But hey—I monetized the collapse and gave it a goat sidekick.
I followed all the rules.
Lit the candles.
Moonwatered my goals.
Charged a crystal so hard I accidentally charged my trauma.
I said,
“I’m ready to receive.”
And the universe responded,
“Buckle up, babe.”
What did I receive?
✔️ A nervous breakdown.
✔️ A spiritual un-alignment.
✔️ A 3 a.m. panic vision of my inner child flipping me off in a tutu.
I tried to journal through it.
Manifested the hell out of peace.
Even whispered,
“I release what no longer serves me.”
…and my coping mechanisms filed for unemployment.
At one point I wrote
“I am the creator of my own reality”
and the reality said
“Cool, here’s every buried trauma you forgot to deal with.”
So yeah.
I didn’t manifest a luxury lifestyle.
I manifested a full-system reboot
in a hoodie that said “Namaste in Bed.”
But I made it work.
I branded the breakdown.
Built a website.
Put a goat on it.
Called it therapy-adjacent.
Now my rock bottom has merch.
And my pain has an email list.
With a welcome message that says:
“Congratulations on your emotional unraveling. Here’s a discount code.”
I’m not healed.
I’m hilariously haunted and digitally organized.
My aura’s still dusty,
but my business plan is immaculate.
So no, I don’t visualize yachts anymore.
I visualize tip jars.
Laughter.
And a goat named Boundaries whispering:
“That’s not a red flag—it’s a goddamn parade.”
Because the only thing I manifested
was a breakdown…
and baby,
it’s trademarked now.
The Only Thing I Manifested Was a Breakdown
I tried to attract abundance with crystals and calm,
But all I summoned was chaos in glitter lip balm.
No yacht, no peace—just emotional spam,
And a goat on my screen yelling “SAME, MA’AM.”
—The Funny Phoenix, manifesting merch and mental mayhem
