Chevy, the order

we don’t know you
we don’t care about you
we don’t think you like us
we don’t like you

Thats how they come to us, this is how they do their dance with me. At first, they pretend to not know me, then they don’t care about me, follow that by them thinking I am not giving enough, then they smoke me when I start to try and draw boundaries. Chevy is terrible about taking over your life. Their impact reverberates in my hygiene; I don’t shower or brush my teeth for days on end because everything I do is wrapped up in their antics. How I pour my coffee is an issue, sitting down at my desk now it is about what is on the desk. I can’t think for myself, for they hear my thoughts. They see my day dreams, my reveries. I get distracted and loose track of the conversation thread because my memory is so bad. They take advantage of all of this and talk code over me.

Some guys in Chevy take special interest in me. They want me to prove myself, proof I have magic in addition to having an ocean of spirits who are magic. They want me to repeat it over and over again, so they can see, verify, then consume my magic and take it from me. Chevy really wants to use me as an empty shell. They don’t want me to have magic of my own, no defenses, no obstacles. But they like my magic and they think the things we do are cool. Sadly in competing with each other, these Chevy reps have destroyed me once and for all.

This time I went down on meds, 10 mg of haldol and 100 mg of lamotrigine. I was feeling so tired I slept my days away. I keep track of my dosage in a calendar. I didn’t stay on 10 mg of haldol long–one, maybe a couple of days, then I went back up to 20mg. It was enough to open the door and a group of Shamans visited me. They were fun and cool and we were taking up their time just being broken. They fixed us up, or tried to, then I showed them how I operate, but I operate (at least at that time) for Chevy.

If you imagine a train switching station, where each train is directed to their route, sometimes being turned or move onto new tracks, that’s how my head operates. Spirit adds people for me. I have no control. I just talk to who is there. Under normal circumstances, it is just my ocean of spirits, those that are there for me every day. I can tell a new voice right away. Sometimes the new voices are spirits, sometimes they are people (or people and their spirits). I don’t really say telekenis, but I guess that’s what it is. Anyway, this shaman group was pretty cool, but I pulled in Chevy trying to show them what I can do. That started off a whole series of events from which I am now trying to recover.

First Chevy took me over for a few days with their handoff meetings, then spirit kicked them out. We tried again and got Chevy yet another time. Spirit put the shamans back, and Chevy tried doing another hand off, then chevy tried me as a smoker’s lounge, where spirit was trying to say, “smoke for her” because I can’t smoke on my own.

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