How the fuck should I know, I’m not a REGRESSION HYPNOTIST. And I’ve never been able to afford one so who or what I was in my past lives will have to remain a mystery for now. There IS a chance I was one of Branwell Brontë’s painted pox-ridden laudanum floosies because little Emily said she has a strong feeling she recognises me but she doesn’t remember how, only that she knows it’s in connection with her brother (she thinks we’ve become such good friends because we both have bad brothers).
Why is it that when people get regressed and go back into their past lives they always find out they were RICH and WELL-TO-DO, and if they weren’t rich and well-to-do they were POOR MURDER VICTIMS? Or they were wrongly executed? Or they were Cleopatra? (This also happens with We Who Are Mental – our delusions of being someone else are always grandiose la-di-dah delusions – I am Jesus/Napoleon/Cleopatra (she gets around a bit)/God/Mary, Queen of Scots/etc etc etc).
The regressed always get to be someone with a really meaty history, never a boring one. Why doesn’t anyone want to be old Joe Bloggs the cheesemonger, or Jane Clapp the hatchet-faced fish wife, or Miss Agatha Pratt the virgin spinster cat-lady?
I want to be regressed. I want to be regressed and find out I was NORMAL-MINDED. I want to KNOW what it was like. Are there any REGRESSION HYPNOTISTS reading this? If so, get in touch and I’ll let you practice on me and I WON’T CHARGE YOU ANY MONEY FOR MY TIME. You can even come to my house and I’ll make your dinner for you. It’ll be nice. We’ll have Cumberland sausages and McCain’s Chippy Chips and for pudding we’ll have spotted dick and custard (made for me by my lovely Aunt Bessie).
P.S. If I was an animal in a past life, I bet I was a SLOTH.