I think about everything because I cannot think about nothing. I lack the fundamental capability to completely get lost in any one subject, because there are always about five mind worms running at once. I wish I could stop the train, because I’m ready. I’m ready to be able to hold one thought steady. Touching Dana. Making dinner. Meditating. Even the fundamentals are out of order and upside down because even though I am quiet on the outside, inside it seems like I may be about to birth a volcano.
No, that’s too dramatic for what’s happening right now. The volcano has erupted, and the liquid hot magma is killing the ideas in my head. I am headed for the promised land of spiritual and emotional healing, but I have sympathy for the fact that you cannot get over something traumatic unless you experience it in a “makes you breathe faster” sort of way. Because the more you can get those big reactions out of the way, the subsequent ones will be smaller and easier to manage. What I have learned over time is that I am an empath, so I feel emotions extraordinarily deeply. I also hold on to them for longer than I should, which is partly my introverted personality and partly a learned behavior. So therefore, if I don’t deal with grief right away, I stuff it down into my socks and just hope it doesn’t come back up.
The volcano erupted when I began to see everything that I’d kept stuffed down. Confusion and rage mixed with tears and anguish, which left peace and tranquility in its wake. It’s how I know I’m an empath. Getting in touch with how I feel about other people’s stories allows me to release them, because when I don’t, I walk around in other people’s problems. I’ve gotten to where I’m brilliant at figuring out your life, but don’t ask me to figure out mine. In some ways, I let other people’s stories become more important than mine… to the point that I would completely self-sabotage in order to protect someone else.
If the behavior is engrained enough, you’ll react so that you’re protecting someone even when you don’t realize it. That is the sign that things may not blow up soon, but they will indeed blow up. Because once you’ve realized how many emotional tools that you’ve used on someone else that could have been used to propel you, I predict that the conversation you have with yourself will NOT. GO. WELL.
I felt guilty. Like I’d let a part of myself go that wasn’t supposed to disappear and I just let it happen. I still feel guilty. I’m not sure that will ever go away, because I didn’t disappoint anyone except myself.
The worst part is when you can legitimately, empirically state “it’s not my fault,” and you think you’ve taken it in and you still feel guilty.
Because deep down, you know you are.