Psychic Emanations (-)

I know what's happening. It is my personal automatic defense mechanism, but for once I am fighting against my own defenses. I walked down to my stone ledge, and allowed the storm to soothe my frazzled nerves. Now, hours later, I am still chilled but much calmer. The storm has lightened to a slight drizzle, but the winds remind me of their playful presence by swirling through the trees outside my window. Few people know that I am very particular about emotions, and the mental repercussions of strong emanations. For the same reason that I refuse to walk into a hospital, I also refuse to allow the taint of another's feelings to flow into the spaces that I have marked as my own. It is a terribly damning thing to have my defenses up and running all the time, not to mention taxing. As I sat on the stone notch, my mind reminded me again how susceptible I am to the emotions of others. I cannot find it in me to deny my father his latest request, nor can I find it in my heart to ditch D once again, nor can I refuse my mum her request for me to come home, just for a while. If I close my eyes I can see all the different colours pulsing around me, representing all that I feel, and I know instinctively that over half of what my mind sees isn't mine. My eyes have begun to turn red, and my temper has begun to flare. How does one walk into a hospital without wincing? I feel my veins writhe in agony whenever I approach the stark white facade of a hospital building. How do I feel what is only mine? I cannot for the life of me comprehend why I drift off on occasion, often coming back panicked and amnesiac. I know my eyes are open, I know where I am...but that knowledge, and also the knowledge of who I am, and everything else is immediately rendered insignificant in the few seconds that I am stilled. Think. Visualise that the entire universe is a vast spiderweb of connected destinies, then perhaps some among us have the capacity to transcend beyond the threads that are tied to them, to see the bigger picture that most don't even know exists. I don't know. It's just an idle thought that struck me. I have many of them. Idle thoughts, I mean. My head is beginning to ache, and I feel frustrated with everyone and everything around me. Why is there no manual for these things? Why isn't there anyone who can explain my eccentricities when even I fail to understand myself? I cannot sleep tonight because I am feeling too much. It all gets muddled around me, in me, and I cannot bear to close my eyes because then I feel as though I'm falling into an endless pit. It is very unsettling, trust me. I haven't felt this in a long time. Invisible hands are closing around my throat, cutting off my air. I can't breathe. I can't breathe! For some people, the realm of the physical takes precedence over everything else. When they do brush against the world of the supernatural, it is only to pray to a God they only half-believe in or have been persuaded to pay obeisance to. Why can't I be like that? I want to be blissfully ignorant of the realities beyond what I can see. I want to stop feeling the constrictions in my heart when I see the black touch of death around me, whether it is a snail crushed on the pavement, or the bloodied remains of a carwreck victim. What is the difference between the two? A human life is mourned with grand funerals and the like, yet who would even spare the shattered shell of the dead snail a second glance? I've learned enough in my childhood to know that to be different meant that you were singled out from the rest. In this world of conformists, that's not a good thing. Everyone has to be exact clones, all armed with diplomas and degrees, expected to marry, work hard, have children, help over-populate the earth, and then expire with great ceremony. There are times when I think I am...well, certifiable for feeling such inexpressible sadness over the most trivial things. I was always the odd one in the family. I am frightened that the illusions of normalcy I have woven around myself will be displaced when I find myself smack in the middle of a group of strangers. There is a reason why I abhor crowds, why I dislike seeing my flaws enlarged when placed next to impeccably normal teenagers. There is a reason for all my enigmatic quirkiness. I cry over dying trees, and I feel something stir in my heart when I caress a wilting leaf, and I weep tears of joy at the vibrancy of a healthy tree. The rich green colour is enough to bring me to tears. Yet recently these emanations have washed over me largely unnoticed. Until tonight. The force of the realisation slammed into me when I sat on my stone notch and reflected, crystalline drops of rain falling onto my skin. Maybe it was the rain. Or maybe it was the realisation that no matter how much I try to conform, my values and philosophies are radically different from the people around me. This, perhaps, is the root of all my problems. After publishing this post, I wouldn't be surprised if I got carted off to a mental asylum in the days to come. I want it to cease, stop, wither and die away. I want to be able to walk through a crowd without wincing inside, or getting a gigantic headache. I want to be able to trust. The memories are rushing back. My insomnia is an unpleasant reminder of the days when I couldn't sleep in the presence of other people, my entire family included. I couldn't sleep on the bed. I would either crawl under it, or into the cupboard. Only then would I feel calm enough to sleep, and even then the dark nightmares would torment me. If I could excise the part of me that is causing me such grief, I would do so in a heartbeat. As it is, I fear I am condemned to forever cry secretly over dead snails and dying trees. It still surprises me that no one else is inclined to wander through the gardens when it is storming, to feel the winds and listen to Nature as she rages away at mankind for the layer of filth we lace over her world. Something has been unlocked in me tonight, and I have found that the memory of knowing myself to be different is still enough to move me to tears. I cannot understand why I am crying. Maybe it is because I came so close to being normal. I've never had that before. It's like part of me is still a quiet child, still carrying a battered notebook around to record what I could see, to record why I thought people would laugh, would love, how they could express themselves so freely. The realisation that I may never trust another person completely is excruciating. I have lost some of my natural wariness. I can even sleep with someone else present, even though sometimes I wake in cold sweat from the fear. I can be touched now, and I don't flinch anymore when someone else grabs me. The only friends I ever had when I was a kid were either in my imagination or the felines that would sit with me for hours, purring contentedly. I owe Bastet a great debt, if she truly exists. I was never normal, and it cuts me now to know that I will never be normal. How do I define normal? Well, for once...I want to know what it's like to have friends as a kid, not sexual partners. I want to be able to express myself freely, not just through impersonal mediums. I want to change my past, to change my self, I want people to stop thinking that I'm weird. Am I? *wonders* Even now, I still retain traces of who I used to be. It is difficult for me to initiate a conversation with people I don't know and therefore do not trust. Perhaps I just distrust men in general, because it appears I can speak freely with women. The tears have ceased, and breathing has become slightly less laboured. Still, I do not want to lie down and allow the corruption of such sanctity to defile my subconscious further. I wish my mind came with an On/Off switch. I have been typing furiously, releasing years and years of pent up frustrations, and maybe it's time people got to know me a bit better, because I'm tired of having to keep everyone at hand's length all the time. I give up. My dad has not given me any reason to trust him anymore, and to quote him, "Everything that begins will end." Great ripoff, dad. I've decided that I'm going to spend the last few days of freedom I have in quiet solitude. Really, all I have right now is Yammy. This castle where I reside...it is not mine. One last nugget of information I have been withholding...I need security above all else. I need a place to stay where no one can throw me out, and I only realised how attached I'd grown to this place when I was asked to relinquish my key. It stung. Always the illusionist, I chirped out a cheerful 'ok' while tending to my wounds in silence. If nothing else, maybe this will force me to get a place of my own, where I am lord and master and I don't have to worry about anything else except myself. I cannot see anyone right now. I think I've been too open, and I cannot survive in the sea of humanity without my usual protections. The edges of my aura are darkening to an absolute black, and I feel the pressure in my chest increase as I realise that I have no desire to see my dad today. He betrayed my trust. They all do in the end.