“I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.”
― Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
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I struggle with an overabundance of empathy. That probably sounds like a humblebrag about how kind and considerate and GREAT of a human being I am – but it’s not meant to be.
I am an emotional mirror to those around me, and when I’m surrounded by people who are joyous, I’m basically drunk on it. But when those around me suffer, I suffer alongside them, even as I attempt to do everything in my power to help.
This causes me great issue when I attempt to befriend individuals with depression or anxiety. It also causes me great issue when I befriend (or am in constant, close proximity to) those with personality disorders, as feigned or disordered expressions of suffering still trigger that emotional response, even if I logically know that it’s not genuine.
The biggest issues come when most members of my emotional support structure are suffering, and thus cannot provide solace from the barrage of chaos I’m attempting to navigate. It’s going to sound like woo, or hippie bullshit, but I can *feel* people’s anxiety, fear, sadness, worry, etc. coming off of them like the bass on a stereo system turned up too loud. I pick up on changes in body language so intensely, and each time something subconsciously registers, there is that reverberation in my heart like the relentless pounding of a drum. When people are elated, I feel those beats like I’m rounding the top of the best roller coaster ever… and when people are anxious or upset, I feel them like I’m rounding the top of the scariest roller coaster ever while I’m simultaneously suffering from the worst bout of food poisoning I’ve ever experienced in my life, and I just want to get off the stupid thing and on solid ground.
I try and ground myself through spending time with generally happy individuals if I’m feeling the scales tip too far in the other direction. While many may view me as an introvert, I get most of my energy from other people – which is why I particularly struggle with being on my own for long stretches. When I’m feeling overwhelmed by all of the emotions coming at me from people at work, and all the things unsaid in awkward situations, and all the pain I patiently and compassionately listen to, it doesn’t make me want to hide from people – it makes me want to go out and spend time with people who are high on the abundance of joy there is in this world.
And even as I *know* that my emotions are going to be tossed into upheaval, I still press on and provide what support I can to those around me suffering. Even as I’m nauseated by the waves of fear, self-loathing, anxiety, or depression that are radiating off of these people that I love and care about, my visceral experience of those feelings gives me a deeper understanding and appreciation for what they are going through, and how much they need someone there to soak some of the pain.
I’m not exactly sure if this would qualify me for some sort of mental or emotional disorder – but this has always been who I am. I was a “cry-baby” as a child, and continue to tear up fairly easily. I get caught up in the joy others experience and sometimes laugh so loud I give myself a headache. I experience other people’s emotions nearly as strongly as I experience things through my traditional senses, and I don’t understand why or how I’m able to pick up on these things, I just know that I do.
All of this is just to say that I don’t think I’m necessarily broken, and maybe I’m not even really depressed in the traditional sense. Maybe I gravitated so hard toward my husband because of his emotional consistency, which is unique among so many people that I’ve met through the years. Maybe I gravitate toward the broken and the hurt because I want to help them through the pain. I’m really not sure.
What I do know is that I need to make more time for positive pursuits and people and experiences because I feel like I’ve been at a dubstep concert for weeks now.