Son of a Witch

What you’re about to read is highly personal; things I’ve never told anyone - not my family, not my friends and not any therapists, but many of you are reading this because you responded to my post about not trusting anyone, not being seen, and not being loved. I wish I could say I was being hyperbolic, but I’ve taken a spiritual oath to tell the truth no matter how revealing it is. So here we go.

I have deep-seated abandonment issues that stem from my parents divorce when I was a three years old. I grew up with a single mom as she tried her best to support my sister and I through her spiritual practice, but we were poor. Years before “Tarot of the Spirit” was published, my mom would lock my sister and I out of the house every weekend just past sunrise without breakfast as her white-light coven of gown-wearing women would arrive and take lessons from her on Tarot, Kabbalah and Cosmology. She didn’t get rid of us out of cruelty, she did it so we could keep a roof over our head.

I would invite myself over to friends houses as they were still in their pre-breakfast pajamas watching Saturday morning cartoons. Their parents would whisper to each other “that’s the son of the witch. Look how scrawny he is.” And I was. I was the thinnest, most emaciated kid you ever saw.

I was constantly made fun of at school. Not only was I “the son of a witch” with no packed lunch, no money, and no clean clothes, but my skin was covered with patches of psoriasis, which the other kids thought was some kind of contagious disease. It wasn’t, but I hated myself all the same and I hated school. Every night I would go to bed hungry and I’d pray I wouldn’t wake up the next day.

Things only got worse for the next seven years when my mom married an alcoholic ex-Vietnam vet who turned out to be way more of a liability to our family, than an asset. I’m pretty sure he hated me and save for the rare moments of contrived bonding, the feeling was mutual.

The Fight Club question of “If you could fight anyone, who would it be?”- he sat at the top of the list until the day he died. I forgive him now, and I do recognize the moments he genuinely tried. He had his own demons and for that I can relate.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, in High School, my psoriasis became so severe, that I would only wear long sleeve clothing. I still couldn’t hide the flaky patches of peeling skin all over my hands. I wanted so badly to be an actor, but as I shot up to 6’3 by my senior year, my body didn’t fill out, it just stretched like Jack Skellington. I was a textbook beanpole with no confidence and a punk rock vegan at a school full of hicks. I had enemies and I lived in fear. As my insecurities spiraled out of control, I became your typical stoner, loser, juvenile delinquent and was thrown out of school multiple times.

No one believed in me, and I didn’t believe in myself

I would love to tell you that spirituality saved me, but outside of the occasional Tarot Readings I’d do for friends, instead I dove deeper into addiction. I was constantly hiding in the shadows, literally afraid to be seen in the light of day because of my skin. During college, I lived in the Tenderloin slums of San Francisco and worked graveyards shifts at a Union Square Hotel. I’d do cocaine to get me through the long hours of work, school, homework - lather, rinse, repeat. Despite my destructive lifestyle, I was always a top college student.

I could go on, but I’m saving the details for my book. The point is:

It’s not where you came from that defines you, it’s where you’re going

The world has rejected me time and time again. People have abandoned me more times than I can count. They rarely give me a chance. They write me off, push me away, ignore me, assume I’m shallow, soulless and just like every other person in their life that’s hurt or deceived them. And I understand. I understand how deep pain and trauma can run, so I don’t hold it against anyone.

It’s taken me years to find my spiritual path, transform my body, heal my skin, love myself and finally have the ability to truly love someone else.

Many years ago, I almost cried in front of my new rep the day I got signed to a modeling agency. She had no idea how far I’d come to get to that moment, to finally love myself externally and literally feel confident in my own skin. But I still had major internal work to do.

Everyday is a constant struggle for self love that requires morning mantras, rigorous workouts, daily meditation, a healthy diet, endless reading and ritual magick. Mind, Body and Spirit. And it’s working.

Yes, I have a severe autoimmune disease that’s destroying my lungs and kidneys, and constantly threatening to take my life. And yes, it’s left me divorced and financial destitute, but I believe in the healing power of love.

I have the tools to make as much money as I want, and anyone who leaves their significant other while they're fighting for their life is not someone you want to spend the rest of your life with anyway.

My spiritual power has also been growing exponentially over the past three years since the onset of my sarcoidosis. My clairsentience is at an all time high and my other psychic abilities are just starting to take shape. This is an exciting time and I’m glad I’m still here after all the pain, sorrow, heartbreak, depression and suicidal ideation.

I told one of my client’s that she would be the only person I’d tell my morning mantra too, but if any of you have read this far, then you are worthy of being in my sacred circle and for that I offer you this:

Every morning I wake up at 6 am and say:

I am confident

I am beautiful and full of light

I am healthy, wealthy, happy and strong

My business is thriving

My creativity is soaring

My passion is burning

I love my life

And I’m worthy of giving and receiving the deepest love

Each day I thank the Gods

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