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I had so many things to be angry about.  So many people had wronged me, from my biological father who molested me, to my beloved grandmother who’d bailed him out of jail and brought him home to live with me after he shot my mother in the head, to my mother who taught me that I was worthless and unlovable, to the so-called friends who had used and betrayed me over and over.

They wronged me.  They hurt me.  They deserved to suffer for what they did to me.  How could I possibly forgive them, especially if they were not even pretending to be sorry?

The problem with being a creature of habit is that it takes SO much effort to change my habits.

Way back in April I made a decision to break my bad habit of distracting myself from my own life by re-reading my favorite books for hours every day.  I had no idea it would be so difficult.

Step One is "We admitted that we were harming ourselves and others and that our lives had become overwhelming."

When I am overwhelmed, my primal brain is in control, and all it cares about is survival.  I've been under the control of my primal brain for most of the year so far, even when things were going good.  I was aware that something was wrong, but I kept putting off examining myself to find my problem while I helped other people find and work out theirs.

The other day I was gifted with the opportunity to practice what I preach.

I received a shock that left me hurt, angry, and more than a bit anxious.  My tummy churned, my breathing became shallow, and I slipped into negative thinking – angry thoughts towards myself and others, fearful thoughts about finances, dark humor.

This is the story of how I made the shift from a lifetime of negative thinking to a new life of positive thinking.

What does positive thinking really mean?  I used to think it meant thinking like an optimist.  I considered myself a realist back then, and thought optimists were only able to be optimistic because they had never suffered as I had.

I loved reading the tarot so much I carried six decks with me at all times.  I gave readings in restaurants, in class, outside Starbucks, at parties, in the park, over the phone, even by instant messenger.  Reading tarot connected me with Spirit.  It was sacred to me, even if most of the people I read simply found it entertaining.

How could I charge for readings when giving them brought me so much pleasure?  Could I really refuse someone a reading because they didn’t have the $20 I felt bad about charging?  Should I read some people for free even while charging others?  Were free readings worth less than paid ones?

Dark clouds snaked through the overcast sky like an airborne river, grumbling warning of impending deluge that summer afternoon in Orlando, Florida.  I was a ten-year-old sorceress with blonde curls and a need for magical sand.  My nine-year-old cousin and apprentice sorcerer collected the sand beneath the overhead bars as we discussed his infant sister, whom we knew was destined to be the most powerful sorceress of all.

The river in the sky grumbled louder, flashing a bit of lightning at us in warning.  I leaned against the metal bars, raised an eyebrow.  "Larak," I said, calling the thunder god by the name I'd given him, "You can just wait until we get home.  When I'm standing under the carport, you can pour all you want then."