It is nice when people do not give me shit.

I went to the Bridgeschool concert at Shoreline. Nobody gave me shit about my meds, syringes, or other needs. I chugged half of my meds at around 9. I survived a long concert. it was fun.

It is nice when security people don’t give you shit unlike the ones at Pirates of Emerson that I went to last year or two years ago by now. When i’m in large crowds on my own, sometimes I freak out. I pick up on a whole lot of psychic stuff. As of this year, I have gotten better at shielding myself from the onslaught.

The thing is, being psychic is not fun. It is not special. It doesn’t make me more enlightened than you. It makes me a whole lotta crazy. I don’t fully appreciate my talents that enabled me to heal my boyfriend’s fused together left arm as well as my friend’s plaque build up in an artery that she changed her diet to get over. It may not have been all me. All I do it seems is focus on how much I love that person and want them around.

A quirky psychic talent of mine is knowing when people are going to have psychotic breaks. I know when people are goingg to skip meds. I know when people are suicidal. It makes me crazy. I might be able to intervene. I’m right about my boyfriend’s former boss headed for a break. i’m of course, terrified of when this will happen. Its enough to set off a chocolate chip cookie craving.