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Ivonne

My story

I was born prematurely with a misshapen hand. Doctors told my mom that I would be mentally challenged and would never develop normally. I don't know if that's what they must've thought from then on, because I was always the stupid one in the family.

Everything started when I was about one and a half and had a little sister. She was immediately the favorite (cute, smiley) and people started noticing how sullen and ugly I was. I remember thinking that all I had was myself, and I should not get attached to anybody lest I get disappointed. My father says that that's when I started reading (maybe at age two or three), and when I learned all the alphabet I moved on to Greek. I was reading fluently way before pre-K, and in school, when bullies attacked me or teased me for being different, I retreated into my books. Soon everybody forgot that I existed, except for my straight A's and my mother, who was the coolest teacher at school but always a bitch towards me. It was OK with me. She laughed and told everybody I had Middle Child Syndrome and was forever telling me that with this personality nobody would ever love me. She wanted me to be the pretty cheerleader type, and I wound up being the bookworm with the gypsy clothes all my life.

In the second or third grade I became obsessed with the unknown. I read every ghost book in my library, especially the books that gave real accounts and not fictional ones. Outer space was another favorite subject and I knew every planet and moon by heart. Ghostbusters came on when I was about 12 or so, and then I knew I wanted to be just that! From then on, every winter and summer, after my reconstructive plastic surgeries, I would devour every book in the house. At this point I had read Charles Berlitz and Erich Von Daniken, so out went the ghosts and in came other interests such as Atlantis and Lemuria. My dad and I worked out all the mathematical data in Von Daniken's books and found them fascinating.

In high school I had many more friends, people whom today I will consider as being Indigos too. It was a different time. I still maintained straight A's when I did not study (except for Physics) and had an almost vertiginous outpouring of poetry and fiction that translated into whole nights of writing. It was madness. I met a guy who may have been the catalyst for me to start delving into other things. Just being with him brought me insane dreams of intergalactic battles, hellenistic academies, and eternal libraries in the sky which I later associated with the Akashic records. The relationship was too intense and I left, opening up a scar that has yet to heal. It was as if I'd looked away from God because His light was too bright.

I finished med school and residency. I was already married and soon had a child, a bright little boy who talks to ghosts. My mother died unexpectedly after his birth, taking away years and years of mental abuse and lack of any assurance that I ever mattered to her as a person. I had post-partum depression and got help, but as I was about to pop the first Zoloft, I decided that a drug was not going to bring her back or make her clarify her strange and cold way of treating me. Up to this day, I still do not know if she ever knew how much she hurt me.

I gave up going to church and starting studying other religions, to find the good in all. I started to do yoga and to meditate, although my short attention span keeps me from attaining any degree of deepness. I have tried to channel and to have past life regressions, which have yielded terrifying accounts of life in the 1200's Portugal as a sexless hag who was beaten up by men on horses and eventually killed. I come from a family of psychics, and while I am in no way a receiver, I can certainly make people aware of my distress just by sending out a powerful mental SOS. I was convinced for the longest that yes, angels exist and that no, I had none by my side. I was convinced I was not a child of God, since I found no solace in prayer and all my pleas fell on deaf ears. I gave up: after that I threw myself into medicine and forgot about everything.

All my indigo friends are scatterd around the world. They have married and divorced. I have stayed true to my curiosity, and now that I'm 33 and are financially stable, I have started to dedicate myself some time for self-reflecting. Usually I hate talking about myself (a trait my mom forced me to have) but I have felt such an outlet these past few days in this site, that I am pulling the proverbial "me, me, me" if y'all don't mind.

Please withhold my e-mail. You can write my name.

Ivonne

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