Tag Archives: Psychic

Keeping the faith

26 Apr


For the past week I’ve been telling myself, “You’re never going to meet anyone or get married or have kids or be loved at all, really, so just deal with it. Make your peace with it. And try and find something else to make you happy.”

I tell you what, it’s a tough pill to swallow.

I think I’ve cried even more than usual this week while repeating this jaunty little mantra in my head.

Well, today I went to see my psychic. I’ve decided to see her three times a year (once every four months). I first saw her the week after the pizza of doom, then just before Christmas. So far she’s been pretty accurate. More importantly, she’s made me happy. OK, happier. For a little while.

As usual, today she knew exactly how I felt. That while my life isn’t bad, it feels like there’s no point to it, no connection to anything, no reason, nothing good. And certainly nothing to look forward to.

Well, she looked at my tea leaves and suddenly exclaimed, “Oh my, I love this antique bath you’re going to buy. It’s a roll top.”

That alone is something to look forward to. I love taking baths.

But there was more.

Two kids. First a boy, then she wasn’t sure whether boy or girl. A man who loves me. A fat cat or small dog (again, hard for her to decipher). She told me with confidence she could, “100% guarantee this is going to happen.” And – to be fair – her prediction has been pretty much identical every time I’ve seen her. The bath was a new addition, mind you.

There were a few too many tarot cards showing swords for my liking. Specifically, swords sticking through a heart and swords sticking into someone’s back. But I guess that does sum up the way I feel at the moment. How disappointed I am with my life. How conned I feel by everything.

She said I need to believe and I need to visualise this happy family that she’s predicted. And that I have a female spirit looking after me who wanted me to see that today. I don’t want to get all paranormal with you, but I wonder if that’s my Nonna who passed away when I was 15.

And books. I’m going to write books.

And ride horses.

And bake cakes.

These are all my favourite things in the world. Ever.

So do I keep the faith and believe this is all going to come true? Or do I try and protect myself by telling myself that it won’t?

Apparently this man (the hot piece of ass who’s going to turn out to be the love of my life) is a water sign. She tells me this every time I see her.

My ex was right on the cusp of being a water sign. I suppose if today was about looking to the future then I shouldn’t dwell on that point.

A little reflection

21 Dec

Today I went to see the psychic who I saw the week after the pizza of doom.

It was a good experience. We concentrated a lot more on my career and what the hell I am going to do about that area of my life. She assured me, once again, that I am getting married and having two kids. And she seemed to know exactly how I feel right now. Mainly that I am slapping on a big smile for Christmas, but regularly crying because I’m terrified I’m going to spend my whole life alone.

Just as interesting, though, was my journey to her house. The same journey I made on the 10th of August.

The 10th of August was a hot day. I was wearing a crumpled dress and flip flops because I had no clean clothes and no ability to dress myself. I had no makeup on. No jewellery. My hair was wet. I stopped at Starbucks on the way and sat shaking while trying to drink my coffee. I listened to Taylor Swift as I walked up Holloway Road. I met the psychic and almost immediately burst into tears. I spent an hour wiping my face while she assured me that, “This had to happen.” A mantra I have repeated to myself ever since. I left and sat in the park with my friend Trudi and her kids, trying to enjoy the simple pleasure of them saying cute things and doing funny things. And the I got the bus home, wondering how the hell I was going to get through a Saturday night in my flat, on my own. I was actually terrified.

Today was quite cold, and very rainy. I wore a clean dress with warm tights and my winter coat. And a hat and scarf for good measure. And all my usual jewellry. And makeup. I stopped at Costa on the way and treated myself to a full fat gingerbread latte. I sat and drank it, watching the rain, and people rushing around doing last-minute Christmas things. I listened to Christmas music on my way up Holloway Road. I chatted away to the psychic, about family and work and dating. I left, went into town and picked up some odds and ends that I still needed for Christmas. And when I got home, I immediately put on my pyjamas and revelled in the warmth of my flat, the smell of my scented candles, and A Muppet Christmas Carol.

I cried tonight. Hard. I was thinking about how my career is as successful now as I could ever have hoped it would be. But I’m the most unhappy I have ever been.

Then I thought back to the 10th of August. And the week before that. And I realised how far I’ve come.

This had to happen.

What is there to say?

27 Oct

I’m feeling really low. I’m struggling to sleep without my sleeping pills again. I’m even low on inspiration for my blog.

What is there to say?

It’s been 12 weeks.

I still cry nearly every day.

Sometimes I hate him.

Sometimes I hate myself.

I’m so busy trying to distract myself that I’m exhausted.

I’ve seen two therapists.

Two doctors.

Three psychics.

Lost count of the massage therapists.

Nothing really makes me happy anymore.

I’m not even looking forward to Christmas.

I’m angry at myself for sounding so miserable and self-centered.

And I still love him.

Apparently there’s a huge storm about to sweep across the country. I hope it blows the past away.

How Ally McBeal continues to shape my life. Seriously.

6 Oct

I have a cold. I never get ill. In 2012 I did not have a single cold. Not once. Naturally, I’m blaming this current snot-fest on my ex and the emotional upheaval I’ve been through for the past nine weeks. My immune system has been compromised. Yet another reason to be angry.

But it’s not all bad news. I’m going to Boston on business in a week’s time. I love Boston. And in the autumn, well, what could be more perfect? So I’m wrapped up in blankets on my sofa preparing for my trip the only way I know how – by watching old episodes of Ally McBeal.

I wanted Ally McBeal’s life. In fact, I decided to study law based almost entirely on this TV show. Watching it now (not as a 16 year old) I have a different appreciation for all the cr*p she puts up with from men. And the whole Billy thing. Ugh. I know I couldn’t work in the same office as him.

My best friend and I watched every week, recorded every episode, and then watched it again. (My best friend also ended up studying law.) We both dreamed of this exciting lifestyle – wearing suits with overly short skirts, lounging around with cartons of ice cream and tartan PJs in a gorgeous apartment, working with crazy characters who regularly broke into song, and dating. Dating lots and lots of men.

Well, my best friend was lucky enough to meet the love of her life while we were at university. They got married a few years ago. They moved to Australia, and she’s having a baby in January.

All my close friends from university are married these days. It’s easy to feel hard-done-by that I’m the one yet to meet my person. And it does seem unfair. I’m one of the nicest people I know. Why am I the one with nobody?

But what I do have is stories. All these years of dating and doomed relationships. The guy I met online with the ‘quirky sense of humour’ which turned out to be a legit obsession with dinosaurs. Kissing boys on drunken nights out. Getting dumped via text message. Having to presume that I’ve been dumped when guys disappear off the face of the earth. Secret office romances. The dude I went on one date with who then repeatedly made me CDs and bought me a T-shirt with a lion on it. The date with the guy who was clearly homosexual. The guy who talked non-stop about the mating rituals of foxes. The long-distance relationship. The crushes. The first kisses. Meeting the person I thought I was going to marry – who told me he wanted to marry me – only to find out he was “never completely in love” with me.

Like I said, when I was 16 I wanted Ally’s life. And she didn’t have it easy either. She got it wrong. She got hurt. But she believed in love. She believed enough to sing ‘Goodnight My Someone’ in that beautiful apartment of hers.

I believe too. It would be too ridiculous for me to go through my entire life alone. And I’m going to look back on all these stories and be grateful that I gained from these experiences.

Plus, the psychic I saw post pizza of doom seemed pretty sure that I would be travelling a lot with my new job, and that I might meet someone on a flight.

Now, isn’t that just the kind of thing that would happen to Ally McBeal?

Not a great psychic experience

21 Sep

Hmmm. I went to see a tarot reader today. Not one who I have been to before, but every time I have dabbled in this kind of thing I have left feeling confident, happy and excited about the future. As well as a little delighted that they could actually tell me stuff that they could not have otherwise known.

This time was different.

I just had a feeling about the woman doing the reading. A feeling that I really didn’t like her. For a start, she wouldn’t stop talking about what a stressful couple of days she’d had (whilst stuffing her face with biscuits). Em. I’ve had a pretty stressful few weeks myself, let’s talk about me seeing as I’m the one paying for this little get together.

Her main focus was that I am so keen to prove myself that I tend to trample on other people. Honestly, I am such a self-aware person. I have plenty of faults. Plenty. But this is just not one of them. I over-analyse every interaction with every person to make sure that the other person is OK. I worry constantly about the feelings of others. If anything I trample on myself at times.

As soon as she found out that my ex’s career had something to do with banking (she asked me straight out what he did, didn’t even attempt to tell me), she painted him with the ‘banker’ brush and described the stereotype that we’ve all been encouraged to despise over recent years.

I actually felt myself withdrawing from the whole thing emotionally. How dare she tell me about my relationship. How dare she speak badly of him. How dare she presume to know anything about my career or family or lifestyle.

She also slagged off ‘Sex and the City’.

I left feeling sad and angry.

And I just don’t know what else to say about this right now.

But in other news, my little blog is one-month old today. Thank you all for reading. I apologise for being slightly mental right now.

What the psychic had to say

5 Sep

The weekend after the pizza of doom I went to see a psychic. This is something my friend and I did four years ago when her engagement got broken off and I was going through a break up of my own. The accuracy was startling. I also went to see a palm reader in Key West with the ex before the ex, and his perceptions were scarily correct too. They mostly revolved around the fact we had to break up. Which we did a few days later (that story is still to come). The point is, if someone can convince me that they genuinely have these powers, I put a lot of faith in what they have to tell me.

Anyway, I liked this psychic straight off because she had a cat who sat with us throughout the reading. I cried a lot, and I left an hour later feeling much better about life. There were various things that led me to believe she knew what she was talking about, e.g. “I was dreaming about New York all night, have you just been there?” Hell. Yes. I had got back two weeks before.

So what did she predict? Well, the long and short of it is a lot of happiness. She kept telling me that this, “had to happen”. That my ex will realise his mistake, but it will be too late because I’m going to meet someone else and it’s not long til I’m planning my wedding. Then I have two kids, and two dogs. Everything happens in twos for me.

Although the concept of marriage and kids makes me feel quite sick at the moment (the promise of dogs, on the other hand, was music to my ears) I’ve kind of been clinging onto this reading for the past few weeks. I keep repeating those words to myself. “This had to happen.” It feels reassuring.

But after an evening lying in bed watching House of Cards, my outlook isn’t as cheery and rainbow-filled as it used to be (I really am usually such a fricking happy person. Like, to an annoying degree.)

I’m left with a very scary question bothering me.

What if the psychic is wrong?