Moving Back Home 2009
It was in September that Josh and I ended things amicably. My best friend drove four hours up to Tampa and another four back to Ft Lauderdale. That’s what best friends are for.
I cried literally the whole way back home. Time was running out and that psychic predicted that who I was “looking” for would die. I knew it wasn’t Josh. We were more like friends and he was under the impression the girl who lived with us was carrying his kid. I know some times people will lie before they commit suicide. Josh never gave off that vibe. He was happy and excited about being a father. We still talk and we are still close friends. Turns out that the thing about the pregnancy from that girl was a lie. No surprise there.
But I wasn’t that angry about Josh and the drama.
I was angry that I still couldn’t understand why I felt that need to find someone who didn’t live near me. I was scared and I couldn’t talk about it. Never told anyone. Not even my best friend. It was easier to let him assume Josh broke my heart. Which he did, but it was nothing compared to the dread I felt as if my life was nearly over. All because I couldn’t understand what I was feeling. I didn’t know what twin flames were and I never believed you have just one soul mate. So it’s not like I was hung up on those things. All that mattered was finding this person and seeing what happened next and to somehow protect him. I wasn’t spiritual or as spiritual. I was mostly a cynical pessimistic empty shell. God to me at the time was a vengeful angry bully that made my life a literal hell for 21 years. I seriously hated God.
Then a couple of month went by and I still had some unpacking to do. I thought about my life and how it was a joke. I didn’t feel that need to find anyone anymore. It was weird and it made me feel worse. So I cried and begged God to not let it be true. Just as I cried after getting off the phone with the psychic that spring. I cried like that for days.
For a year I swore off relationships
I started drinking and tried what ever drugs I could get to forget about what happened. Then the paranormal shit started to happen. At first I ignored it and thought I was hallucinating. As it became more frequent, I was getting my intuitive gifts back. I would feel like maybe it was a spirit who was bored or something but it would take years, plenty of repetitive dreams and card readings for me to come to the realization that it was Erik the whole time.
And it will take the rest of my fucking life to get the fuck over it. I just want to sleep until it’s November. Hearing Erik apologize and begging me to not have one more drink or smoke too much gets old but for now it’s all I can do besides find projects to keep me busy. Even while drunk as fuck.
I still have a hangover so I’m like fuck my life.
You’re probably wondering about where’s my bf in all this
I bottle things up. Talking about my emotions and being vocal about shit that fucks me up isn’t easy for me. Rick knows I don’t feel well and hasn’t yet said anything about my drinking. Maybe he’s waiting for me to explode. IDK or care to be honest. He knows if he badgers me to talk it’s an all-out war and we will be arguing for hours over how I don’t talk hardly at all.