We talked about the things that mattered in life, like my ideas of friendship with my soul. Terrible things happen to people who make crush cords and sex cords to their soul. Terrible things. Yet, they told me it was okay to send him sexual energy.
As I got ready for bed, I was counting my nicotine gum pieces.
“One piece, two piece, red piece, blue piece,” my soul said. I laughed.
Remove the crush cords before you go to bed, please. They will grow and become horrific by morning, my guides told me.
I removed them.
“I wish you wouldn't disconnect those tubes, Marshmellow,” my soul said to me.
I laughed, and disconnected them anyway. They told me that the energy I was sending my soul made him feel really, really good. Better than anything I could have imagined.
I went to my grandma's, and hung out, and waited. As I waited, my soul sent me energy.
What kind of energy are you sending? I asked.
“Loving tenderness. That's what girls want, right? Loving tenderness. But that's not what you want. I know you.”
I laughed.
As we were getting ready to leave, my dad asked me to take something out to the car.
Your soul made a joke about that, up here. Something about your dad's weight and him being a lazy fat slob.
I laughed.
I went to the psychiatrist again. Again, I tried to get him to reduce my dose of Invega. Again, he dragged his feet. He was worried about another “manic episode.” I went to the grocery store with my mom afterwards, and we went to Starbucks. At Starbucks, my guides told me to get a Starbucks Refresher instead of a coffee drink. I wandered around, and vaguely wondered at one point if it was because I shouldn't drink milk right now.
I got home, and my soul said he composed a song for me, about what my mother thought of me.
You're a whore, you're a dirty whore, you're a dirty rotten attention seeking whore, you act like a child, you're a big baby, you need to grow up, and behave like an adult.
Why is it singing this song?
It's mad at you for something you did today. You went to Starbucks at the grocery store, and got a drink without milk in it, the one we told you to get. Then, you wondered if the reason you were supposed to get that one was because it didn't have milk in it. Your soul is mad at you for thinking that because your body needed milk.
I went to my computer to write this down. As I sat there, I absentmindedly peered out the window, down at the garden. There, I saw something so horrific, so horribly, horribly putrid, it hurt my eyes so bad I wanted to gouge them out. “Uhhh...” It was the flowers. The Angel's Trumpets. They were horrific! The humungous flowers dangling, dangling, dangling... Humungous, so horrid, puke, puke, puke... Like something mutated in a garden of horrors. They hurt my eyes so bad they almost bled.
“Blehhh... Sick! That is disgusting! That is disgusting!” It hurt me in a way I have never felt before. That flower, that flower... I had looked at it before. I hadn't bothered me, I even liked those flowers a little bit. But it did something to my eyes, these cords. They drained my energy in a way that affected, not actually what I saw, but the emotional connotations of what I saw.
Okay, sit down, draw the window... We knew this would happen, you have way too many cords to your soul. No more lusting, Salioness, no more lusting. We think we need to do this work, because you have quite a few.
I went back into my bedroom, sat down, and lay there. As I looked around, everything was freaky. The light switch was freaky. The pattern on my belt was freaky. Everything I looked at scared the crap out of me.
We're getting the cords, just wait... It will take a little bit, you'll be fine. Just wait.
Ahhhh!!! I was freaking out.
Put on your good luck clover bracelet so we can see you better, it will make it easier on us.
I put it on, and that clover-fied it.
My mom came to my door, and told me something. She looked at me funny. I looked at her face, at the clover look of her glasses on her eyes, and screamed. Great, now she thought I was psychotic.
I went downstairs to get a snack, because they said that would help. As I stood there, I accidentally looked at the flowers again out the window. Uuhhhhh... That feeling again. Uhhhh... God dammit, why did this have to be so hard?
I sat in the computer room, looked at a Georgia O'Keefe painting. The flowers freaked me out.
It didn't help that you put on that perfume today, which was a floral scent, my guides told me.
As we were sitting there, the flower plant called out to me. It said to stop being mean to it. It liked itself.
They had to disconnect the cords. We will do them all in one sweep, but you have to act light-harded and say, “Weeeee!”
“Weeeeee!!!!!” I said with enthusiasm.
They were working hard at getting all the cords. I went on facebook and mentioned something about this to Erik. He suggested it was something he had been taught in Scientology. I told him what my guides said, it was not but had similar effects.
That night, I was up late in the middle of the night. My guides told me no facebook, in case people posted picture of insects, which would be psychologically damaging to look at in the state. They didn't mention that the flowers themselves were also psychologically damaging to look at. They told me they had to block out bad dreams. If they hadn't, I would have nightmares about freaky clowns.
As I sat downstairs, I felt despair. Would this pass? What if I had to be taken to the hospital for this behavior, and I was pumped full of drugs, and that made it worse and worse? What if?
As I sat there in despair, I heard the word, “Erik,” and I felt an in pouring of positive energy, as Erik sent me good energy.
The next day, as I was using the restroom, still messed up from the cords... I heard a voice in my ear.
“What's crack-a-lackin', Sugar Plum?” It was my soul.
You!
“Woah woah woah... Back off! I was just having a good time!”
I smiled, and felt love for my soul. Together again, at last, the love of my life.
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