I cry for you. Real tears of anguish and pain. My heart hurts and my soul is in a state of unrest. The emotion is real, the pain is there, the sentiment is true. I feel myself sinking deeper into the abyss hand in hand, falling side by side in a tandem dance towards the bottom. The lack of light is overwhelming. My eyes dart side to side in a pointless effort searching for a path out. I squeeze your hand tighter to let you know I am here with you, you are NOT alone.
I wonder if you feel any comfort knowing someone is here to support you, walk with you, hold your hand through the darkness that surrounds you. You may not see me, but do you feel my presence? Do you understand the connection I have with you and your situation? Yes, we are strangers divided by miles of earth and sky speaking different languages. I am still here with you, still feeling your anguish. Compassion seeps out of every pore of my being, my love knows no bounds.
Tangled within this invisible rope that binds, my heart longs to consume your pain releasing you from the raging war that captured you. As brick crumbles and clouds of dust blind, I shall acquisition the breath of life then submerge your body. With this gift I give you, you shall breathe anew.
This is what it is like to be an empath. Every hurt, every pain, every trial and emotion on this earth is felt. It is deep and daunting, dark and relenting. It is as real as the sky, moon, stars, sun… Life itself. It consumes, overwhelms, engulfs, inundates, and besieges the soul of the empath. With all of these negative emotions out of control, it is no wonder most empaths suffer from depression and seek escape from others.
I am an empath. I used to admire these traits within myself and think they were good qualities to have. But life has a way of taking something good and twisting and molding it into something bad. While it is easy for me to listen to others speak about their experiences and connect with them in that way on a deeper level. That connection is fleeting and does not last. It is a conversation with meaning and depth. However, it is one that after I serve my purpose to others, I am no longer of any use to them. It leaves me drained physically and emotionally and feeling like I have no other value than to consume other’s grief.
I am then left to my own devices to try and find a release to rid myself of these negatives I have just ingested. It is a room without a door, a bulletproof glass house, a bottomless well, a one night stand.
Because of this, I struggle to make those lasting connections that will turn into friendships. I am lacking in some form or another, the ability to sustain or maintain conversations long enough to make a lasting impression. Hard as I try, meeting new people sometimes daily, it just does not happen for me.
I live in a constant state of turmoil and anxiety not knowing how to liberate myself from the emotions that drown me as I continue to take in more and more pain from others. It is a constant crisis raging war on my state of being. So I withdraw, I choose to live like a hermit alone and lonely then pour my soul out in my writing.
Ah, my writing, that is my release!