Diary of a Psychic [antikvár]

"YY"/"^^'^ 1 w^s in the sixth grade, my family lived in Denver, Colorado, Wand it was a rime of great change for us. Our neighbor, Dorothy, had a stroke and w^ent to the hospital. My grandfather, Albert, who lived upstairs, had a gallbladder attack and fell down in his apartment. My oldest sister, Cuky, finished college, got a job as a flight attendant, and moved to Kansas City. My older brother, Stefan, moved into his own apartment and left for school in Golden, Colorado. My mother became very moody and emotional with all these changes, and my father seemed to be around less and less, as he worked seven days a week at Montgomery Ward. The atmosphere in our home was tense and dark. Most of the time I was afraid. I wasn't sure of what. Life just felt so heavy and sad. I don't know if my brothers and sisters felt the same. If they did, they certainly didn't let on. My mother spent a lot of rime in the basement where she had a photography studio and darkroom that my father had built for her. She was either developing or hand-coloring photos, sometimes selling them to clients, sometimes giving them away. Either way, she was mostly in her own world. Not being able to name the source of my unease and anxiety, I was on psychic high alert. It was as if I were patrolling the borders, watching out for enemy invaders—^which meant, ultimately, anything that made my mom upset. More and more she was prone to spontaneous outbursts of sorrow, and the slightest upset elicited a huge dramatic reaction. She was troubled and miserable, and felt raw and fragile. I was terrified by her and for her and only wanted to do everything in my power to cheer her up. I quickly learned that the best way to do this was to talk to her about my "vibes" and tell her I was psychic, just like she was. This seemed to be genuinely uplifting to her. Because her world was so completely involved with psychic matters, having me follow in her footsteps gave her a friend and confidante.