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[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

A snap shot of insanity.

The lights beams into my window on the darkest night of the year. Leave it to Minneapolis to ruin the new moon for someone who craves the dark. The golden yellow haze can be seen through the cheapest of the cheap blinds provided by a slumlord. In this small bed, I apprehensively force sleep, it’s hard due to a delightful discovery of small brown bugs accompanying me. This vintage apartment could be worse all things considered, it still holds charm from the 1920’s. Every once in a while I drag my sharp fingernails across a welt left by insidious bed bugs. Releasing my clenched jaw—I accept my situation and fade into unmanned waters of a restless mind.

*

What the shit— flashing light into my eyes every hour is not the rest I need. The stiff sheets shred my skin, the paper blue gown cuts into my skin. Faint screaming seeps into my ears from the adult ward almost like a child calling from the distance. I’m really not here in this small room with the strange young woman on a cot a few feet away, her ear piecing snoring churns the grey matter that still works in my brain. Based on her outline in the dark she must be a sea cow. I’m stuck in my head, a place much worse than this dark sterile room.  

They don’t seem to be checking on her as much as me. Why are they torturing me? The manatee floating on top of the bed four feet away must be here for the same reason. SHES NUTS LIKE ME—or maybe she is not stuck on 72 hour hold, she’s just is sad, saps like that need some chocolate not institutionalization. I pray in a murky fleeting though they didn’t give her what they gave me (to relax my cares away).

Uhg—again, why with the light in my eyes, it’s like a pathway to demon country, it’s like home, my parents don’t let me rest. It was less than six hours ago I decided to sleep forever, my body failed on me, I’m still alive, this body truly despises my desires. Since the beams of incandescent evil appeared my skin burns from the inside out, pin pricks of itchy movement.  Some times in the haze of the dark I see the little bumps move quickly under my neon white skin, creating tunnels that rise and sink as something runs under my skin. I try to squash them with my fingers but they are too fast. I didn’t have ants in me before maybe that’s why I’m here—for science. The vile doctor must have ordered them to eat the protein out of my brain, this is to see how massive the six legged bugs can grow.

How do they expect me to sleep with that light beam stinging my eyes into my soul? Maybe they want to drive me to a different kind of insanity, saneness. Thump—thump—thump—the insects have getting to my brain, pumping through carotid arteries with burning fury, like a pressure washer on high must be cleaning their tunnels. Thump—thump—thump—thump—arteries laboriously expand and contract with every throb of worker ants rushing. Oh god—is this death, I’m I dying? 

Thump—thump—thump – an atom bomb countdown has been commenced by the brown insects in tiny voices “its time” they say in a small child’s exuberant voice. Singing as if they were a kindergarten choir “The ants go marching, one by one, horah, horah!” – Thump—Thump—When I get out I’m going to kill every stupid insect I see—Thump—Thump—“The ants go marching, two by two, horah, horah!” the little army is chipper singing children on a playground, “The ants go marching, three by three!” the glee of their tones rise, shatter, and repeat, running around using me as a jungle gym “three by three, three by three, he he he, three by three, it’s time, he he he”.

Thump—Thump—I may never wake up from this—thump –thump—but that’s the intention of killing oneself—the pious doctor said I’d be okay—thump—thump—thump—should never trust a doctor wearing a crucifix—thump—thump—if the bomb doesn’t go off a new rule of thumb must be to avoid opinionated underqualified ass-hole doctors.

“Checks” a female voice is within the beam of expanding yellow light, she breaks the ants glorious song. “Noo—no—noo!”, my gut churn into a moan controlled by marching insects, commencing words out of a mouth full of brown soldiers going out to battle. Wet with burning fear the bomb reverberates without a sound with a sharp diagonal bulldozer ramming though my crowded mind, propelling my shell of a body off the crinkled cot, I’m just shrapnel at the lights feet. “They got in—got in my brain—can’t get out” , my mouth must be working a voice is yelling that sounds like me, moist ants swimming from my stomach yelp “help—me” in my voice. I’m back in control sputtering, the putrid aroma of burnt flesh arose from the pile of dead ants.

The lights flipped on to expose a glaring white room and exposing a doorway to a phosphorescent white hallway. I lower my head, there are no ants in the green acrid slush, and it soaks my paper dress, forming a bio-hazard on the gray tile floor. Pressure—left arm—a pinch of sharpness—pain—burning—black.

*

                Jaw clenched teeth grinding, light haze fills the room—I can tell from behind closed eyelids. Was that sleep, or did I time travel, is that coffee I smell? Beep—beep—beep—blares from a small white clock radio haphazardly placed face down on the floor. Son of a bitch clock—always gets me up once I reach my peaceful place.  The sun is bight, to expose today’s tedious events, I can see its intense taunting rays through the off white blinds. My raised bumps burn with fury from the horrendous insects. I remind myself that my waking hours in the obnoxious treacherous light are just a stop on my way to the ultimate destination, restful loving darkness.   

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

Hello World!

As I continue on my path I find that my anger towards myself and keeping my new found beliefs silent to be hard. I somehow doubt that people in my past will really look into anything involving atheism and skeptics, so this evening I’m ‘coming out of the closet’ so to say. Using my name and image, and posting writing on not only skepticism but metal health and the thin veil that covers brain bugs attributing to faith.

I want to share my journey through the mental health system, and perhaps give some insight on the marvelous mind that can deceive so easily. I’m not the only one who has gone through a true enlightenment and healing in order to find the truth in regards to the human condition. Please share your stories and thoughts about not only skepticism, but mental health, and the workings of our complex and amazing brains. 

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

Coping with depression.

This weekend I had a visitor from my family. She kept saying, "Your not mentally ill, it's just a side affect from your gift and medium-ship". This was after I told her I was not gifted, just really good at cold reading and groomed to be a 'psychic'. Yet still she harped about me being normal, furthering my pain. I have a bipolar disorder that I was diagnosed with years ago while still in high school, as of now I suffer from a sometimes crippling depression I'm being treated for, after she left I wrote this.--- 

I’m trying to understand this thing I’m trying to deal with. An internal clock that stops ticking during certain times of the day. A circadian rhythm gone awry within my being. Depression is a clinical term, but I call it being translucent in a world of vibrant colors.

Almost as if, this body is just a shell, like that of a snail slugging along the bottom of a lake. I’m in the same sort of muck as that water dwelling animal—or insect—I’m not smart enough to fully know. At times I wonder if I put myself in the dirty pond, or if life just placed me here on a whim.

I have nothing to be sad about, I’m a fortunate individual, so that makes me confused as to why my moods and swings control me. Dying isn’t a thing I care to do or even think about. Living, however, is something I would like to do and continue.

How do I become a vibrant color like the others in this world? How do I fill myself with color? I’ve tried thinking through acts that would fulfill this lifetime achievement of being fulfilled with bright bold personality. Yet, I seem to fall flat on my squat face, my nose flattened by the amount of time spent pressed to the floor. All lessons learned, I like to think, however, I always repeat the same asinine mistakes. So I started keeping my smoky thoughts and dark cloud held within, as if holding vapor in my lungs.

If I open the whirl pool to my mind as others want they are shocked by the lack of empathy a stoicism built on a crumbling foundation. If I put up great walls of glass for others to see me but not hear my voice they still seem upset. Anything I do I get the same reaction “what is wrong with you?” On the occasion I do show emotion it’s always the wrong time and place. I’m not allowed to feel as others do, or maybe just not express my range of inner workings. 

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

Freedom is mine now that I lost faith.

I have little education, so I filled the void with woo and whimsy.

My shield was a wall of fallacies.

I deeply believed I was special, gifted, even a god at times.

I almost lost everything that was important.

My wall came crumbling when I realized I was groomed to believe.

I gained bravery when it became apparent, I could not speak to the dead, see the future, or know what no human could know.

I’m left with a hole, I’m stripped of all beliefs in which I can’t see.

Now I am truly free. 

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

That's how I'm feeling right now.

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

So true Carl. 

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

common ground

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

Psychology of Belief: Self-serving Bias by AntiCitizenX

Have you ever noticed that religion is more than just a bunch of stuff people believe, but a defining feature of personal identity? What happens when those beliefs are threatened by empirical evidence? Are people going to casually bow to the dictates of reason and fact? Or will they resist the truth when it presents itself?

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

Why?

As you know I’m a recovering so called psychic. I’ve tried to come out to my family but they still believe I have a gift. Trying to stop the myth of metaphysics and pseudo-science has proven impossible so far in my life.  I’ve found people rather take a big leap of faith than face their problems and come up with their own solutions.

I’m dealing with some troubling situations because people believe that I have a gift. They believe the fallacy that psychics are an authority based on the argument they are getting information from the divine.  I’ve let people know I’m retired and refuse to do any readings, or anything related to faith. Yet still I’m getting texts and phone calls asking for life advice and glimpses into the future.

The idea an individual with no medical education can see if someone can live or die makes me sad. That is what people are asking me, will the surgery go well? What happens if it doesn’t? I have not responded other than to wish the family my best and to hope all goes as planned. Yet that does not seem to be what the family wants to hear from me. I don’t want to come out as a huge fraud by stating my belief of psychics aren’t real, but at the same time I want the family to focus on reality of the situation not faith.

Like anyone else I have no insight to the future for strangers. I can’t just put on a thinking cap and talk to god, no one can (not to mention I don’t believe in god). I’m trying to find a way to express that to those around me.  Everything I try they seem deaf and blind to.  No matter what I do to back up the argument of pseudo-science is phooey I have three more uneducated loud mouths shouting, “YOU’RE WRONG”.  They have little evidence and don’t seem to care.  I’m extremely frustrated by those around me who believe that searching Google is considered research that makes them experts on everything science(more often why science is wrong and pseudo-science is right).. That’s not how it works; I don’t claim to be an expert on anything. I've read many books, academic journals, peer reviews, and documentaries to know pseudo-science has no solid ground. In order to claim something there must be evidence that can be repeated in a controlled environment to even say it is evidence. It’s so easy to write here on the blog, but when I say it people don’t listen.    

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

The god delusion. A must watch film. 

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

Great video exposing how psychics work. When I worked in the psychic field most of the information was supplied by the customers vocally, through pictures, and their appearance. People often times forget what information they give out, so when the psychic repeats it back to them it seems like a message.

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

Random Thought

Uhg, I need to get over my bitterness, and start removing the venom from my fangs. Anger is not a good emotion to hold for so long, but I've been hurt deeply by people claiming to have psychic powers. I'm not the only one they hurt, I need to start working towards educating those around me in a positive fashion on how to think critically about these beliefs.  It's far to easy to take a leap of faith,than to use common sense and science to describe life. I will be more respectful going forward.  

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

Sylvia Brown is such a dick! I wish she and hordes of other psychics would stop taunting the grieving. The poor man died in 911 and his spouse needs closure.  That closure will not come from a psychic, because all psychics like it or not are cold readers. 

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

[evelynmayminneapolis-blog]

I've heard this one a few times. Not a fan, and yes, I know they are all con-artists. No question. Why do I know? Because I used to be one of those spiritualists.

My Great Grandma taught me this after she screamed “hold your breath!”. I thought we were suddenly going to be immersed in water or something. She was raised a spiritualist, but I’m 95% sure they were con-artists.