Man, let me tell you. When people talk about two Pisces getting together, they always go on about the fairy tale, the spiritual connection, the instant soulmate vibe. I heard it all. For years, I just nodded along, figuring, yeah, two sensitive souls, must be magic.
Then I actually lived through the fallout of one, and my whole perspective flipped. This wasn’t just reading charts; this became a deep, dark personal research project for me. I had to know the truth because the consequences landed squarely on my lap.
The Practice Begins: Diving Headfirst into the Maelstrom
My “practice” started not with a book, but with my best friend, let’s call him M. M is a classic dreamy Pisces, and he hooked up with another Pisces, let’s call her R. At the start, it was unbelievable harmony. They spoke in whispers; they had this weird telepathy thing. I watched them in amazement, thinking they were proving all the glossy magazine articles right. I started taking notes mentally every time they interacted.
I tracked the initial observations. I saw the pros everyone talked about:
- The Empathy Overload: They could literally finish each other’s sentences, often bursting into tears at the same time over some sad movie or a charity commercial. It was beautiful, sure, but intense.
- The Creative Flow: They wrote songs and painted together. They built a world around themselves that was genuinely enchanting. I logged this as a major positive.
- The Soul Connection: They never fought about shallow stuff. Their disputes were always about deep, existential dread or spiritual misalignments. That felt powerful.
But then, the tide turned, and I started logging the cons. And man, did the cons pile up fast. It was like living next to a constantly leaking water main. My mental log quickly grew into actual notebooks, because I realized I was documenting a disaster movie in slow motion.
I started categorizing the chaos based on what they failed to do. It became clear: two water signs, no earth, is a recipe for floating away from reality.
- The Reality Avoidance: Neither one could handle practical stuff. Bills? Nope. Appointments? Gone. The gas got shut off twice because they kept “forgetting” or just “feeling too overwhelmed” to open the envelopes. I literally drove to their house, grabbed their mail, and paid their electric bill myself. That was the first red flag I physically handled.
- The Ghosting Game: When a problem arose—even a small one like a broken pipe—they wouldn’t discuss it. They’d just drift away, like actual fish. One would disappear to a friend’s house; the other would retreat into a closet. I’d text them, trying to mediate a small plumbing issue, and get silence from both. I logged the average time to reappear at 48 hours.
- The Martyr Complex Tag-Team: Oh, this one was a killer. Instead of solving a problem, they’d compete over who was suffering the most. “I can’t deal with the broken car because my childhood trauma is surfacing!” “Oh yeah? Well, I cried for three days straight, so I’m the real victim here!” I documented this competition in painstaking detail, trying to find a pattern, but it was just perpetual self-pity.
The Reason I Know So Much: The Debt Disaster
Now, why am I the one sharing this deep-dive practice? Why didn’t I just watch and let it go? Because like the poor sap I am, I got dragged into their dream-world mess.
M and R decided to “invest” in a startup, convinced it was their spiritual destiny. They borrowed a chunk of change from a mutual friend, and I, being the only stable one, co-signed a small personal loan for them—just a few grand, I figured, what’s the risk?
The risk was EVERYTHING.
The startup sank faster than a stone in a pond. When the mutual friend came calling for their money, M and R did their classic Pisces move: they vanished. They changed their numbers, they deactivated social media, and they literally left town for three weeks “to commune with the ocean.” They went full ghost, leaving me holding the bag for the loan I co-signed and dealing with an angry, very real mutual friend. I spent a month fielding calls, dodging that friend, and scraping together my own savings to cover the first few installment payments, just to keep the bank from ruining my credit.
That was the moment my practice became a passion project. I wasn’t just observing compatibility anymore. I was performing damage control and survival research. I started systematically cross-referencing their Pisces sun traits with their Moon/Ascendant placements—M’s Taurus Moon versus R’s Sagittarius Ascendant. I ran simulations in my mind: If M had a Virgo Moon, would he have paid the bill? If R had a Capricorn Ascendant, would she have faced the friend?
I concluded, after months of this painstaking documentation and personal financial sacrifice, that the pure Pisces-Pisces connection, while magically empathetic, is completely and utterly useless for navigating the real world. They don’t have a safety net; they just float off the side of the boat together.
And you know what the final kicker was? After three months of silence, after I’d paid off the loan and smoothed things over, R texted me. Not an apology, mind you. Just a picture of a sunset and the message: “We’re back. Did you feel the energetic shift?”
My documented answer to that? No. I felt the energetic shift of my bank account draining. My final conclusion from this hellish practice is that the Pisces-Pisces pairing only works if one, or both, have a brick-solid Earth placement somewhere important in their chart. Otherwise, you’re not getting a relationship; you’re getting two beautiful, crying, financially irresponsible ghosts.
