I am an empath.
Not your everyday ordinary empath.
I am an overly-sensitive, codependent empath.
I can feel your disappointment. Your judgement or indifference.
I feel it all. Even when you think it isn’t there.
I know you think you see me.
As you judge. You think that your pain and mine are the same.
That my brain and yours are the same.
You think that I’m weak.
That my struggle is now my own fault.
That’s Ok.
I don’t need to prove anything.
I know that this darkness will pass someday. That I will rise
Like a phoenix from the flame. In my own time.
You may see me then.
And the question will be whether or not you choose to make amends.
My heart is always open to forgive.
I guess that’s my weakness.
And my strength.
I’m an empath too. So is my daughter. It’s hard to be an empath and have mental illness/PTSD. My daughter inherited my depression and anxiety too. I feel other people’s feelings. It can be very draining but also very rewarding especially when I can help a client at work. I can’t be upset that I’m an empath because I do know it’s a gift too. Sometimes it can be overwhelming though so I totally understand.