How psychics stripped me of my beliefs.
I used to wholeheartedly believe in psychics. I have actually had some gnarly premonitions myself, waking from dreams of people coming to me out of a burst of fog, smiling at me, sometimes they are accompanied by people who have already passed on. Some of the time I don’t even know who these people are until I see their face in the obituary within the next day or so. Weird, I agree. I can’t explain it, nor will I try.
What I will try to explain is why I no longer believe in psychics.
I knew a wonderful lady who I will call Lucy. She lived in the woods in an small New England town and claimed to be a psychic medium. I will admit, she was spookily accurate. The first time I visited her was the first time seeing any psychic. I was in my early twenties and my friend, Midge, had invited me to go along with her.
Off we went in her clattering SUV, through the woods until we reached Midge’s modest home. We walked up the dirt path towards her cabin to the sound of songbirds and goats bleating from their enclosure. There should have been the dull droning noise of traffic or even a stray gunshot since it was hunting season but nothing else seemed to exist. I followed Midge along a beaten down path past the goat pen. Nubians reached the long necks and even longer tongues over the fencing in the hopes for a snack or a pet as Lucy ushered us into the cabin.
She was quite pretty, mid-fifties and very pleasant to be around. I could almost see the kindness flowing out of her as she moved along the path. Midge went first and I was approved to sit in the corner while she had her reading. Not three minutes into it and Lucy was tongue tied. She held her head in her hands whispering to either herself or the spirits surrounding us, before looking at me. “You need to leave the room, dear.” She told me. “Whew. The energy is just whipping off you.” She added as she ushered me onto the porch while she fanned herself with a clump of papers. I sat outside with the goats until it was my turn.
Lucy eventually came out and Midge and I traded places. I sat down in a hard wooden chair not knowing what to expect. “Now!” she said, “Let’s get down to business!” She had me shuffle her tarot deck and focused on the forces that be before telling me my dog does not stray far from me. I continued to shuffle while saying “yes, he’s a good boy.” She looked at me as if she was already sick of my skepticism and added, “The one that just passed! SHE is sitting right next to you.” I had my moment of “How could she possibly know!!” before replying, “yes, she was a good dog, the cute little thing.” in my attempt to throw her off but she was just too good. “This dog is brown and over a hundred pounds. Do you know this dog?” Her hands now folded in front of her and resting on the table. I was shocked to say the least and gave up then and there and likely way too easily.
The reading that followed was astounding to say the least. She knew the names of past relatives and deceased friends, people I have not met yet to be weary of, (did I listen? Nooo!!) At first, I thought Midge had given her information, but she didn’t even know half of the things Lucy was coming up with. I was hooked. About once a year or so I would visit Lucy in the woods, even after Midge and I lost contact. Her readings were always accurate, and I was always a full believer.
Eventually I moved away, and I didn’t visit Lucy or any other psychic for quite some time. After several years I finally decided to make an appointment just for fun. Lucy had a new home, a new set up and a new location for her readings, but she hadn’t aged a day. She did, however, seem a bit unhinged. She was all over the place, speaking very quickly and unloading all her fears and worries onto me. Instead of a reading, not only did I feel like a therapist, but I received some very generic information that would have fit into anyone’s life, including the classic “someone with the initial ‘L’ is with us.” I was so bummed. I wanted so badly to believe in her that I waited a few months before going back. I excused her scattered-ness on the fact that she had just come out of three back-to-back readings and was over-stimulated by whatever residual energies were left behind.
I would return periodically only to find that sometimes she was on point, sometimes she was scattered and maybe a little worrisome. Once she even tried to convince me that washing my eyeballs out with mouthwash was the only way to cure any eye problems. She even demonstrated her faith in this by pouring a capful into her own eye. It was time to say good-bye to Lucy.
Next up, came a young man I will call Andrew. He claimed to be an empath and offered a reading at the local “I just want to look at the moon and call myself a witch” store. You know the type, they sell rocks, candles and overpriced Buddha statues hoping that you aren’t as smart as them. I am not sure why I agreed to get a reading from Andrew, but while I waited, I browsed through the tiny shop while the cashier decided to test out her faux-psychic abilities on me. “So, you’re a Libra.” She said to me. “No.” was my reply. She hemmed and hawed over her rocks and jewels before taking another stab at it. She looked at me once more. “You married a Libra, then.” She pointed at me, proud of herself for ‘figuring it out’ before cockily returning to her counter. I shook my head, “No.”
“Hmmmm” she thought with her finger to her lips, her purple nail polish matched the eye shadow that covered a strained concentrated eye that was now looking for this Libra on the water-stained ceiling. “Are you sure you’re not a Libra? Maybe you are on the cusp. That’s it! A lot of people get that messed up.” I couldn’t take it anymore. “No. I am a Pisces, on the complete opposite side of the zodiac chart, my husband isn’t even close to being a Libra either.” Somehow, she tried to blame my birth date on her lack of psychic abilities. “Pisces have the power to do that.” She exclaimed. The power to do ‘what’ exactly, I just don’t know. This was the point where I tried to get my money back for Andrews’ reading but, no. I was stuck, and I just had to wait this out. What was I thinking?
Eventually Andrew came down the stairs, wrapped up in stylish scarves. I followed him to the reading room which was apparently supposed to be part of an old funeral home. Nice touch, fellas, (slow clap). My reading was pure snot. No one came through to talk to me, no premonitions were made and no insights were given. He rolled those rune stones around like dice in a Vegas show down, put his psychic spin on it, read the stones and came up with...absolutely nothing.
Oh, but it gets better. First let me just say that at this point I had decided to see how far I could go with this. I found it extremely distasteful for people to be claiming to have this gift and using people’s grief and pain for their financial gain. I asked Andrew to cleanse my home. I also told Andrew that I was interested in learning more about psychic-mediumship and wanted him to be my mentor. He took the job and eventually came to my home to cleanse the bad stagnant energy that had been left behind by various entities both living and dead.
He asked if there was any room in particular that felt “off” and I told him the guest room. Once he got to the guest room, he began to throw on his theatrics. He felt sick to his stomach and became irritated. He decided he didn’t like the entire corner of the house, upstairs, downstairs and basement. He saged the heck out of the entire house and roamed around as if a demon could pop out at any moment. This was about the time I had decided that Andrew would make a better stylist or special effects artist then actor. He could look the part but put on a crappy show to say the least.
On we go to the boardwalk psychic. In no way do I have any faith in the dolled up, dressed for Halloween gypsy-type, psychic. The more dressed up in their garbs they get, the less likely I am to fall for it. And no, I am not sorry if I offend anyone who uses someone’s dead loved ones and desperation to gain a buck. Shame on you, actually.
The boardwalk psychic was, as you have guessed, a straight up shit show. She pulled me into her little booth, and I sat in a very uncomfortable chair while a young woman watched very loud, obnoxious and distracting videos on her phone in the corner of the room not five feet away. Occasionally this gum smacking lass would laugh causing the psychic to turn her attention toward her to have a quick chit chat before the psychic would come back to me and continue with her well-rehearsed psychic script that could, in fact, relate to anyone, without missing a beat. Even if this woman was a real psychic, my dead grandma isn’t going to have the patience for this crap. Give me a break.
Time goes on and I was having a conversation with someone about life after death, psychic abilities, and mediumship. I told her how I just could not find a way to believe in that sort of thing no matter how much I wanted to-not after the experiences I had had. She wrote down a name and phone number on a small slip of paper. “Try this. Her name is Edie and she’s the real deal.” she said. I held on to this tiny shred of paper for a year before eventually looking Edie up online. Her webpage was so busy and stuffed full of way too much information that it was hard to follow or to be interested in. I decided not to pursue this psychic and forgot the whole matter entirely.
Then one day I came across a post on social media looking for some help with moving. She felt it was time for a change and would exchange psychic readings for help with moving. Her name was Edie. Well, if that’s not a sign than I don’t know what is. I wrote to her, and we struck a deal. I showed up at her home to help while we set up a date for readings. She told me she offered psychic readings, past life readings, she taught the Law of Attraction and anything else metaphysical related. I told her I would like a one hour reading, a past life reading and a house clearing. She told me only the one-hour reading would be something she could barter with. So, everything I wanted from her other than a one hour reading in exchange for helping her move, was non-negotiable.
Here’s how the whole thing went down. I would show up to help her pack boxes, only for her to either leave when I got there to do it myself or she would constantly complain about where I put things or how I packed things. Then I would pack my car with her stuff, without her help, and drive it four hours one way to her new home, which I paid the gas for. On one occasion she told me I had arrived at the wrong time and told me I needed to start writing things down, called me a scatterbrain and accused me of being all over the place. Meanwhile, she is running around looking for essential oils to literally STUFF UP HER NOSE to help her calm down. She would also put these essential oils in her water to flavor it, even though it says ‘do not consume’ right on the bottle. During the drives, she would talk non-stop about reincarnation, afterlife, law of attraction, energies, etc. At one point she stopped and said, “wow, you’re getting a heck of a deal out of me. All this info for free....”
So let me get this straight. The conversation we are having during our eight-hour road trip is a heck of a deal for me while I do all the driving, all the packing, all the lifting and footing the entire gas bill, to help YOU move. That’s cute. I also helped her pay for a U-Haul since I didn’t want to wear and tear my car up and pay for gas a million times over. The day we showed up to get the U-haul, she was so rude to me. She wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t come near me, didn’t say thank you, showed no sign of appreciation as I paid the bill. I was hoping this U-Haul would be the end of helping her move but she wasted the truck by filling it only a quarter full
She eventually tried to get me to buy a gallon of “Sage Water” from her-straight from Italy, mind you, for a hundred dollars. She also thought I should by at least 6 Black Tourmaline stones for over $40 apiece. I may be dumb but not dumb enough to do that. Give me a break. I gave this lunatic so much money only for her to use me and take advantage of me. Her readings were offensive and straight off my social media pages. In the middle of the reading, I actually began to tear up because she was so blaringly false. It was obvious what she had done and the people I had lost that I wanted so badly to talk to again were being used for this lunatic’s personal gain. And I allowed it.
The next time I saw her she threw out a “Tom say’s hi.” I had no clue who Tom was, so I asked her, and the look of immediate shock fell across her face. She stammered a bit before saying, “Your friend. We spoke to him last time and helped him cross over. The only Tom’s I have ever known in life are all still living, and I told her this. I don’t know what I expected her to say or do but she is a professional bullshit artist after all. Without missing a beat, she stuck her finger in the air and shouted, “Ah yes, it’s his higher self, speaking to your higher self.” This was almost as good as the time she told me “The Earth spirits are telling me there are huge tree roots and a lot of water under the ground here.” At which point I replied, “Well, we are standing under four massive Maple trees on the edge of a lake, so that would be my guess too.
The list goes on with this woman. The fact that she was so forgetful, and scatter brained and then tell me it was me with those traits was not only annoying but hurtful. Then to take my money after I helped her move, then be told I am the one getting a deal, then the blatant lies on top of it. It was obvious to me this woman had fraud written all over her. She went on to refer me to a friend of hers that was supposedly quite good at chasing out bad energies. Edie thought I may have an attachment from constantly walking around cemeteries, bringing home antiques, and exploring abandoned or historical sites. Of course, I called this lady.
Heather showed up with her husband to expel any attached demons, ghosts, entities, energies, what-have-you, from my tired, fed-up, middle-aged body. My first impression was she needed to calm down. She was ramped up so hard her words came out a million miles a minute. It was hard to keep up with what she was saying. She paraded throughout the house asking questions, then talking over the answers. She was cutting me off mid-sentence and even got going on her own opinionated self that she actually ratted out Edie and her habit of checking people out on social media and Ancestry accounts. I had to laugh as she became wide eyed and tripped over her words, desperately looking for any opening to back track. Instead, she began to take things out of her bag and ordered me to get a chair and put it in the middle of the room for me to sit in. This is when I calmed myself all the way down to an almost comatose state in the hopes to bring her ramped up state of mind down with me. This does work in certain scenarios just in case you are wondering, but not this one.
She took a cd (you heard me) out of her bag and gave it to my husband. “Do you have a cd player?” she asked as my husband was looking around for anyone to save him. “Do YOU?!?!” she exclaimed. He tried to play it in his computer while she hollered at him to “Play that music and don’t let it stop!!!!” He played the disc and saved himself and our petrified dog by staying in the living room guarding the disc just to get away from this insanity as horrible chanting spilled out of the speakers.
Here is what was supposed to go down; I sit in the chair while she pulls the attachment out of my stomach. She suggested this ‘thing” that was attached to me from too much antiquing was likely attached to my vagina. “Try again.” I told her. She shook her head “oh, it’s your stomach, yes it’s attached to your stomach.” She pulled this invisible thread from my stomach using hand motions like that of a fisherman reeling in the catch of his life. She then took her invisible catch and ‘threw’ it into a bowl of water sitting to the right of my chair on the floor. “The demon will be trapped in the water, and we can dispose of it then.” she explained. I would like to say I had never been annoyed in all my life but…..Edie.
She continued to reel in the big ones and dumping them into the little bowl of water at rapid speed. Sweat was pouring down her face as she barked orders at her husband and mine. By the way, from the moment she arrived she was constantly berating this poor man who was acting as her assistant and doing the best he could to keep up with her ‘get this, do that’ demands. She was so wound up and seemingly annoyed by all of us that in her haste to catch the biggest demon from my very womb she kicked over the demon water. Pools of hell water spilled all over the floor. I got up to grab a towel and she yelled at me to sit down or I would ruin the process. “You just spilled a demon on my floor!” I said. “It's ok, Its’ fine. That will be fine.” she panted as she wiped sweat off her brow. Her husband fixed the bowl and cleaned the spill as best as he could while under verbal assault.
I don’t think I have to tell you that I was happy to see her go. I surprised myself by not kicking her out of my house during her fishing trip in my stomach.
The last interaction I had with Edie was after I had suffered a great loss. I had not completely cut ties with her and was desperate for any type of closure-even if it meant tricking myself into believing something. Anything. It’s amazing what desperation will make you do. I contacted her, sent her the fee for a basic reading and set up a date and time. Not only did she cancel twice but she got someone else to cancel the appointments for her, claiming to be so ill that she could not bear to write to me herself. Meanwhile, she was sending paragraphs to her “social media manager” to send to me. This has chicken shit written all over it. The second time she canceled with a different excuse, thru her ‘social media manager” once again and it became evident to me that it was likely because I had not posted anything new on my social media in quite some time. She had no current information on me. This time I wrote her a scathing letter telling her I knew she was false for several distinct reasons and shame on her for playing on the emotions of others to gain a buck. Also, shame on her for hiding behind someone she has hired to do her dirty work. And shame on me for asking for it, really.
This so-called social media manager even went ahead and bullied me online calling me horrible names and getting her online pals to chime in. Probably not the best business practice but why not knock someone while they are already down.
Edie was not only the worst psychic interaction I’ve ever had, but she was also one of the worst experiences I have had with a person with her projections and put downs and making me feel like I wasn’t doing enough in any area. Maybe she should call Heather and have the demons removed from whatever chakra that is.
The next psychic I encountered was a man who was spot on, although a half hour late to the reading. My guess is he needed the extra time to gather info on me from my social media pages. If he had pulled me off the street and offered me a reading on the spot, then I likely would have some faith in this guy but it’s clear that he needed the extra time to do some research. I would need to hear something incredibly wild and private before I believe anyone who claims to have psychic abilities at this point. And before you bring up privacy settings on social media, let me ask you this- which is more believable, that social media is 100% private or that psychics are real?
I know what you’re thinking. Why do I keep seeing these people if I don’t believe? The answer is simple-I want to believe. I have no excuse other than I want to believe this exists. As I said, I have had some experiences myself that I can not even begin to explain. Maybe someone out there does in fact have a fine tuned psychic gift but I have yet to find someone legit. Will I spend money on a reading again? No. I will just have to trust that something larger than what we can see and know exists. Until it is my turn to find out the truth behind life, death and the afterlife, I will just have to believe.
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