sharpmetalmulisha
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 2, 2015
- Messages
- 53
My mom once visited a woman who could channel angels as well. Because the woman and my mother had never met before, but informed my mom of some things expressed by those close to us who have passed on as well as angels. Their session was recorded onto a tape. When I was very young my father committed suicide, he was a cocaine addict and alcoholic. Growing up his side of the family rarely visited us and though I could have put in more effort as an adult, I just chose not too. The woman told my mom that my father wanted to tell her that he was sorry he left her side and caused my brother and I to lose their dad. He also expressed thanks to the man I call Dad for raising his boys. He then told her that it wasn't her fault, and he loves us. This gave me chills because my mom had wondered if it was her fault, as his side of the family blamed her for it. During the time of this session, I was going through one of my more difficult patches and hadn't seen or talked to my family for months. The woman told my mom that I "was lost in the drug world" and was being influenced by a "tall, dark haired boy" whom she got negative vibes from. When my mom had told me she paid $75 for a 30 minute session before hearing the tape, I thought "Well Done Mother! Fabulous way to waste $75 and 30 minutes of my life I will never get back"... after hearing the tape I was amazed. I didn't tell ANYONE I knew outside of my junkie crew that I was spending my days (as well as my nights) smoking meth and riding my bike across the valley with our dopeman to make deliveries.
On my second go around with drugs, becoming what seemed like hopelessly addicted to crystal meth and losing all of my possessions and friends in the process, I had been contemplating suicide, which I thought was ironic because my addict father met the same fate. My mom paid for me to see another woman who is a medium. She first read my tarot cards, asked me to pick out these glass balls, two that I was most attracted to: I was most attracted to red and black, but lied out of optimism and picked yellow, blue, and when asked to pick another, i picked red. she then asked me to close my eyes and relax. She took my hands and I felt her twitch. She said "oh... oh wow... how do you keep yourself composed?" before letting go of my hands. I opened my eyes and saw her eyes were teary and she slightly sobbed. she told me she had "never felt such intense sadness". She also stated in a questioning sort of way "you've built so many walls around you. not just around the things that hurt you but around your entire self, you walled yourself in". I was told I was an intense individual and now I realized it was not a compliment.
(This is something I had known and just kept to myself and used to daydream about when I was bored, imagining giant thick, reinforced concrete walls and barbed wire surrounding me. When you do this and do your best to swallow any sadness or emotional moments EVERY time they come about, after a few years ago, you are numb. It's not better than feeling hurt over a broken heart or some kind of grief. It is a lot easier to let it out and work through it, rather than ignoring it and stuffing it down. I can't speak for everyone, but it caused me to be very cold towards those around me, especially my siblings)
I told her about my drug addiction and that I didn't know quite where to go or what to do. She then asked me if I had lost a friend to drugs to which I replied Yes. I actually misunderstood the question thinking that by lost she meant "changed" or "separated", but she meant "died" and I figured this out after she told me all of this --->"you're friend is coming through and he telling you that he is sorry that you are going through this same terrible burden like he did. He says he knows you want to just take that final drug and make it all go away, so you don't have to hurt anymore. He says you are smart and you are so much stronger than he was, he says it will get better and you will get through it in just a little bit more time. Don't do this, just forgive yourself, not everything is your fault and everyone makes mistakes, just learn from them and do better."
I asked her about a paranormal problem in the basement room of the house I had been living in. At one point it was my room and even though I wasn't really scared, there was definitely "something" in there. When I would fall asleep in that stage between awake and asleep, I would hear echoing screams from a man who sounded very angry and loud crashes like furniture breaking. It would startle me and I would jolt awake,as well as occasional sounds of talking upstairs and foot steps, wearing shoes, on the tile upstairs, but no one would be up there.
After this she informed me that I had an "earthbound spirit attachment". She explained that this man had been dead for "a long time" and wasn't a very nice person in terms of how he was influencing my decisions. She said he name was either Jack or Jacques, but couldn't make it out clearly, and that he had been with me for about 2 years. She said he didn't trust women, he was very cynical towards them and did not have any regard for others or life in general, and she said he was very reluctant to cross over because he was worried about judgement on the other side. After this prayed for me, we said our goodbyes, and left. On the way home I was thinking about how angry I was at my father for his suicide because it seemed like he was the person I should be able to go to for advice about my drug addiction, but he decided to jump ship on his wife and two sons, and I felt like he stole that important connection from me. I was kind of shocked in the way she said "take that final drug and make it all go away".
About a week earlier I was whipping up dinner in a spoon with my lovely wife: Crystal Meth and I had been considering how to die whenever I were to carry out my dark fate. My father slit his arms at the wrists and crooks of his arms and bled out. My grandmother who was also an alcoholic died when my mother was a child, closed the garage door, turned on the car with her favorite pillow and her favorite tape playing and went to sleep. I had considered going out like my father, but too much of a pussy to slice myself like that. I didn't have a car to drift away in either. I had a cousin who was thirteen overdose on lortabs accidentally, I thought it would be disrespectful to do it that way, since my father and the kids father were cousins, but also addicted to lortabs. Me endng my life was going to be a selfish means to an end already, no reason to open old wounds in the process. I thought about selling or trading my beloved smartphone for a .22 and squeeze the trigger. I was set on this idea until I realized that ours brain is full of nerves and if we didnt die instantly as commonly believed and i were to remain conscious and paralyzed, but fucked none the less until everything did fade to black, it would be excruciating. So I trashed that idea. It hit me that the perfect way out was through the one thing I didn't fuck with: Heroin. A heroin overdose would be the perfect way because it wouldn't hurt, there wouldn't be any worry of pain experienced when my family were notified, I would just cook up a gram, make a nice thick shot, go someplace private enough that some asshole wouldn't find me and call 911, do the syringe ritual I knew to do with meth, and die happily doing the one thing I actually enjoy doing... getting high!
Now two weeks after my spiritual encounter, I was set on dying again and decided to go for it. I felt dead inside, I looked basically dead, and I accepted that I was already dead. I stole a chicks needle (she was hep c pos, but not like it mattered, all it needed was to be sharp and it was), a phone from another friend, and ventured off to the park to find some spitter mexican to trade me half a gram for the biggest thing to hit the market at the time: a Galaxy s4. But the guy I was looking for wasn't there and the only person who was there was some cali kid under a tree, chasing the dragon. I offered to trade him, but he declined and offered to share instead. So he and I sat in the park (another irony: the park is called the International Peace Gardens.... a memorial park and destination for a suicidal drug addict to score a death punch)and chased the good ol dragon. After this... I felt A - Oh- Fucking - Kay! Desire to die had dropped and outlook was okay... sure the heroin had everything to do with this, but who would have thought the drug that would have killed me, actually saved my life? After talking to the cali kid about my shit, he urged me to go to the hospital and say I was an addict, to suggest i was suicidal and they would admit me into detox. The hospital was only 6 miles away, all up hill, past Downtown SLC., but I did it, I was admitted, detoxed and was referred to a recovery program in Phoenix which I completed and returned home to SLC where i immidiately relapsed and... i'm not sick, but i'm not well and that's just fine, cause i'm in hell... just kidding, not yet, lets see if i can kick the addiction before it gets to this point again.
On my second go around with drugs, becoming what seemed like hopelessly addicted to crystal meth and losing all of my possessions and friends in the process, I had been contemplating suicide, which I thought was ironic because my addict father met the same fate. My mom paid for me to see another woman who is a medium. She first read my tarot cards, asked me to pick out these glass balls, two that I was most attracted to: I was most attracted to red and black, but lied out of optimism and picked yellow, blue, and when asked to pick another, i picked red. she then asked me to close my eyes and relax. She took my hands and I felt her twitch. She said "oh... oh wow... how do you keep yourself composed?" before letting go of my hands. I opened my eyes and saw her eyes were teary and she slightly sobbed. she told me she had "never felt such intense sadness". She also stated in a questioning sort of way "you've built so many walls around you. not just around the things that hurt you but around your entire self, you walled yourself in". I was told I was an intense individual and now I realized it was not a compliment.
(This is something I had known and just kept to myself and used to daydream about when I was bored, imagining giant thick, reinforced concrete walls and barbed wire surrounding me. When you do this and do your best to swallow any sadness or emotional moments EVERY time they come about, after a few years ago, you are numb. It's not better than feeling hurt over a broken heart or some kind of grief. It is a lot easier to let it out and work through it, rather than ignoring it and stuffing it down. I can't speak for everyone, but it caused me to be very cold towards those around me, especially my siblings)
I told her about my drug addiction and that I didn't know quite where to go or what to do. She then asked me if I had lost a friend to drugs to which I replied Yes. I actually misunderstood the question thinking that by lost she meant "changed" or "separated", but she meant "died" and I figured this out after she told me all of this --->"you're friend is coming through and he telling you that he is sorry that you are going through this same terrible burden like he did. He says he knows you want to just take that final drug and make it all go away, so you don't have to hurt anymore. He says you are smart and you are so much stronger than he was, he says it will get better and you will get through it in just a little bit more time. Don't do this, just forgive yourself, not everything is your fault and everyone makes mistakes, just learn from them and do better."
I asked her about a paranormal problem in the basement room of the house I had been living in. At one point it was my room and even though I wasn't really scared, there was definitely "something" in there. When I would fall asleep in that stage between awake and asleep, I would hear echoing screams from a man who sounded very angry and loud crashes like furniture breaking. It would startle me and I would jolt awake,as well as occasional sounds of talking upstairs and foot steps, wearing shoes, on the tile upstairs, but no one would be up there.
After this she informed me that I had an "earthbound spirit attachment". She explained that this man had been dead for "a long time" and wasn't a very nice person in terms of how he was influencing my decisions. She said he name was either Jack or Jacques, but couldn't make it out clearly, and that he had been with me for about 2 years. She said he didn't trust women, he was very cynical towards them and did not have any regard for others or life in general, and she said he was very reluctant to cross over because he was worried about judgement on the other side. After this prayed for me, we said our goodbyes, and left. On the way home I was thinking about how angry I was at my father for his suicide because it seemed like he was the person I should be able to go to for advice about my drug addiction, but he decided to jump ship on his wife and two sons, and I felt like he stole that important connection from me. I was kind of shocked in the way she said "take that final drug and make it all go away".
About a week earlier I was whipping up dinner in a spoon with my lovely wife: Crystal Meth and I had been considering how to die whenever I were to carry out my dark fate. My father slit his arms at the wrists and crooks of his arms and bled out. My grandmother who was also an alcoholic died when my mother was a child, closed the garage door, turned on the car with her favorite pillow and her favorite tape playing and went to sleep. I had considered going out like my father, but too much of a pussy to slice myself like that. I didn't have a car to drift away in either. I had a cousin who was thirteen overdose on lortabs accidentally, I thought it would be disrespectful to do it that way, since my father and the kids father were cousins, but also addicted to lortabs. Me endng my life was going to be a selfish means to an end already, no reason to open old wounds in the process. I thought about selling or trading my beloved smartphone for a .22 and squeeze the trigger. I was set on this idea until I realized that ours brain is full of nerves and if we didnt die instantly as commonly believed and i were to remain conscious and paralyzed, but fucked none the less until everything did fade to black, it would be excruciating. So I trashed that idea. It hit me that the perfect way out was through the one thing I didn't fuck with: Heroin. A heroin overdose would be the perfect way because it wouldn't hurt, there wouldn't be any worry of pain experienced when my family were notified, I would just cook up a gram, make a nice thick shot, go someplace private enough that some asshole wouldn't find me and call 911, do the syringe ritual I knew to do with meth, and die happily doing the one thing I actually enjoy doing... getting high!
Now two weeks after my spiritual encounter, I was set on dying again and decided to go for it. I felt dead inside, I looked basically dead, and I accepted that I was already dead. I stole a chicks needle (she was hep c pos, but not like it mattered, all it needed was to be sharp and it was), a phone from another friend, and ventured off to the park to find some spitter mexican to trade me half a gram for the biggest thing to hit the market at the time: a Galaxy s4. But the guy I was looking for wasn't there and the only person who was there was some cali kid under a tree, chasing the dragon. I offered to trade him, but he declined and offered to share instead. So he and I sat in the park (another irony: the park is called the International Peace Gardens.... a memorial park and destination for a suicidal drug addict to score a death punch)and chased the good ol dragon. After this... I felt A - Oh- Fucking - Kay! Desire to die had dropped and outlook was okay... sure the heroin had everything to do with this, but who would have thought the drug that would have killed me, actually saved my life? After talking to the cali kid about my shit, he urged me to go to the hospital and say I was an addict, to suggest i was suicidal and they would admit me into detox. The hospital was only 6 miles away, all up hill, past Downtown SLC., but I did it, I was admitted, detoxed and was referred to a recovery program in Phoenix which I completed and returned home to SLC where i immidiately relapsed and... i'm not sick, but i'm not well and that's just fine, cause i'm in hell... just kidding, not yet, lets see if i can kick the addiction before it gets to this point again.
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
