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Archive for the tag “November”

When an Empath has no Empathy

nano poblano photo 26

I undergo profound changes every November. 

Cataclysmic, visions-of-a-personal-apocalypse life changes.  It’s happened three Novembers in a row now.  Sure, it’s only a blog challenge, but I’m generally blog-challenged, being a poet and not really a blogger at all.  So when November rolls around, it seems like I’m just not allowed to ignore all the seismic emotional upheaval that something of this creative magnitude rips open for 30 days straight.

See, here’s the thing, because you knew there’d be a thing, right?  The thing is, I’m kind of an empath.  Not the ‘I shake your hand and know where you’ve buried the bodies’ kind of empath.  Just the ‘I feel things deeper than most people’ kind. 

My feelings. 

Your feelings. 

Friends’ feelings. 

Strangers’ feelings.

Hell, I even feel your dog’s feelings.

Did you ever see the movie “Species”?  The original, where the government assembled a team of previous strangers with varied skill-sets to capture and/or kill the Escaped Sexy Female Alien Hybrid, on the loose and looking to mate?  Then you remember the soft-spoken empath, played by Academy Award™ winning actor Forest Whitaker.  This version of the B-movie empath wasn’t a psychic, or in touch with the spirit world, or whatever other way B-movies portray the empath.  This version could simply feel what others around him were feeling, and tell you what those feeling meant

I liked that interpretation. 

Because at the roots, it’s the closet I’ve ever come to being introduced to mine. 

And then there’s the downside. 

The thing is, I’m kind of an empath.  Not the ‘I shake your hand and know where you’ve buried the bodies’ kind of empath.  Just the ‘I feel things deeper than most people’ kind. 

My feelings. 

Your feelings. 

Friends’ feelings. 

Strangers’ feelings.

Hell, I even feel your dog’s feelings.

Especially my feelings.

Which in the past, I could ignore for my own sanity’s sake.  But last November, after writing a super-concentrated month’s-worth of feelings, I lost the ability to bury mine.  No more clearly-marked boxes for emotions.  No more handy compartments for feelings to go.  No more mindless default ways to ignore them.  They were, for the first time, all on the same great big plate like a 64-box of crayons melted together in a microwave oven, and it was a fucking mess. 

My fucking mess. 

And I had to choose my path before it killed me.

The title of this post is, “When an Empath has no Empathy”.  It comes from a random thought that popped into my empath head a couple of days ago, about someone from my past, equally gifted with the ability to ‘feel all the feels’ like I do.  A random thought that goes, “What if you were an empath with no empathy?  Wouldn’t that just make you a sociopath?” 

And after reading everything… okay, a few things on Reddit… my non-clinical, non-scientific answer is, “Yeah… I think it would.”

But is that how I want to live the rest of my life?  Just surviving like a spiritual grifter, living off the feelings of others instead of feeling all the feels and helping those who need whatever it is I can do with all the messed up feelings.

My feelings. 

Your feelings. 

Friends’ feelings. 

Strangers’ feelings.

Hell, I even feel your dog’s feelings.

Especially my feelings.

So this November, I was left with a choice.  Do I want to spend the rest of my life finding new ways to shut off all the feelings and face the consequences of knowing and not caring?  Or do I stay on the path, as I suppose was originally intended, and learn how to be who I am?  Feeling, and dealing with my choices.

Like I said, I undergo profound changes every November.

And I can’t wait until December.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

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If God

nosferatushadow

If God

is like

you,

then

there is

no God.

 

 © Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

November

spring-flower-and-snow

Flowers bloom in

November

when you plant them

in the

unexpected

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

My Human

 

my-human-png

It’s lonely in here

I’ve never had a problem with

being my own company 

I’ve kept it for my entire life

without any complaint 

But now

I finally realize what

being alone means 

The new of

being without someone has

sunk in

and I understand what it is to

miss another human 

My human 

I won’t beg 

I won’t act desperate to others 

And I sure as fuck won’t settle for

something less than I deserve

But tonight

my standards are low

and I’m drinking

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Compartmentalized

compartmentalize

 

I’m really not who you think I am.

I give points to those, in my past, who guess bits and pieces of me correctly.  You’ve all tried so hard to be right that it doesn’t seem fair not to reward that effort with a bonus peek behind the curtain, as an “atta boy” for playing the game.

And it’s not that I purposely deceived you about who I am.  I haven’t.  It’s just that, after so many years of living my life, day to day, I really don’t think about sharing every detail of it with you.  Not because I’m keeping things from you, but because, after living it all the first time, I just don’t think of it as interesting. 

It wasn’t interesting to me.

Or to anyone else who lived it with me.

Because I’ve lived every day up till now, all those days before you had any thoughts of me, as days of necessity, not serendipity.  My nose grew more comfortable with the grindstone than it ever was with the stars.  And my existence has, for the most part, been for others who depended on me, and not my own amusement.  At this point, I don’t have a frivolous bone in my body.

Or they’ve all been broken.

Therefore, no matter what you may think you know about me, what you really know about me is what you and I discover, together.  I’ve kept my life compartmentalized, mostly for my own safety.  At least that’s what I kept telling myself, over and over, since the day my heart began to crumble.  First, I built a wall.  Then another, then two more, and before I knew what I was doing, I had built so many rooms inside me that I had one for every thought.  One for every feeling.  Safe and unsafe.  For sharing or hiding.  Each one a closed space, until I decide that you are safe to me.  But no one gets a key to the whole place.  Not unless we go there together. 

Only if you are safe.

Are you safe? 

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Showstopper

l-cohen

Darkness isn’t darkness if you 

look in the light

I never know when I’m gonna

feel alright

Blind for a lifetime

Now the end is in sight

Once I woulda quit

but now I’m in for the fight

Once I woulda quit

but now I’m in for the fight

So let’s all sing a 

Hallelujah tonight

Let’s all sing a

Hallelujah tonight

 

(written on November 6th, 2016, for Leonard Cohen)

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

What I Want

Everybody’s Shit Stinks

Whether attitude or actual, metaphor or literal, in prose or rhyming couplets great or small…

With a certitude among those who, for good or ill, agree…

Observed in one’s behavior, mercurial, or philosophy, obscure, a truth which should be obvious to all…

That in this world of humankind, there is one fact, indisputable, thinks not just me…

Everybody’s shit stinks. 


 © Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Listen…

http://youtu.be/ojyD6B-ufI0

Writer’s Block

“So block me, already.”

I would never actually say

“There’s not one thing I can say to make this better, but I want to try, because that’s just me. Always trying to fix things after I’ve broken them.”

I have a broken track record

“Except I don’t even know where to begin. It’s like my soul has writer’s block, and I know that all words are meaningless. Because with you, actions speak.”

you have a track record too

“So I’ll say my broken peace, and leave you to yours.”

that’s all I know to do

“I was wrong, and probably always will be. So don’t reply… please, don’t.”  

I couldn’t read it even if you did

“Just block me.”

just block me

 

 © Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Shitheap 

“Life is beauty, under a shitheap of hope.”

#BuddhaBukowski 

I believe in life. And I am not deaf, dumb, or blind. Though I have tried to be all three, sometimes all at once. Yet the beauty, it turns out, is most often found buried beneath the ugliest things. Cloaked. Straining to be seen. Unrecognized. As we turn away, convinced it cannot be there.  

But life, and hope, are eternal. And so is the beauty, covered by a shitheap. Waiting. 

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday 

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