Psychic Vampires

The power of positive thinking is difficult when negativity drags you down, bursts your happy bubble, and leaves you physically drained.

We've all been exposed to malice at one time or another, and we're certainly no strangers to a bitchy person's constant whining about his life, yet doing nothing to change it. These people are often referred to as psychic vampires--or people who find pleasure in sucking the energy out of others. An encounter with a psychic vampire can leave you feeling exhausted, vulnerable, and even depressed.

Psychic vampires are leeches who slurp your life force with unparalleled relish. There is no such thing as non-intentional psychic vampires, as they are often too aware of their intentions. These people develop relationships that will give them something in return--it's often a give-and-take situation. To put it simply, their needs always come first.

An aura of negativity surrounds psychic vampires, and not even light escapes its relentless pull. Psychic vampires are more or less black holes who absorb anything and everything in their path. The old adage "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts" warns us of those with ulterior motives. Well, I say to you, "Beware of psychic vampires bearing a smile." 

It is easy to mistake psychic vampires for friends, but never let your guard down, for their veil of friendship conceals the evil behind. Beware of the wolves in sheep's clothing, for they will pounce on you when you least expect it. I can't say it's hard to identify a psychic vampire; you need only to look for the "PS" stamped on their chest. 

I must come forward and confess that I've fallen prey to a psychic vampire in the past. A few minutes of interaction with this energy-sucking predator would debilitate me and eclipse the sun in my life. In turn, I found myself suspended over a cliff. Had I let go, I would've joined the pack of vampires draining the energy of living beings. As consumers of energy rather than blood, psychic vampires, like their folklore counterparts, can infect those around them. They almost infected me. 

But when darkness and light collide, light always comes out on top. In this case, kindness not garlic can ward off a psychic vampire attack. A sign that says "Begone fiend" works, too. 

15 Quotes to Brighten your Day

Every once in a while we need a little nudge to get going and get things done. And every once in a while we need encouragement to brighten our day. Here's a list of fifteen inspirational quotes that will not only make you smile, but will also teach you that sometimes wisdom comes in all forms, even in witty remarks. 

1. "People think that I must be a very strange person. This is not correct. I have the heart of a small boy. It is in a glass jar on my desk." --Stephen King

2. "If you're going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty." --Marilyn Monroe

3. "A laugh is a smile that bursts." --Mary H. Waldrip

4. "What the mind can conceive, it can achieve." --Napoleon Hill

5. "Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people." --Eleonor Roosevelt

6. "If you end up with a boring miserable life because you listened to your mom, your teacher, your priest, or some guy on television telling you how to do your shit, then you deserve it." --Frank Zappa

7. Friendship is like peeing on yourself: everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling that it brings." --Robert Bloch

8. "Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go." --Oscar Wilde

9. "Put your hand on a stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativity." --Albert Einstein

10. "My therapist told me the way to achieve true inner peace is to finish what I start. So far I've finished two bags of M&Ms and a chocolate cake. I feel better already." --Dave Barry

11. Dogs have masters. Cats have staff."--Anonymous

13. "Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad." --Miles Kington 

14. "Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car." --Billy Sunday

15. "The world of books is the most remarkable creation of man. Nothing else that he builds ever lasts. Monuments fall; nations perish; civilizations grow old and die out; and, after an era of darkness, new races build others. But in the world of books are volumes that have seen this happen again and again, and yet live on, still young, still as fresh as the day they were written, still telling men's hearts of the hearts of men centuries dead." -- Clarence Shepard Day

10 Tips for Writers

Anxiety + Social Situations = A Nervous Teen

I hate being the center of attention. I hate finding myself amid a sea of people. When necessity arises, I endeavor to veer away from the nausea-inducing, terror-striking, blinding spotlight which seems to follow me everywhere I go. And I mean E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E.

Because I'm often running away from attention, strangers strike up random conversations with me, which goes to show that, however much I hide, attention will always find me. These strangers blatantly disregard the music blaring from my iPod, and still blinded to the fact that I'm not in the mood to socialize, they infect me with good humors also. I don't mean to be rude, but random acts of socialization perforate, and infringe upon, the comfort bubble which surrounds me. I am ill at ease around strangers (people I am positively sure I will never again see in my life) and just about anyone whom I find threatening. Does that mean I'm scared of 98.99 percent of the world population? Probably.

On top of that, anxiety intensifies this fear of socialization tenfold. Put anxiety and horrible social skills side-by-side and you will have a very frightened child. I am indeed a very frightened child. Although social situations give me headaches, they're nothing compared to the early stages of anxiety. When I'm anxious, I tremble, struggle, perspire, and my heart beats quickly. Five years and about a million embarrassing situations later, my anxiety has exacerbated (if that's even possible). The symptoms seemed to have heaped one on top of another; and as if blushing and worry weren't torture enough, anxiety decided that speech was next. Social situations--which generally trigger feelings of anxiety--can send me into throes of stuttering. This is how it usually goes: I stutter, blush, embarrass myself, and replay in my head the events of the day. It's a lot worse than it sounds.

However, I'm not always a scaredy-cat. I am generally talkative and friendly around those with whom I can be myself. I must confess that they are few in number. I won't mention names, but they should know that they are the chosen ones. Very few people have managed to catch glimpses of my personality; and if you thought the Voynich manuscript is a pain to decode, I'm a hundred times more painful. I won't be decoded unless I want to be decoded. So it goes.

If there is something people shouldn't say to those who suffer from anxiety is that it's all in their head. I'm sure there wouldn't any psychologists were anxiety merely a figment of the imagination. Speaking of, I saw a therapist a few years ago. The experience was rather enjoyable--psychotherapy worked wonders for my mental health, and strangely, I found myself looking forward to the weekly sessions. Unfortunately, my therapist decided our time together was coming to an end--a psychiatrist, she said, might be more suitable. What's that even supposed to mean? That she was useless? I'll never find out.

So I'm back to square one. I haven't yet outgrown the ten-year-old child who cowers in terror at every little noise.

I should perhaps concentrate on the happy moments of my life and forget that I have anxiety. Easier said than done.

Book Hangover

I've just finished reading a book which has left me quite forlorn of purpose and as empty as a shell. I waited a year to read the fourth installment in The Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan, and, to my dismay, I had to face the most dreaded moment in a bookworm's life: reading the last word.

O, how I wish I could unread the book so I could read it again. Correction: I am re-reading previous installments in the series. But that won't do--I need to know what happens next. I fear I am suffering from a book hangover--one of many, that is--and I can't shake off the feeling that I'm still living in the demigods' world.

Oh, gods, I don't think I ever left the world of Percy Jackson. Never did I think I'd be experiencing emotional trauma at the hands of a hardcover. Book hangovers don't quite measure up to post Christmas blues, no. They're worse. Imagine losing someone close to you. Do you feel grief at their departure? That's exactly what a book hangover is: literary grief.

Most people I know have read, or even heard of, Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan, but not one person has fallen in love with it to the point of obsession. Although I keep telling everyone I meet to read it, I have yet to find a suitable partner to divide the pain between us. Where's my book mate?

Below you will find a list of symptoms which indicate whether your loved one may be suffering from a book hangover:

• Restlessness
• Anxiety
• Bloodshot eyes
• Inability to concentrate
• Mistaking a stranger for a character in the book
• Excessive talking
• Roaming bookstores till closing time
• Carrying a book you finished reading weeks ago

What to do if you feel you have book hangover:

1. Stay calm
2. Read other books written by the same author
3. Listen to music
4. Write your feelings down

What to do if you're not ready to move on:

1. Catch up on sleep
2. Watch a movie
3. Give yourself a 24-hour breathing period to contemplate the beauty of exchanging your social life for five minutes with your favorite characters
4. Drink seltzer (this usually helps me)

Should the symptoms persist, consult your local bookstore immediately!

The Disease of Writing

If I didn't like, nay love, writing so much, I would've left it eons ago. But I can't. Writing is an old flame whose long-lasting effects have not yet abated. I must confess that it's always on my mind, and when it's not, well, you'd know there's something wrong with me. When I tell people I like writing, they don't ask me how often I write. Quite frankly, I don't write as often as I would like to, and it's torture.

As Pierre Abelard famously put it, "Against the disease of writing one must take special precautions, since it is a dangerous and contagious disease." If this is the case, then the writing cancer has metastasized to others part of my body. I'm doomed. There is no panaceas for the disease of writing. Oh, well. What else is there to say? Farewell, cruel world? I'm succumbing to my fate.

Oh, My Gods

Have you ever been homesick for a place you've never been to? Or for a time long past? I have. The word that comes close to describing this sentiment is hiraeth. It is a Welsh word with no direct English translation that defines homesickness for home. But I am home--at least I believe I am. But then how do I explain this inexplicable pull toward Ancient Greece?

This longing began a few years ago, when I took a sudden interest in Greek mythology. I remember I was determined to immerse myself in the world of gods, monsters, and heroes. I was enchanted by the courage of heroes and impressed by the power of the gods. I was overwhelmed; I couldn't get enough. I bought books on Greek mythology, learned about ancient Greece, and wondered if these characters had been real. I was convinced that they were real or how else could we explain the wealth of myths revolving around them?

Dionysus, the god of wine.

My dad told me his grandfather (my great-grandfather) was Greek. I didn't think much of it at the time, and my dad didn't bother to disclose any more information. I just knew that my great-grandfather was an absent figure in my grandmother's life. Regardless of his role in our lives, I still have Greek blood coursing through my veins and that's enough to arouse my imagination.

I sometimes wonder if I was born in the wrong century, or if I belong in the modern world. The condition of our world is deteriorating rapidly.The universe has seen better days, more prosperous centuries, and kinder hearts.

I'm dissatisfied with the state of this century, and maybe, just maybe, I want to run into the safety of the ancient lands. The ancient days were not any safer, no, but they were awe-inspiring. In the ancient days, people worshiped the gods they thought would bring blessing into their lives--the gods who commanded the fate of mankind. But they not only worshiped the Olympians, they also paid homage to Nature. This seems to be lacking these days.

We can heal, but Nature can't. Now we worship a false god who has hypnotized us with its many built-in features and apps--the iPhone. There is no falser god than the iPhone. We don't look up anymore, because we're always looking down. Were the gods real, they would be incensed at humankind's attitude of irreverence toward that which is sacred .

People little imagine that the gods are everywhere, but the truth may shock them.

We don't realize that we see Aphrodite in the eyes of lovers. Or that we hear Poseidon swimming in the deep ocean. Or that we amaze, and even cringe, at Zeus' thunderbolt performance. Or that we witness Helios driving the chariot of the sun across the sky each day. We even admire the beauty of Selene in the moon. When we pay homage to the dead we also pay homage to Hades. When we pray for a good harvest Demeter answers our prayers. Prometheus defied the gods and gave us the fire which we so often take for granted. We turn to Athena for wisdom and knowledge. We fear the presence of Ares in war zones. We plea to the Queen of Heaven for assistance. But most importantly, we seek nourishment in Gaia--our Mother Nature.

Myths are man's attempt to explain phenomena and the whole range of human feelings, and once you know mythology, you see it everywhere.

A Writer's Torture

I did what most writers do at some point in their lives: I deleted my work.

I was not satisfied with what I'd written and deleting it was the only way to alleviate my frustrations. I'd put energy, which I did not have, into a post I was planning to publish, but my obsession for perfection halted me to a stop. I did not publish it because it was not perfect. Or interesting. Or funny. Or intriguing. You name it.

It was insipid and dull, passionless and unrealistic, but it was mine. It might not have been perfect, but I worked hard to bring an idea to life. I carried it and birthed it, but my own insecurities prevented me from raising it.

This is the hardest and most painful part of being a perfectionist: nothing is good enough. I'm guilty of exerting unnecessary pressure on myself only to decide later I need more. O, but, wait, if our inability to reach perfection is painful for a writer, torture is deleting our words, sending them back into uncharted territory, telling them they're not important enough to be read, and dismissing hours of arduous work as useless. Yes, that is pretty painful. 

The relationship between writing and perfectionism is analogous to that of torture and death. My writing contains an infinitesimal piece of my soul--an aspect of my psyche unseen by the naked eye but present among words--and when perfectionism relegates my work to a nonexistent realm, that part of my soul is forever lost in the void of space, drowned in the River Styx, along with hope, inspiration, and countless dreams.

I am the main course at a dinner party hosted by my own insecurities. I am seasoned with doubt, frustration, and failure, and then torn apart limb by limb. My screams echo through time and space and reach the bottomless pit where noise is consumed by silence, where cold extinguishes fire, and where death overtakes life.

Am I getting too dramatic? Yes? Just a little? Agreed. You get the idea (I hope).