Therapy for a Psychic

Ever dated a princess before? Most people, like myself, haven’t, but man do I have a story for you.

Let me clear some things up: I’m a psychic, born and raised by my darling mother who suffers from early onset dementia. She sees things and I see things but the nurses that take care of her just think they’re things. It’s hard to visit her, but I do it every morning, and sometimes she remembers me, but she mostly wants out of that place. I understand why. It’s riddled with death and can be terrifying for us. I get scared just thinking about some of the things I’ve seen.

I’d been saving up for an at-home nurse, answering the same question my mother asked every morning.

“When is my daughter coming to get me?” she says.

“Soon mama, she’ll be here soon. You just need to wait a little longer,” I always respond.

That pain, of the woman that raised me forgetting, is played over and over again, but the love and happiness I feel when she remembers me is a greater joy than I could ever explain. There are things she hangs on to, the things she remembers.

She remembers what her mother looked like, even though she left when she was ten. She remembers our first house and how her little girl grew up to be amazing, though she never quite remembers where she works now. But mostly, she remembers my baking, even if she doesn’t recognize me. Seeing the love for me in her eyes when she gets those cakes or cookies makes me tear up every time.

Now, enough of the whole writing my feelings out.

See, the funny thing is that my mother actually knows, and remembers, Alina - the princess - because she was a paramedic when Alina got hurt as a kid. That’s not my story to tell though. I just assumed the Alina was probably named after the princess.

Alina and I met a couple months back after I partied a little too hard and she, a kind stranger, didn’t want me sleeping in an alleyway. After calling my friend to invite her to the villa she was staying in and everything kind of started there.

I woke up to pancakes, some radioactive-looking hangover remedy and a largely humanless building. She was writing a letter at the other end of the table and welcomed me with this gorgeous smile. I was startled after I heard the maniacal laughter of my best friend Nikki, but the hangover remedy started to make much more sense. Alina seemed to enjoy her chaos.

After that night, we’d meet up once a week to just talk about life. We became really close, and I started finding cute gifts in my mailbox, completely oblivious to how expensive they were. We went on dates here and there, mostly to art galleries where we could be alone but they were lovely.

Recently, she invited me to stay with her in the very haunted town of Quinzany, which is actually quite beautiful during the day. My being a psychic however, didn’t stray me from the creepy, horror movie ambience. I didn’t care too much to be honest. After all, I had been seeing dead people since I was five, one more dead ghost hunter isn’t going to exactly surprise me.

When I got there, I was pretty surprised to meet her butler, servants, and chauffeur. Yet the royalty thing didn’t even click until I made a joke about it. She seemed genuinely surprised that I never figured it out, and I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that she’s a princess.,

I think the hardest part is that I want to ask her to be my girlfriend - but how exactly do you ask a princess to be your girlfriend?

I can’t even imagine the tailor-made outfits she wears mixing with my thrifted dresses I resewed and stitched up. What do I do if she only wants a fling though?

Maybe I should end things…

Maybe I should ask her to be my girlfriend?

Maybe I should stop writing and try not being scared about asking a fantastic woman a question for once.

Man therapy journals are weird, I have no idea what I’m doing.