Confessions of an Empath

Image result for empath art

My single hope is that this post softens the hearts of those who know an Empath. Perhaps, even bolster those who share this confusing gift. I hope you enjoy.

Emotion. Not exclusively human, rather, felt by all. Some suppress it, others allow it to take it’s course. Still, I find myself inhaling it all.

A wave washes me out into the sea of those around me. I am dizzy from the bombardment of the lapping water. Struggling to stay afloat while hearing the trifles of my friends echoing in my ears.

Suddenly, something grabs me. It’s twisted testicles circle up around my legs, tightening every second. I recognize it as familiar. It is, in fact, my own emotions. And immediately, I am drowned. Pulled into the depths of the abyss.

I try to breathe, but even this is hard. And yet, I still lend my heart to those around me. Few who say they are my friends use me then cast me aside. My generousity bleeds with a new wound and my trust dwindles a little less. I can hear their whispers in my head.

“You are nothing,” it says. Then, I hear it on my own lips.

I start to wonder how much more my soul can take. My body aches for the pain of others stronger each day. Genocide, injustice, hatred screams in my head. But that’s not all. My own life only cultivates this feeling of confusion.

Exhaustion overcomes me and I slump to the ground at the shore of my mind. I gasp for air until I can breathe once again. But it is short lived. My own life takes a turn and I am carried out to the sea to fight once again.

Time passes and I realize the gift. I step onto the beach and take in a breath of fresh air. I surround myself with those who do not decay my bones, rather build them up. They are beautiful, scarred souls like mine. It feels kindred.

Each day I take my battered soul and gently lay it before me. Numerous scars from past and present battles covering it. Almost unrecognizable. There are those who may laugh at the sight. Others, may find it grotesque.

But still, a smile stretches across my face. For it is these scars that give me strength. Darkness cannot overtake me, no matter how long I battle. I understand that only those like me, who truly feel the tears of others, can battle such evil.

We are warriors, brothers and sisters. We are given this gift because we are strong, not weak. Our soul mates need us daily, and friends will need us too. Remember, though, take care of yourself first. For without understanding and rejuvenation, we will wither into dust.

Do not see this as a curse. Darkness is not always something to fear. It is part of life and it gives us true appreciation for all that is light. We were chosen, not only to fight the darkness in our own lives, but others as well. And not just by hearing the cries or anger of those around us, but by feeling it stronger than we thought was imaginable.

Take care, my fellow Empaths. Know that you need not walk the path alone.

For National Suicide Prevention Week

Writing Prompt

What a perfect writing prompt for the upcoming Suicide Prevention Week! September 9th through the 15th is quickly approaching, so I wanted to do something in regards to that.

 

***WARNING: THIS POST TALKS ABOUT VERY PERSONAL SUBJECTS (DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE***

 

This is my story. I’m sure that my outcome is not typical, simply based on the speed of recovery. However, my hope is that I inspire someone who may be struggling with Depression or suicidal ideology to seek help. That has always been my goal – increasing awareness of Mental Health issues as well as speak out for those who do not feel capable of doing it themselves.

I am a survivor. For a good 10 years of my life, I suffered from Mild to Moderate Depression. However, because I did not know that the feeling of worthlessness was abnormal, I did not know that I needed help. Perhaps it was the fact that I was only Mild-Moderate and I was able to semi-function that I did not say anything to anyone. Maybe it was just the Depression itself that kept me from asking for help. Whatever the reason, I suffered for years.

While I don’t think that it had anything to do with my parents’ divorce, I believe that the resulting lifestyle from that sparked it. Even they will admit that the divorce was not an easy one. Also, I was bullied relentlessly in school, especially high school. Long story short, I did not have a ‘safe place’ for me to de-stress. I felt a sense of toxicity in the two places in which I spent most of my time – work and home.

Suicidal ideology transformed into a few attempts in my teenage years. Up until recently (almost ten years after I finally got help), I did not feel comfortable discussing the fact that I was very close to ending it all. I was in a very dark place and I wondered whether it would be better if I no longer existed. It wasn’t like I had many friends. Part of me was even under the impression that my ‘friends’ were only using me or that they pretended to like me. I believed that everyone was talking about me behind my back.

In high school, I had three rumors going around about me at one time. 1. That I was pregnant. 2. That I self-harmed. And 3. That I was a Satan worshiper. Being that I was in a private school, the third one ostracized me further. I was the ‘Goth’ kid in a place where everyone was preppy. Truly, I felt alone. None of these rumors were true, but people would come up to me and ask to see my arms to make sure I wasn’t cutting. It was embarrassing and demeaning. The school knew about it and did nothing.

My grades began to suffer tremendously. I never felt motivated to do homework or even to show up to class. Each year, I stayed home more than the allotted days and would walk through the halls at work like a zombie when I was present in school. Sophomore and early Junior year was when I made attempts at my own life. Luckily, I am still here today.

At that point in my life I was fed up. My school counselor called me a liar when I told her that my grades were starting to improve because the teacher had not updated assignments and she only saw the grade that was available. They refused to put me in the yearbook Senior year because, when I got my Senior pictures done, my hair was blue, purple, and pink. The teacher only decided to tell me this with a 2 week notice. So, I’m not in the yearbook that year. Not to mention, someone I knew in the Yearbook class said that the teacher was upset that I didn’t get my photos redone although other students were not depicted in the book along with me.

I finally exploded. I told my counselor that I was literally going to kill myself if I did not get help. It was a burst of anger and confidence to finally talk about how I had felt on a daily basis for so long. The darkness had become a part of me and I was done letting it take over my life. I wanted to feel happy again. I didn’t want to dread waking up and the daylight hours. I wanted to enjoy my life.

My dad was kind enough to turn around on the highway on his way to an out of town work event and take my sister and I to therapy. In only 1.5 years, I was given a new chance. I did a complete 180* in a short amount of time. Turns out, all I needed was proper coping techniques in addition to the self-esteem to love myself for who I was. I would never have been able to help myself in the way that my therapist helped me. And that, my dear readers, is why I think that therapy is so vital to the healing process.

Because of my experience, I went to college and received a Bachelor’s of Psychology. I was awarded Psychology Student of the Year at my Community College in 2013, made the Dean’s list every semester (Community College & University), received a scholarship for academics, and even became a Research Assistant at my University. My goal is to help, however I can, to raise awareness for the insensitivies towards Mental Health in America. By squashing myths and educating the general public, I can hopefully reduce the stigma and taboo associated with suffering from a Mental Illness. Hopefully my books will give me enough popularity that I can spread my voice over a wider audience.

Fast forward to today. I am 26 years old and finally feel like I can fully love myself. My life has changed so much. I have a beautiful daughter and I am confident I am on the right path with my life. There will be some drastic changes in my life soon, but I feel freer!

This, readers, is a seemingly bad situation that turns into a life change. Never be afraid of who you are and what you struggle with. You are NOT alone. If you feel like you cannot life another day, know that there are others who are on the same path. YOU CAN BE A PHOENIX AND RISE FROM THE ASHES!

I hope this inspired some of you to write your own story. If you feel comfortable, comment with your own bad situation that turns into a positive life change. Spread the love!

Poetry: The Spoken Senses

I know it’s short, but it was something I wrote over lunch 🙂

 

One who walks through fire can feel a kindred spirit,

Someone who is broken can feel another broken soul.

An experience, indescribable with words, unyielding with emotions,

Yearning for solace in the chaos and the pain.

 

But everything shifts in a mere embrace,

Chaos dissolves and pain subsides.

An unspoken understanding that love will win

In the space between the scars.

 

Invisible chains restrain us into our pasts,

Pulling, tightening with each new breath.

But soon the bonds release us,

It breaks, we fall.

 

That is when the chains are caught by one another,

Fusing together in an unbreakable weld,

They serpentine and embed into the skin

Painlessly, almost pleasantly.

 

Lingering in the wonderment and bliss

Of something as simple as an embrace.

Between two battered people, injured souls.

Perhaps one could live in this forever?

 

A Glimpse of What’s to Come

After The Wanderer Trilogy, I plan on writing a compilation of short stories. I will be working on it from time to time, but I plan on being meticulous in how I write these stories. Here is just a taste of the very beginning. Do you plan on reading this? 🙂

 

shadow people

A WARNING

 

Contained in the bending of this book are the extensive and detailed notes of Edward L. Sutton, Independent Journalist and Author. Obsession – the reality of ‘mythical’ beings, particularly ones he dubbed Omens of Change. Current state of Mr. Sutton – deceased. I am just an interviewee.

When he finally spoke to me, I warned him not to publish this. The Others. They told me that they would kill him if he did anything more than speak to the Chosen. And they did just that. To be clear, I wish to remain anonymous for fear of what the world will think after they read this. That is, if they choose to believe it.

You see, the world is crumbling. Humanity is weak and afraid. They commit unspeakable crimes against one another. Hate speech, assault, rape, and murder run rampant. And yet, we live in our subdivisions and follow our own monotonous routine, caring little of the suffering of others. Still, we occasionally find ourselves pulled from the mundane and out of our comfort zone. Usually, it is within the unconscious mind. We remember these experiences. And you may believe these are nothing more than a coincidence. I am here to tell you that the concept of chance is more of a myth than these creatures.

My warning is this, dear reader, be vigilant. Once you dive into the contents of this book, there is no turning back. You will know more about the universe than you may want to. And sometimes, the truth is terrifying. I guarantee you that these stories are nothing short of that. Many of you will not be able to stomach what you find within these pages. Clarity is a risk. But it is what you do with this information that will determine your fate. The Others, they will be watching. And if you displease them, they will come for you.

Pray to whatever deity that they NEVER come for you.

Although, you could have already met these creatures before. Perhaps you were already deemed one of the Chosen, but do not yet understand what that means. That, my brothers and sisters, is why I am allowing this book out into the public. To finish Edward L. Sutton’s work. His single goal was to unite all of those who have sensed the Omens. Nonetheless, he did make it relatively convenient for us to find one another through his writings. Tales that will outline different events that you may have witnessed. If so, follow the trail, allow the Other to contact to you however they wish, and find the rest of us.

They are waiting. So am I.

-Anonymous

Writing in the Rain 8/7/2018

writing prompt

Wouldn’t you like to be known for something? Evelynn Turner always wanted to be famous and what kid wouldn’t? But she never thought that she would be famous for something as simple as baking bread.

The unusual thing was, no one taught her how to bake. Her parents, who were very wealthy, hired a professional chef to make everything from scratch. Even he could not be bothered to teach Evelynn. But every night, right after the maid left for the evening, the young girl would sneak down into the kitchen where the chef would leave the dough to rise overnight. After poking it to be sure it had risen enough, she would carefully slice a piece off of the ball and get to work.

Perhaps it was her meticulous care in making sure the bread was risen perfectly, or buttered properly. Whatever the case, she mastered baking rather quickly. The chef, up until that point, had made the dough. Each morning, Evelynn would sit her perfectly baked loaf next to the ball of dough, waiting for her parents to see it in the morning. It wasn’t until she started making her own dough that they began to notice her talent.

When the whole house was asleep, she would run downstairs and scoot a stool over where she could work on the marble counter top. Natural talent grew as Evelynn grew more confident. She started with simple loaves like whole wheat and white bread. Then she moved onto Challah and Naan, exotic breads. When her parents finally figured out that it was not their paid chef who was making these delicious, warm treats, they were shocked. Her mother, a businesswoman, decided to invest in her daughter’s skill.

Five years was all it took to become world famous for Evelynn Turner. Her mother simply provided the means and paperwork for a bakery. By that time, her daughter had moved into desserts. Cupcakes, cakes, pastries, she could make them with ease. No recipe, no formal training. She was barely a teenager when she made her first million.

On her eighteenth birthday, she decided to compete in baking competitions. Her shop, named “The Sweet Tooth”, was now fully staffed and her employees were trusted enough to be on their own for a few days. You name it, Evelynn signed up for it. Every time, she won. Her name was renown through the baking industry and she was completely self-made. Well, other than a little help from her mother.

Evelynn’s number 1 and 2 rule – Never write down a recipe, because it will change every time. And never teach the student more than what the teacher knows. She always made the dough and was adamant about that. Even into her seventies and eighties, she refused to let her workers even see how many eggs she put into her muffin dough. They were in charge of baking, she was in charge of creating.

Miss Turner passed away at the ripe age of ninety-three. Throughout her life, she did not take one day off of working. It was her passion, so it never felt like working. People that she only knew through “The Sweet Tooth” attended her funeral and people who her pastries had changed their lives made an appearance. All who watched her laid to rest were gifted one final pastry of their choice. Somehow, she had known that her end was approaching and spent three days making hundreds of pastries. It was her final note left on the tongues of the world.

She took her recipes to the grave along with her talent. No one could even come close to the taste that her baking provided. Countless times, her workers had begged her to share her knowledge with them, but she refused. For fear of someone stealing her recipes? No. She had said this, and only ever this:

“Flour is just flour and sugar is just sugar. It is the person, their personality, and their care that makes the bread.”

Be sure to check out Purpose. Check out the Bookstore for buying options! You won’t be disappointed!

Enjoy this writing prompt! Show me what you come up with! 🙂

Writing Prompt (1)