life, so strongly, and his persistent willingness and strive to approach me in a way that publicly acknowledges me as someone who holds the role of being one of our small trio of leaders in our gym atmosphere – between the three of us trainers – even in the event that I have delivered a lack of character. Whether Batman is conscious of this or not, I strongly believe that he treats me this way, because alike me, he is a visionary and thrives on his personal convictions and overall vision – and me being a part in that trio and his environment – is apart of his vision. He encourages me to see and feel that I am liked, important, and apart of something; again, whether he is conscious of this or not, I’m not sure. 

I recognize the effort that Batman puts into making sure I am welcomed and his effort of opening up his communication line. I recognize it. I appreciate it. Communication is so important. Even so, there have been many times where I have responded, consciously or subconsciously, in a cowardly way, in a closed off way, for no particular reason other than deeply rooted insecurities, my unexamined anxieties, and my inattentiveness or unwillingness to deal with these unreal fears; fears which hold no real value, no real substance or rational explanation; simply insecurity that should never be apart of me in the first place. So, deal with it, A. Get a handle on it. 

I don’t know how to connect with someone. Let me rephrase that. I don’t know how to connect me to someone. I don’t know how to connect with those individuals who I view, considerably, as being actual substantial value to me. Or, at the very least, people with the potential to be of value to me. I don’t know how to connect with that type of individual comfortably, or at the very least vulnerably, due to recognizing my needed growth and the level of connection that is absent and greatly needed in my life. It is a fear of being real. It is a fear of knowing that with this specific type of person, specific interaction, and specific connection, there is no escape from being real. Because to be real would be required in the presence of someone who reflects my own expectations of others – meaning, someone who is just as observant, introspective, and unwilling to acknowledge or accept the false identity of a person who hopes to outwardly portray themselves in a certain way. My friend, Boss Batman, alike me, is inspired about life. Therefore, illusionary wisdom or fake personalities from people are found to be uninteresting and, in some degree, probably even intolerable. Small talk doesn’t cut it. “Give me something real,” may be the motto. Therefore, I am forced in his presence to be real, in the same way I desire or expect others to be real with me. This brings up my own unresolved insecurities, unresolved irrational anxieties, unresolved inner bullshit, while challenging me to face my otherwise doormat or unexamined hypocrisy. Fuck. 

So, back to this morning. I felt nostalgic about the familiarity of my workout environment and yet it was vastly different in its vibes from what it used to be to me, long ago. Or what feels to be long ago. I acknowledge that this environment is not what it used to be for me. It is no longer apart of me in the way that it once was, with the people it once was with. Batman and I even spoke about the possibility of Sugar returning to the gym, the moment I am gone. She used to workout with us in the mornings. Before her and my now-ex, Cap, became disconnected and before I had expressed to her my interest in Cap, nearly two years ago. Even the topic of Sugar brought up my nostalgia towards what this workout environment used to mean to me. Aside from Cap, and aside from the strongly viewed potential I saw and hoped for with Cap and I, aside from all that, it brings me back to what I used to feel for this gym and what I used to feel for my life. I used to be so hopeful. Straight-up inspired! Inspired by my overall vision, inspired by my environment, inspired by my future, by my perceived role, inspired by my life and all the potential and personal illumination in what was brewing for my future, and even my present. I used to be so driven by my job – no, it wasn’t even that. I was driven by illumination and inspiration. Driven by the powerful position I newly held towards achieving my desires of creating something so beautiful; my desires of being a part of that creation, as well as to be a part of a community, a place of my own, and of such high values, not to mention the collaborative family! Or, at the very least, the potential to be! 

In essence, there was a time where I was driven by hope. High, high hopes. Highly charged creation. Driven by vision. Knowing I could make it and knowing that what I would be ‘making it’ at was something I loved! My brain child. My baby. My dream. It is not to say that my gym environment and my work environment is something so different than before or that the dynamics are so wildly warped from what they used to be – no, it is not like that. What it really is, is that something is different in me. My hope is gone. I begin sobbing as I write this. These are definitely my true feelings on the matter. This definitely says something about where this despair stems from; my ill-comfort nostalgia of somewhere that I haven’t even left yet! I am still here! Everything’s still here. It makes my stomach turn; I feel sick in knowing what this place means to me; what this gym means to me, and more importantly, what this line of work means, what my line of work means to me, and for it to no longer be apart of me in the way that it used to be.

It feels almost unbearable. I have relied on Batman’s input for so long, even the subtle comments, suggestions, nods of approval; the simple…acknowledgment. I’m accustomed to this role and to the role that he plays in my life. I think what I find to be so unbearable is accepting that all of this – my business – all of it, it’s as if it is already gone. I am already gone. I can get all sad about leaving, but I am gone. I’ve been gone. The hope that I once held for my business is gone, and my ‘business’ alone, is actually such a minimal aspect of the overall hope I placed, so greatly, at one point, in my beautiful fucking life. So much hope and anticipation – overwhelming gratitude! Gratitude for my future growth, the extended feels and wakefulness I was already experiencing, gratitude for even better and truer and more faithful relationships, all things that far exceed a job – or my training ‘business’ – it was about a life! It was about my life and a place of uplifting power. Not just a physical place but a place I was able to hold inside me. In addition, so much of it was ignited, I believe, in my pursuit for love and for a badass partnership; in hopefulness for it. Even before Cap and I got involved or even if there was some ‘involvement’ with us, it was before any love existed or was acknowledged between us, and certainly not promised or something that was worthy of placing hope in. I think on some level it fueled me. I had painted a picture in my mind and my hope for all of it, is what fueled me. I had painted Cap as a part of that grand picture but to be with him or to not be with him, I still had a vision. I was still driven, with or without him. Our possibility for a future relationship just helped me fuel that flame, despite that I had no exact expectations for us. With my internal flame being present in my life, as well as in my pursuit of love, I had a vision that everything would be alright. I had a vision that I would shine through any obstacle, through any outcome between Cap and I, or any outcome between anyone or anything. At the end of the day, I’d be a beast and that’d be that, I thought. I’d be an inspiration. I’d be a game changer. A life changer. I’d still have this environment, I thought. I’m never giving it up. I’d have this home, this sense of personal conviction, this personal promise and purpose and dedication and magic, I’d always have that, I thought. I’d be the dictator of my life and that would always be wonderful, I thought. I was the emperor of my own life, of my career, and the positive effect I was capable of having on so many people. This was my vision. This fueled me – oh, it fueled me! I believed that even if I never ‘got the guy’, I would still have this, I would still have me, I would still have my vision. The guy was just a bonus, I thought. I viewed my life and my environment as this precious jewel and, how was I so lucky for it to have fallen into my life the way it did?

In my very bones I felt, this is everything that I am. My confidence, my ability to affect others in a positive manner, to call my own shots in life. The world was mine. I could only go up from here, I thought. All this hope. What happened? 

Before Cap and I made it official in November 2014, there were many, many stormy times. These moments that seemed to prolong on and on, for almost a year prior to us officially committing to one another, left me feeling, at times, hopeless in the idea that we’d ever be capable of moving beyond our wishy-washy state of “together” but “not together” for most of 2014. Even in the midst of me frequently falling short of believing we’d ever become more – and let me admit I was exhausted from trying – despite that I had even admitted to my mom that “I’ve found my soul mate. I’ve never felt so sure of something, with anyone I’ve ever known, with anyone I’ve ever dated.” Even in the midst of those times, I very much remained inspired and goal-oriented when it came to my job, my fitness, my future, and my life. I still felt driven; never once feeling held back due to a man or due to his rejection. I believed that I was still beastly, fit, and I was unstoppable when it came to my life. I was sure of it. To some extent, I was convinced that this would exist in me at all times. Then we got together. Cap and I made it official. 

What I thought would always exist in me, I was wrong about it. I lost it. I’ve got to get my fuel back. Or find a different fuel all together. A new direction. Could it be that the pursuit of love was the very thing that fueled me? 

After a few months of Cap and I dating publicly, I was already moving in with him by February 2015. I even remember publicly posting about our relationship on Christmas Day, 2014, my 24th birthday; people had congratulated me which only awkwardly made me feel like a charity case. Things in my life got different; my inspiration, my drive, my hunger for success, everything was different. I don’t mean to say that everything got different on behalf of Cap and I, although our relationship had certainly become different. Our relationship was different in ways that far exceeded the love and closeness between us. Our relationship became amazingly different, in comparison to our prior ways of dating. In a short amount of time, it quickly exceeded my expectations – I was unbelievably filled with warmth and love for so much of the relationship. Many times I would cry in disbelief, in giddiness, and in gratitude over how God could make someone so beautiful, and to collide him with me, to love me so much, seeing that I was worthy and deserving of having this man of my dreams. I know these things make me sad to think about but it is healthy for me to speak about. I remember feeling much gratitude to have this man in my life; someone so kind, cooperative, handsome, sexy – sexy in a way that would cause envy in every girl and gay guy I knew (yes, I’m having sex with that.) He was silly though appropriately mature. Despite his maturity and cordial demaneour, his innocence and lack of worldly experience seemed endearing – cute. Annoying at times. A little too much of an ego for me. But cute to the point of admiration, most of the time. Then add the fact that we also lived nearly identical lives – not only in the present moment being that we shared a home as well as having identical careers – but all the parts that existed before we ever knew each other. Our lives seemed strangely corresponding in ways that I thought no one could be so similar.

I know that we are both innocent at heart. We both struggle with the same self shit, the same dumb ego shit, and in some ways, the same desire to be the center of attention. At the time of being so in alignment with one another we also seemed to be perfectly complementary. Capable of making up for the areas where the other lacks. Even our spiritual views seemed, at the time, to be something I had never connected with someone on in such precise agreement. I’d become speechless at the awareness of our rarity. Even in times of tension and disagreement, I’d take notice, even be blown away by the level of our sameness. It didn’t take me long to realize that with surrender and honest self examination that the things about Cap that drove me crazy (and often still do) are not due to our differences, it is due to our sameness. A karmic balance. 

All this time we thought to be walking side by side in conflict and resistance to each other. Instead, we walked side by side in resistance to ourselves. 

I find that our differences or our ‘complementary’ attributes are not in terms of what we desire for our lives, but it is in the way that each of us go about in pursuing what it is we desire. This is a common feature of the twin flame relationship. A part of me so badly wants to believe that he truly is the other half of me on a spiritual level; the true form of a karmic soulmate. This would mean that on the deepest and purest levels, we are the same. We come from the same soul. It’s about being the same, yet often taking an approach that could arguably be the polar opposite of the other person. It is through this joining of two forces, of opposite talents, but of completely correlating desires, completely correlating outcomes, and completely correlating soul. All this — all this right here, this acknowledgement and appreciation for him and for us, I find myself in a state of non resistance. In this state I feel truly incapable of feeling angry or hurt or any sort of intolerance towards Cap — many times I do not. It is insane, at times, that I realize that I do not. How am I capable of remaining in this emotionally neutral state so frequently for him? 

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