This was an event that could have ended badly, but didn't, thankfully. Still, understanding how close you came to something Bad can still be concerning.
When I was but a young lad, my mom was crazy, as I've mentioned. When I was in my early teens, she began seeing psychics and tarot readers. Seeing a sucker, they naturally pounced. They quickly saw that they could reel her in by flattering me with grand praise.
My mother was obsessed with me as an idea, while generally disliking and neglecting me as a person - a trait I would go on to seek out in romantic partners through most of the beginning of my life. I was "her greatest creation," emphasis on "her." I was a self-image prop for her. So, when a charlatan began talking about how important and special I was, she felt important and special. Direct flattery of her would have been suspect, but of COURSE I was special, which reflected well on her.
Anywho, this became a pattern. She'd go to a psychic, drag me along, they'd talk me up, she'd give them money, they'd suggest she see another psychic they were friends with, repeat. She was then seeing many on any given month - God knows why. You'd think she was a warlord desperate for victory against invaders, not some mediocre do-nothing whose life only had the most banal of stakes.
As this went on, I collected possible origins, according to these psychics. I was an indigo child, a Pleiadean, an actual member of the angelic choir, a reincarnation of Saint Germaine, etc., etc., depending on the particular flavor of bullshit the charlatan was selling. They all agreed on one thing. I was Very Important. I would Lead Humanity Into Enlightenment.
This is where my mom got the idea that I was the - or at least a - messiah. Let me tell you, your parents pressuring you into college has nothing on teaching you that you would have to usher in a new era of consciousness - and punishing you when you deviated from what they thought that meant.
I was constantly reading everything I could about spirituality, magic, tarot, runes, remote viewing, focusing of energy, meditation, Kaballistic mysticism, whatever I could - or was forced to. My mom would put a book in my hands and then ground me until I'd read it. She'd tell me that I have to be ready. That I'd be responsible for the soul of the world.
Yeah.
Side story. The first time I took acid, I was found out in the rain, taking my clothes off, crying about how I didn't want to be the messiah - much to the chagrin of my fellow party goers. Not a fun night for a 15 year old kid.
So the part that's been on my mind is something I hadn't thought about for probably 2 decades now. One of the psychics that my mom had been passed to so he could have a turn humping money out of her was a guy named Glenn. Older, very intense, gay dude. We were specifically brought to him because he could be a good teacher for me. Most of the psychics my mom frequented were women, so it was somehow important for me to cultivate learning with a similar masculine energy for some reason.
Glenn was to teach me more about tarot - I stopped using Rider Waite and began using the Thoth (because masculine energy) and I began learning more about Crowley. I also began learning from him about my supposed Pleiadean origin, which just so happened to be his as well. He was the head of his magic order, "The Hermetic Order of the Pleiades," which I was totally perfect for. I was going to be his protégé, and destined to be a powerful magician.
Etc., etc.
So yeah. My mom would leave me at a stranger's house for hours because I needed to grow spiritually. Now, I thought Glenn was great. Mostly because he fed into my feelings of alienation from society, while saying that was because I was BETTER than everyone else, just like him. He began engineering it so that I came to rely on him emotionally, and considering my deep, deep troubles, it wasn't difficult to get pretty serious results.
We spent long hours on the phone, a 15 year old boy and a 50+ year old man. This proceeded for months. When he started getting a bit more forward with his advances, I did my best to ignore them. He kept getting more and more suggestive, though.
Anyway, there's thankfully no great climax to this story. We moved away before anything bad happened. Still, holy shit, I dodged a bullet.
That's it. That's the story.
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