BLOG: SORRY

I’m doing better.

No more waking up at four in the morning, screaming, smashing hands against walls, tearing my torso with fingernails, banging my head against walls, throwing furniture.

I’m doing better. 

Panic attacks, anger attacks, overmedicated. Manual breathing, broken knuckles, trembling, convulsing. Dependent on cannabis, every morning, every day.

I’m doing better.

Life is easier when you’re not enveloped in confrontations on all fronts: brothers, sister, parents, etc. As an intuitive person, I’d feel alarms the second I’d punch out of work. A thumping in my stomach, nagging on my shoulder, weight condensing my back. Warnings. Fights. Something is coming. It’s imperative to learn how to read and engage with your signals as an intuitive person, an impossible task while living in chaos. 

Not to mention life’s cruel joke of sticking me inside dysfunctional workplaces, neurotically managed with oedipal ownership. Shift after shift, managers and owners taking gasoline and match to their own establishment, a lesson in self-destruction, repressed anger. A lesson in Modern Psychoanalysis.

After my short career working in the food industry during COVID, I witnessed the same behaviors. Projection of anger, micromanagement, unnecessary confrontations, anger mismanagement, substance abuse, and typically a terrible marriage dominating the workplace. Shit rolls downhill.

It wasn’t easy jumping from dysfunctional home to dysfunctional workplace and back home, and often the problem was exactly the same. The man of the house, emotionally castrated by his narcissistic wife/girlfriend, creating an unstable work environment, mimicking an unstable home environment. The employees either stick to the chaos, reflecting their own safety in trauma or eventually abandon ship for calmer seas.

I didn’t have restaurant experience so my choices and options were limited; however after a few years, worked myself from delivery driver to salad maker, pizza-maker, takeout, server, bartender, and began questing for management opportunities. However, the same problems I faced at home were the same problems I faced at work.

Nobody wants to work with somebody who’s “living in alignment” while they’re on fire.
Nobody wants to work with an intuitive psychic while they’re dealing with a narcissist.

Workplace after workplace, managers would treat me like shit, fuck with my schedule, pick fights, and eventually force me from the restaurant. This happened restaurant after restaurant after restaurant, eventually being forced from the industry.

Intuitive people recognize intuitive people, maybe not at first, but definitely over time. 

How often do you spend with your work family? 

Quite a lot. It’s only a matter of time before people pick up on your intricacies and quirks. 

And if you’re smart enough, might even catch onto somebody’s intuitive capabilities.

Not to mention the intuitive empath channels a vibration of love and light, this doesn’t mean they don’t have a dark side, a shadow. However, it does mean they are a conduit of the universe, literally transmuting negative energy and radiating love. Some people can feel this. They look at me funny when I’m walking around public spaces. Strangers will stare incessantly, wondering what they’re actually looking at, exactly. It’s strange and something I relayed to my therapist. 

“People keep fucking staring at me, dude.”

When intuitive people connect, its unmistakable – two similar wavelengths. The type of relationship where you finish each other’s sentences, an energy. You can feel it.
I noticed this with my best friend from 8th grade, both feeling a contagious laughter in the air, a melding of the minds. Perhaps a testament to reincarnation, higher dimensional consciousness? The illusion of time?

Friendships, enemies, family members, your favorite grocery store clerk from another life.

I’m extremely self-conscious that I don’t work right now. And honestly, i’m constantly reminded by everybody. Doctors, physical therapists, my parents, friends, Wawa employees, even. Why aren’t you working? What do you do for a living? What are you just hanging out? Or even just the dirty look at 7am while wearing sweatpants and a grateful dead hoodie, instead of the morning work attire.

“Are you just hanging out?” I got this one today from my new physical therapist.
“No, I make art everyday from the time I wake up until I fall asleep.”
Did she ask what art I make? No, she’s too busy frustrated with my lack of employment; a projection of her own dissatisfaction with life. Maybe accusing me of an auto insurance scam.

I’ll never work a job other than my art ever again. I’m sorry.
Job after job of facing the same complications, situation after situation. I’m done.
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. I get hired, the employer realizes something is happening, cant quite put their finger on the intuition, the process awakens this person to narcissism through contrast of personalities, and then i’m forced from my job. 

It works every time. Im good at this actually. 

If only I could figure out how to make money in the process.

Not to mention the overstimulation. 

When the entire management walked out of our restaurant, quit without notice due to managerial bullying. I felt the incoming pressure weeks before the incident, walking around with eyes shut, sleepy, unable to accomplish a decent job. Tension. Something’s coming.

Sure enough, the managers quit after emotional abuse from angry ownership and the general manager, leaving the restaurant in chaos for an entire summer, no managers. Nothing.

Intuition gives an ability to feel the smoothness of an operation, the grinding of the gears, the clicks and clacks of functionality. When the machine breaks? I break.

I’m extremely sensitive, I’ve been this way my whole life.
My favorite movies are Pi and Akira, two movies about men overwhelmed by their connection to intuition, psychic powers. This is nothing new. I tattooed the final scene from Pi on my arm, after my 18th birthday. The drill pressed against the mathematicians temple. 

Unfortunately, when you have a sociopathic mother, do you really think she wants you to realize your intuition, psychic abilities?

Fuck no.

This is where the story begins, currently, putting my life back together after years of psychological abuse. Trauma. Physical and emotional. Sorry, if I’m taking this time to process a lifetime plagued with suicide attempts, drug addiction, and constant uncontrollable chaos to no fault of my own. Well, maybe I exacerbated a few roadblocks, but we’ll talk about those stories. 

Imagine calling your mom after every therapy appointment, after every psychiatry appointment, after every supposed victory with your mental health, imagine calling your mom to provide insight into your struggle, only for her to know the true cause, and remain completely silent. I’ve lived my life in agony, violence, teetering the line of death. Looking for an escape, always.

And my own mother cannot provide any relief, only pain.

A betrayal, and why I live in the woods. Away from people, away from her.


I’ll be discussing my life in detail, providing insight into the life of an intuitive psychic, empath, clairsentient — shedding light on narcissism and intuition primarily by discussing events from my past which serve as the historical backbone to my claims.

I don’t expect people to believe me, because I didn’t believe me.
The brainwashing was intense, and now spend the majority of my days practicing and learning how to use the ability.

I’m sorry I’m not able to work a standard 9-5 job, I’m sorry I work on art everyday, sorry. Sorry my life was destroyed, I’m restarting, and it looks like I’m jerking off with legos, paint, video.
Sorry, sorry my sleep schedule is based around collective events digested by my neighbors, sorry. Sorry, it awakens me at unnatural times, destroys my sleep, and forces an uncanny lifestyle. Sorry. Sorry, my life is extremely overstimulating, it’s difficult to find any peace, always has been, sorry I can’t maintain a life of pharmaceutical drugs to blend in, sorry. Sorry, I can’t work many jobs because the bones in my hands are broken, dilapidated, tendons scarred from abuse over the years. Sorry, sorry I’m physically mangled and attempting to heal, something I’ve never been afforded because I’m still facing trauma. Sorry, sorry my mother launched a surveillance campaign against me, brother attempted to squash my probation and send my ass to prison for a decade, with no siblings to defend or stand by my side. Sorry. Sorry I’m healing after trying to convince my family how my sociopathic mother is torturing the family dogs, only to be called crazy, insane, and a liar. Sorry. Sorry, I don’t have anybody to converse about this, being psychic, without every single person calling me crazy, manic, schizophrenic, or insane. Threatening to hospitalize me, call the cops, or even wearing a gun around the house, waiting for the opportunity to shoot Nick dead. Sorry. Sorry, the pain mounts after year after year after year after year. 

I’m sorry, I live in the woods, I mind my own business, I work on art. I work on the thing everybody told me to pursue in high school, college, despite what my parents thought about creative careers, despite them thinking I’d never make any money. Sorry.

I don’t need a pity party, I don’t need your sympathy.
I just wish you’d stop judging me, because as an intuitive empath;

sometimes,

I can feel it.