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Rated: E · Short Story · Biographical · #2251905
Aftermath of being an empath. The damage of being one is unimaginable.
I am described often as a great friend, a good listener, one who no matter what time of day it was, if you called, I would be there. I have done things for friends that have put me in a bind, just to see them smile. I barely sleep, for the simple reason that I put people before myself. And for doing so, I constantly worry. I have heard friends tell me how beautiful I am. Not physically, but because of what was inside of me. The ability to listen to what is in the hearts and minds of others and understand it. When it is too confusing, too painful, I would pull it out of them, absorb it, till it stopped tormenting them. An empath is something I have been called often. But there is an ugly truth that stays hidden, protected from those who enter my life. I am broken. Beyond help, beyond repair. I cant look at myself in the mirror anymore, I cant stand to see what is behind my eyes. It was another person who broke everything inside. I have never given up on anyone in my life. I watched you give up on me, and you never thought about it, or realized what that did. You didn't even think of how that could possibly have changed me, it broke me completely. For what reason? I gave you no reason to ever doubt me, my words, or my actions. Now I am much like the moon. Not the beautiful, luminous object that lights up the night. But its true form. Cold, dark, lifeless. The moon requires something else to be the glorious. The sun. Life giving, warmth, light, energy, peace. The moon is a dark, empty place, doing one thing. Reflecting the sun. All its light, all its glory.
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