I have the lucky characteristic of empathy. I don’t mean that in a pretentious, self-touting way, because it can be just as detrimental as it can be positive.
An empathetic tendency means that emotions wrap around you like ivy on a building. And sometimes Ivy can make a building more beautiful and other times it can overtake the entire structure, visually suffocating what lies beneath. You feel the energy of the rooms you’re in. It’s overwhelming, and exciting and energetic and cloying. Tension makes you try to calm it, yet creates your own personal stress that bear hugs you. You’re constantly struggling to be the positivity because of how much you just want peace and happiness. Seeing other people happy makes you swoon from inside out, that sensation in your sternum that feels like you’re bursting, yet containing it in a small space.
If someone seems angry; you wonder how you can fix it. Because it actually overwhelms your thoughts in concern for their well-being; but also makes you dissect your thoughts to determine if you had a role in creating it. Simply and ultimately seeking an end goal of fixing it.
Memories carry with them more than the picture in your head, the passing graze of your feelings during that time. They carry the whole experience; muted, of course. But your sorrow, glee, confusion, etc.; anything you felt, taps you on the shoulder until you turn to see it and decide how and when to send it away. Past experiences can give you a complete grasp on how you want to feel, what you need to be you, but also endless limits of tolerance.
But my tolerance has a stopping point; and it’s unfortunately extreme. It’s like a tire. You can drive on a tire for a long time; the treads will wear and tougher terrain will wear it even further. If you keep driving on it, though, the treads can become threadbare; thin. And if you drive it long enough like that, at some point you’re bound to end up with a flat. You metaphorically deflate. The air rushes out; the situation, relationship, atmosphere takes the last bit you had to keep driving.
When I end up in these moments; I’m reminded that I’ve been here before and struggle to determine what lesson I’m fated to glean if I allow it. What this will contribute to my life story and how I’ll look back and perceive my handling of it. I get a little lost. I potentially think that I should write, yet am so defeated, I can’t see the point.
I sometimes see myself as abnormal, that maybe I’m not being a good grown up. That life happens and my intensity of feelings through it aren’t an excuse to let it engulf my mind. That there has to be a balance. I wonder if I should observe others and how they cope. How they work through these types of frustrations, sad moments, heartbreaks, and any other human experience. If I’m doing it right and conversely if it’s fair that I should have to ask that.
And yes, life can always be worse than that moment. But how do we learn to deal with the especially worse situations that will inevitably be a reality if we can’t see the small and medium sized ones for the challenges they actually are. For their roles in how we evolve; use our individually varying emotional intensities to decide how we live through every step.
Per usual, this is a bit of a wandering train of thought, but what I present typically emphasizes how the situation feels. Smooth, thoughtful or erratic and grappling. I translate my human experiences in hope that not only will it shed some light for me but perhaps offer a different perspective for anyone who reads it. In my empathy, I reach out. I turn to people, not only when they need it, but when I need it. I try to avoid burdening others with my mind dump of thoughts; but if I feel as though they can handle me, I try to seek answers and respect their take on guiding my directions when I can’t read the map. I spread kindness with no expectation of return; but rather in hopes it forges a mutual appreciation for everyone. And because not doing it just seems wrong. This leads me to wonder if baring my thoughts is selfish. If sharing how I’m feeling is obnoxious; obtrusive almost.
As I process being in a darker point as opposed to living facing the sun as I try to do; I wonder when my path won’t have as many broken bricks to step around. Yet that’s negating the fact that it’s going to happen and I can’t expect to not have imperfections through life. I wonder what I’ll see on the other side of this one; if my reflections of this time will-be accurate or confusing funhouse mirrors. If I’ll simply think I was being a fool. We are our own worst critics, ultimately.
While it’s unavoidable to not partially shut down, yet also feel raw, due to understanding that I have receptors that don’t quite work right, it is possible to work through the situation in the best way possible. I have mental oppression that’s not my fault and is just a bit of my own wiring that is faulty, and that’s okay. I aim to get through a dark hallway with just a match to see in front of me, than to simply give up and not work to get through to find a light switch. Plenty of times I’d like to say screw it, and just not continue to be me. To give up on myself (figuratively). But there’s plenty of beauty in life to offset the broken parts.
If you’ve treated others the way you want to be treated, you’ll never be alone. You might be disappointed, but you’ll always have someone when you’re not enough for you. Life is hard, but not really living it is much harder on your experience. Make the most of what you have even if it feels like it’s not much. Sometimes I think those last statements are bullshit, I’m just trying to remember that figuring out why they’re not is how I realize I’ve made it through the struggle. Found some electrical tape to slap on those faulty wires.