The introverted empath...

I'm an introverted empath...which is fancy for I'm not a talker and I have the invisible but very recognizable words "I will listen, tell me everything" written across my forehead in magic ink.

Or, at least that's what they would say, if I wasn't also well versed in trauma and the consequent survival of it. I suppose a more accurate depiction of the flashing sign most people see when they cross paths with me, is: 'I get you. This is a safe space.'

And thus, people have been bringing their damage to my door for as long as I can remember.

Sometimes, they're strangers and things just spill out of them. Sometimes they're friends who regularly unburden themselves. Sometimes it's a random phone call, a crying whisper, asking if I can handle it. If I'm strong enough take on their darkness.

Most of the time, their darkness barely tickles the depths of my own.

So I don't mind. I REALLY don't mind. It's part of who I am. It's part of who I've always been.

And it's part of what fuels me to write what I write.

Because I know that it's real.

Because I know the ache that lives inside the lonely.

The heartbroken. Those who cry in secret in the bathroom, sobbing body rattling sobs into the towel they clasped to their chest and face to muffle the sounds...but also to have something to cling to.

I understand the depths of grief. The unyielding pain of a 'never again'.

I've seen the struggles of an addict...and lived the struggles of loving one.

I've seen the twisted dark trails of depression and walked my way out of the spiraling storms of anxiety.

I've seen the self-harm, heard the calls from those about to jump and been there to cry with those who didn't.

I've been privy to the ugliest sides of 'romance'. Tales of hurt, humiliation and hatefulness I'll never be able to un-know.

And I know how important it is that we talk about these things. How vital it is for our healing. How much we need to feel connected in the moments we feel most alone. And how crazy heavy it gets without someone there to make a morbid, sarcastic and highly inappropriate joke to lighten the mood every now and again.

So...I write. I write to tell the tales we can't speak. To find the humor where we cry. And to feel the love when all we feel is lonely.