Trembling, twitching, convulsing.
Mind racing, neurons raging.
What’s happening this time?
If I want to prove my intuition, it might be imperative that I blog my reactions to the stimuli.
Because after all…
I’m still learning how to read my intuition after years of being brainwashed by my sociopathic mother. A process that is ultimately confusing and difficult to understand.
Was I really this psychic my whole life?
How did I not notice?
I’ve refused to start this blog out of fear of imperfection. How lame.
Especially when all I need to do is show up, be present, write.
The world is in disarray.
It’s the least I can do, right?
I guess.
Why?
What’s the matter?
What if I told you there was a narcissism pandemic?
An outbreak of narcissistic personality disorder ravaging every crevice on the globe.
A continuation of the patriarchy, the suppression of women, the adoption of repressive cultures and religions, the attachment to gender hierarchies and norms.
These are my observations from five years studying modern psychoanalysis as an intuitive empath.
Took me 5-6 months of constant pressing from my therapist before I woke up to my intuitive abilities, and honestly I’m still waking up.
I was really fucking brainwashed.
Nothing is making sense.
My childhood is a blur of nonsense and stimulation.
I’ll be writing about everything.
Every memory, every conflict.
No exceptions.
I’ll be leaving behind my diary of intuition, in hopes it awakens or aids another soul.
It’s a tricky topic — psychic powers, and it’s a long road to convincing people what’s happening — narcissism.
It’s a long road to convincing myself what’s happening.
How do we solve the narcissism pandemic?
By becoming conscious, healing our traumas, and implementing the teaching to our society — by living in alignment, living by example.
Just some thoughts.
Thoughts while I can’t sleep.
Thoughts while Russia threatens to use nuclear missles against imposing forces.
Thoughts in the age of conflict escalation.
Thoughts while our country remains president-less, leaderless, alone.
Are these insane times, or what?
I’m going to be writing more, even if it’s from my toilet at 6:46 am.
Cheers!
THE BADBOOB 