Parties, People and Fear

I went to a party last night.

  • I was enlightened more than ever before about the effect that alcohol has on my energy system.
  • I began to really crave a more interconnected society.
  • I met some nice people.

I’ve found that alcohol doesn’t really do that much for me. It does loosen me up socially a little bit, I guess, but only a little, even if I’m drunk, it’s not enough to say that it’s worth it any more. I think it’s because no matter how much alcohol I may ingest I am still just a different social creature when compared to most others at these parties I go to. It is interesting how much I have changed. I very much used to love getting drunk but last night and in recent previous nights I found myself thinking, “Why did I even drink that? It’s not even doing that much.” I am definitely saying, admitting it here – I am not someone who drinks alcohol for the taste. I am not a beer or wine connoisseur or lover of ‘insert spirit here’ on the rocks… I drink it because I feel like it will make me have a better time. Granted, some alcoholic beverages are in fact delicious like apple cider or Espresso Martinis, but if I was really after the taste only I would order a non-alcoholic apple cider and just an espresso, hold the Martini.

As of now, my energy system is just like bllearghhh. Not a hang over but just… blearrgh. I’m wearing my orgonite bracelet and I can see and feel the difference between the area of my body and energy field closest to the bracelet vs. the areas further away. My head, particularly is very foggy and gross. Around the skull there are small wisps of grey foggy energy going in and out of it, hence the feeling of ‘blearghh’. The front and back of my aura feels just icky and cloudy and like I need to breathe some light into there. Though, I must say there is something surprising going on – there is a strong violet/purple sort of jelly looking ball of light flowing between my chest and the first inner layer of the aura. I think it might be my connection to what I call ‘the one heart’ being particularly active at this time (the one heart: the collective heart chakra of humanity – you have your own but you are also connected to a larger energy system that belongs to humanity as a collective, as a whole being), probably because of my recent reflections relative to human interconnectedness that you will read below.
Additionally, I must add that I do believe that the higher my natural vibration is, the more sensitive I am to alcohol OR it’s that I am more psychically aware of the effects it has always had on my energy field. So, some breathing and stretching will soon be taking place. (Also, wearing a fluorite crystal necklace. I recommend fluorite for a general healing/cleansing effect, for anything really, it’s awesome). I kind of really just want to swim around in the ocean for an hour, I think that would help immensely. I miss Summer a lot. Anyway…

I met some great people last night. I am glad of that. We also did share some deeper conversations about life – mostly relative to the current unhealthy state of our societal environment… but even in those, I found myself not saying anything because I did fundamentally disagree with a lot of what was being presented – and I am not one to defensively present my opinion where it’s not relevant, but will and am more than happy to share it, if asked or if my ‘different’ opinion does become relevant and placeable. And I don’t mind being the one to disagree or the fact that someone’s perspective differs from mine. Always been pretty ‘meh’ about that.

The most fundamental and common thing that I’ve found that differs between me and others’ perspectives in these sorts of conversations is my understanding of consciousness. Like, most people are not ready to hear the perspective that believes that a rock and a stick have consciousness and that their life is just as precious as mine or a cat or a dogs. People are not ready to hear that changing society does not require protests and petitions all the time. Not to say that they don’t ever help…it’s just that, it becomes true that it really IS enough to just change yourself when one takes into account the way that energy and consciousness work to create an external reality.

buddha quote oneness

And I don’t ever expect anyone to agree (hopefully this sort of sad non-expectation will fade over time as we and the Earth move into a higher state of being in the upcoming years) with these ways of viewing life…what I mean when I say that people aren’t ready is that…they’re not ready to hear any differing perspective, not just mine, without feeling compelled to explain why it’s wrong or aggressively declare their disagreement (note: This is a generalisation and is not reflective of all people I have interacted with in the recent past). I never find myself upset at the fact that I am usually the one who holds a different perspective. It is the way that people sometimes react to these ‘extreme’ perspectives I hold that is the thing that can sometimes be upsetting, not the simple fact that they disagree. – Though admittedly, hardly ever finding people that are on the same page does sometimes cause a pang of loneliness during later reflection (where are my people? sort of thing).

It’s in those moments that I realise I crave a more strongly bonded and/or interconnected society. It’s like…if we had a real, deep heart connection I would know exactly who you are, and you would know exactly who I am, if we could just see all of each other, on the deepest level – then we both would automatically know that there’s no need for an aggressive way of disagreeing because we would know that it is okay to have differing perspectives, because we would know that a) the world won’t fall apart if one finds that one is ‘wrong’ and b) that there is no judgement, no negative thoughts towards each other, because we are already wholly and lovingly embraced.

It’s fear…it’s all about fear, really.

It is fear that results from the assumption that if we hold different perspectives, or if my perspective changes because I happen to start agreeing with this other, new perspective, then that means that I have been living my life ‘wrong’ this whole time, and it also means that this could happen again at any moment, because before now I thought I was ‘right’ but as I’m finding now, I have been ‘wrong’. And this is not okay. It is not okay for me to maybe be ‘wrong’. It’s not okay because: uncertainty and the unknown – these are not allowed.

If I accept that my perspective on life has been altered or has the potential to be altered in some way at any given moment, then I am accepting that my understanding of the world can never be for certain. And that is scary.
Why is that scary?
Because then I don’t know things.
And what’s wrong with not knowing?
It leaves unprepared. It leaves me to the unknown.
And what’s so scary about being unprepared relative to the unknown?
Well, anything could happen/be out there.
Well, bad things could happen.
Yes. But that’s always the case no matter how much you think you know. And why would you assume that the unknown is full of only bad things? Why not good things? How can you make an assumption like that, or any at all, if it is all unknown? That literally doesn’t make sense.
The only assumption about the unknown that can be made is that no assumptions can be made about it.

When I see people arguing in a debate about these sorts of truths, it’s like, I know that you’re really arguing for your sense of safety and security, or for your pride and sense of self worth, or because your dad taught you some screwed up belief like maybe a ‘man’ always fights and wins, or because you believe that if you’re wrong then you’re a failure or something. It’s not about the presented issue. I know.

I know that when someone is saying, “Oh man, I hate insertnamehere, she’s so annoying.” I know: You don’t really hate her. Maybe she annoys you because she reflects something that is in you that annoys you that you want to change, or maybe you’re jealous of her and mad at yourself for not being more like her, or maybe when you were 6 a girl at school with that same name used to tease you.  I know you’re just a bit messed up like the rest of us.

I always watch my parents fight (though they don’t call it fighting – they call it ‘stirring one another) and I know what they are really saying to one another. I know what is really triggering my mum’s need to ‘stir’ dad – because it’s the only way she can say what she really wants to say – in a ‘teasing’ way. And I think dad knows some of this stuff to, but he can’t admit to himself that he knows, so he carries on with it all and ‘stirs’ back. I know what they are saying and I do think that they would be a lot happier in the long run if they could be less fearful of the unknown and just share with each other.

If we all had a stronger heart connection we would all be sharing all the time and all would just know that I have a whole lot of empathy for you and you have a whole lot empathy for me, because we would really see one another and that’d be all. I think there would less fear and more faith in one another.

Everyone is intrinsically good. We’re all just kids that have taped ourselves up to resemble adults to the best of our ability.

Maybe I think and reflect way more than others. I can’t let go and talk about surface-y things for very long. I see the depth of it all, and I can’t detach from it. I can’t ‘turn it off’.

I think the thing, with the alcohol, is that I have high hopes that it will draw out the part of me that knows how to talk to other people on that surface level and that’s all, that it will make that part so loud that it will quieten the busy inner mind… And it does, a little bit, but not enough to remove the feeling of how unnatural and wrong my functioning seems to be when under it’s influence. And not even referring to crazy, or wild drunkard behaviour when I say how ‘wrong’ my functioning feels. It’s just this…layering of…heaviness over my head…and it’s the separation it causes between this inner, reflective and intuitive mind I speak of, the one that makes all these observations in the moment, vs. the surface-y personality aspect of me that interacts. When that part of me is active and the other part is not, or is less-than…THAT’S what it is, man. THAT.

It made me long for the kind of truly intimate and loving relationship I that I have with my best friends to also be shared between me and everyone. That connection between the heart chakras and that awareness of one another’s energy – which encompasses every layer and aspect of one’s being – that’s what we all need more of.

I think people think they’re really alone in their insecurities, traumas, and all that ‘dark’, all those pieces of themselves that are unknown to others around them…alone in the sense that they think that they are the only ones who are experiencing this darker shade of being human and/or that it’s not okay to share, or to want to be supported, or to ask for support…
When in reality, they’re not alone. We are all sharing the human experience…

fearful of the night quote


The Urge to Write, to Love and to Heal.

For some reason I just feel like writing.

There are whole sentences and chapters of true tales and made up stories flowing through my head but they’re just not tangible yet.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately…and I am realising, in this very moment, often when I do that, I start to tell a story to myself in my head about some kind of magical, dizzying love that I…want? remember? am copying from a movie? Like I said, it’s intangible. But I can feel it.

Ah! – (I’m realising now) – that’s why! – someone in my family just got engaged. That’s when it bcrazy loveegan. The tales and the words.

I still believe that the true, true love story of my life has not yet arrived. Though I have been in love multiple times…those loves didn’t come with the words and the story of movies and theatre and novellas. Or maybe they did, I just didn’t realise it at the time. No…no, I think it just wasn’t…wasn’t the fairytale.

So, I believe that it’s all still coming my way. Is it still a fairytale then? I’m not sure. Perhaps it is until proven otherwise. But that’s the attitude of realists, scientists, pessimists even…and I’m none of those.

I’m the believer. I believe in magic first and what is ‘real’ second because I feel it. I feel the magic and only watch the ‘real’ (I.e.”real life”, “real truth”…someone else’s “real”…) I feel it on the tips of my fingers, I feel it running over my hands and into the bones of my wrists. And I’ll believe until it cascades through my body and overflows into my world.
Then it won’t be ‘magic’ any more. It’ll just be….it will just be.

the doctor hopes

– The Doctor (Me too, Doctor. Me too.)


I have great, massive capacity for love and I think that’s why my idea of love is so different to other people’s (it seems) and why I haven’t been satisfied by my past experiences when compared to the stories of love that roll through my head. It’s because this fairytale love is the love that I give to other people, but they don’t see it, they can’t see it because they’re not ready for it.
I think in the past when it comes to love, I have unconsciously ‘settled’. As much as I massively love others, I somehow have come to believe that I don’t deserve the same. On a surface level, I do, which is why I am not satisfied by past experience, as aforementioned…but in truth…because I have never received the huge, deep love that I give to others in return, I have come to believe that I mustn’t deserve it. Something is wrong with me, that must be it.
Where, why and when did I learn that? Let me guess…childhood.
We really are all just emotionally wounded kids that we pushed together to create ourselves as ‘adults’.

I know in my childhood I was….hmm…I always get stuck when I try to go deeper into these things. Okay, try again.
I was ‘the over sensitive one’.
I once wrote online that I have experienced childhood trauma. I was unsure about writing it because I know that people would not consider anything that happened to me spectacularly ‘traumatic’…like, my ‘not really traumatic, you’re just being over sensitive’ experience does not allow me the right to use that term relative to me and my childhood.
However, in this moment I’ve decided I’ll take it. I’ll take it and I’ll use it. It feels a bit uncomfortable as I write these words…but right at the same time. That uncomfortable feeling is actually just fear of the aforementioned judgement.

{Here is something that helps me with all that:

The dictionary defines ‘trauma’ as: a deeply distressing or disturbing experience.

The dictionary defines ‘traumatized’ as: subject to lasting shock as a result of a disturbing experience or physical injury.

I most like this description from Wikipedia: Trauma is often the result of an overwhelming amount of stress that exceeds one’s ability to cope or integrate the emotions involved with that experience.}

Anyway, so. I seemingly believe that I don’t deserve love, or at least, the kind of love that is similar to that which I believe I offer to others. This issue has to do with self-worth. Trust me on this, I’ve done three pages of shadow work (‘shadow work’: identification of detrimental core beliefs, with the intention of changing them into something positive, or at the very least, neutral) that led me to figuring that out…

It is a daily occurrence for me that I have intrusive thoughts and flashbacks about things that happened in my childhood. I haven’t done anything about it because just contemplating the idea of ‘dealing with them’ makes me feel…basically nope nope nope nope nope and so I nope the hell out of there, every single time. Even now. I’m noping. I’m noping all over the place.
At the same time, this, just writing this, is a break through because it’s the longest I’ve thought about all this (as I write this, the things from my childhood that I’m referring to are flooding through my brain).
Here are some things – and here is the issue – a lot of them seem like nothing to be traumatised about – but I am traumatised by it (because of the inability to integrate or cope with the emotions involved in the experience – hence why I like the Wikipedia definition).
I’m still typing because I’m putting off writing them out. Procrastinate is my middle name. No it’s not, I lied. Anyway:

I have a memory of my brother taking my bright blue, flower shaped clock that I looooooved so much and smashing it on the tiles in the hallway near the front door. I think I was about 10-11? But actually, in this memory, I can’t remember….I think there was an orange clock that looked the same…but it was orange? Maybe I had two? Anyway. Smashing of the clock. There. I said it. And see? That seems like nothing. But there it is. I remember he wanted something, or wanted me to do something for him and I said no and I don’t know..I know there was yelling and I was really upset, screaming that I hated him and crying. I suppose it must have been more than him just wanting me to do something? Dunno. Yea, so, that. He smashed it. I remember he was laughing and smiling. Um…and I was like, “I hate you!” and…that’s all I remember. ….Hmmm….?

Being in the kitchen around age 7. We had just had dinner at the kitchen table. My brother had done something, or said something really bad and was getting in trouble. (He was two years older than my twin sister and I, by the way). The kitchen table is bright orange and is actually a bench, come to think of it. That’s a better word. It’s an orange bench and there’s three chairs on one side and the inner bit of the kitchen with the cupboards and the kitchen sink Etc. on the other side. Mum and dad sat on that side. My brother sat at the ‘head’ of the bench, and my sister and I sat on the other side.
Dad had stood up to approach my brother to smack his hand as punishment I.e. my brother would hold is hand out in the air, palm down, and dad would hit the top of his hand really hard. I think.
My brother obviously didn’t want that so he started backing away, away from dad and where he was sitting, around to me and my sister’s side of the bench. Dad was coming forward towards him. I got up off my chair and backed away, ended up standing near the wall at the opposite end of the bench to where my brother had been sitting. Dad grabbed my brother’s wrist, making him hold still and then hit the back of my brother’s hand with his other hand. I remember the feeling/just know that my eyes were welling with tears.
I remember that I must have said something about how dad shouldn’t have done that, and dad turned and looked at me and said, “Do you want a smack too?!” I burst into tears and backed all the way up against the wall. I was either crouched down or I’m just thinking that because I guess it would kind of seem like that if I’m looking through the eyes of my short 7 year old self and comparing that perspective to me and my height now…
I remember being really scared…my brother ran up the stairs and slammed his door. My dad sat back down at the bench and continued eating his steak and peas…or I’m just remembering that’s what he was eating. ….Yea, so, there’s that one.

Intrusive memory three:
Mum hemming my skirt for high school and very indirectly suggesting I would look “un-ladylike” if she put it as short as where I wanted it (which isn’t really true in my now grown up opinion, it would have just been the tiniest bit above the knee which was not allowed at our school). I took this completely the wrong way, thought she was calling me a slut and started crying and yelling at her. She stopped hemming my skirt, left the house and either drove away somewhere or was just sitting in the car outside…not sure.
I went upstairs to my bed and cried for two hours, thinking that I was a bad daughter and mum hated me so much she had to drive away. I called her phone and she didn’t answer (I think? Or did I just add that in? Oh well), so I was like, “come back, come back!” in between my sobs. I think Dad came in and said she just needed some time out and basically tried to tell me it would be alright and that I was over reacting.
When she came back I said sorry and cried in her arms and she sort of stood there a bit emotionless and was like, “it’s alright” – like, she was still mad and didn’t want to have to comfort me at that moment. She still does that a little bit sometimes – I mean, something upsets her and she is like, “it’s fine. I’m fine” but she looks weird and her mouth is just a straight, expressionless line and no matter what you do you can’t hug it out of her for the rest of the day/trip. As I’m older, I do see that’s a coping mechanism. At the time of the argument I didn’t realise that kind of reaction is more to do with her and not me, so concluded that she still sort of hated me/thinks I’m a bad daughter for a while longer.


Okay, I think that is enough for now. Whoa. Shit is cray.

And anyway, as The Doctor says:


doctor who quote amy