A psychic attack is something you can’t always see coming. Again, I hate believing in this shit. I hate it. Yet… I can’t help it. I’ve met people who put my energy on edge, for no discernible reason at all. I feel a wariness with them, that I can’t put my finger on. I’m not afraid of psychic attacks, but I’d rather not be around people who might inadvertently or purposefully pull one over on me.
A Local Metaphysical Establishment in my neighborhood is run and owned by some very decent and well-meaning folks. I wish them no harm at all. Yet… One of the owners seems a little weird towards me at times. I live in a small community. Magick folks know who other magick folks are, usually. I’ve figured out that there is something about me that is psychically exhausting for some people. I don’t know why or how to help that. I believe that not everyone can handle the GLORIOUS BLASTS OF WANDY ERISIAN GLEE & ENTHUSIASM, WITH A SIDE OF MAGICIAN’S SECRET SAUCE! HUZZAH! I can not be doing anything, and it can take over. It’s a good thing I’m not bipolar, really. The Establishment does a lot of public circles and community events that I do not attend. I can’t. While Owner is generally cool to me when I’m spending money at the shop, she seems quite up and down energy wise. I don’t go in often, but I’ve taken a few tarot classes and the like. I’ve had a few readings done there. I appreciate a professional perspective. While taking a class I’ve picked up on a certain amount of psychic yuck, not completely directed at me but not totally aided by my presence. It makes me feel like a dick, when I haven’t done anything wrong. I had a dream one time, where I had to visit the shop to go get supplies. In my dream, the owner was working the counter and promptly told me that I really didn’t need to buy anything, and it would really be much easier if I “ended it all”. That by itself is pretty odd. I’ve been all kinds of fucked up, but have never had any kind of suicidal inklings. Ever. Weird, right?
About six months ago, it was around my birthday. I like getting a reading done every six months or so, and around my birthday is always a good time to do it. So I called, and made an appointment. No problem, right? I went in the next day, and was told by Dumb Guy, who works the counter (and lives up to his name) that he didn’t see an appointment on the books, but that he’d check in back. I thought that was weird… He was the person I talked to when I called. He ran in the back to check, and an angry little hippie woman whom I’d never met before came out, and in a very hostile tone told me that it was not possible that I’d made an appointment, and that I had no business disturbing the reader. WHAT THE FUCK??!!?! Out of nowhere, something really yucky happened. I was gripped by a horrible feeling of dread, panic, and despair. It might as well have come out of a cannon. SOMETHING wanted me OUT of there. NOW. Dumb Guy tried to pull up the schedule to see if there was another time, but I was too wigged out, and fighting back tears for some reason. I’ve never had a panic attack, but I wonder if this might be what it was like. I said something about needing to leave, and I got the hell out. It felt like something very protective was upset by my presence, and it wanted me to know. I spent the better part of the afternoon crying uncontrollably. I didn’t throw up, but I was pretty dizzy. I can’t even aptly describe how it felt, just that it felt really bad. My husband got home later that day, and was understandably worried. He listened to me, and talked me through it. He understands, and knows that part of me. Just listening, for me is enough.
Even though I’m fairly well equipped to protect myself, this was a lot bigger and badder than the usual. I’ve dealt with creepities that have snuck into my psychic space before. A good brisk “Bugger off, or I’m calling Anubis!” typically seems to work. This was like something penetrated my usually pristine coat of armor, with the sharpest and most furious sword in existence. Ouch. It didn’t feel very good. All of the things I could normally do, I wasn’t able to access them at all.
I made the decision to try again, even though it seemed like it might not be the best idea. Something told me that I needed to face this thing. I decided that I was not afraid of It. It was protective, so for some reason It was afraid of ME. I called to reschedule, the shop owner apologized for the mix-up. Dumb Guy messed up the schedule that day. She gave me a reading on the house, which was cool. It was a nice enough reading. Nothing earth shattering resulted, but it was decent. Nowadays, I’ll still visit the shop, because sometimes one needs witchcrap, and they do carry a lot of nice tarot decks. I make it a point to do a bit of shielding before I go in, and I never listen to any Spencer Krug in the car before hand. Any of the bands he’s in seem to flip my Magician switch. That’s cool sometimes, but not in a place where there is a Biggity Bad that would rather you fuck the fuck off than replenish your supply of nag champa.
Live. Learn. Invoke more powerful helpers. And if that doesn’t work… Get the fuck out. Run if you have to.
I’ve kicked any indoctrination I might have been privy to to the curb long ago. I still don’t want to believe it’s possible to endure a psychic attack, but I’ve done it. I’ve learned from it, and I’m okay. If I wasn’t as well rooted, I don’t know that it would be possible to understand it as I do. It is what it is, and I feel better for having gone through it. Sure, there is more to all of it, but in the end it doesn’t matter.
Big things are a foot, and I’m swinging a fucking bat. I’ve decided that I am not to be trifled with.
Hail Eris! I need pills!
RE*WITCHED! 