I am beginning to feel like a pariah
Feb. 5th, 2004 08:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
x_empath~translated from the Castillian~
I know that many of you do not like me. The smelly Brit practically drowns me in waves of suspicion and distrust every time I pass him in the halls. The groundskeeper is a festering ball of hate held back by a leash one thread thick. The blonde girl from the South feels I'm a disgusting pervert, and the one with the stripe in her hair is horrified and fascinated by me. The French girl can't decide if she wants me or if she just wants to lecture me. The Scot is swimming in guilt, and every day stabs a new hole into her heart.
I can accept this.
What I am currently having trouble with is that the people that I rely upon to maintain what precious stability that I have managed to eke out are now, as a favor to me, avoiding me.
I cannot help that I become what those around me feel. I have tried - oh how I have tried. Time and time again, I try to distinguish between me and not-me only to fail. I feel what they feel - and sometimes they feel what I feel. Where do I start and they end? Emma tells me that this is so because I do not have a clearly-defined sense of emotional self. I cannot define who I am and how I feel when how I feel depends on others.
The _only_ way I can keep even a shard of dignity and definition is to manipulate others. I cannot help it. If I do not, I fear I would go mad. I MUST zoom in on one person to block the rest of the world out. Sometimes, this works out very well. Amanda can speak to that. Others, it leads to disaster. Ask Doug about it sometime.
So I ask for patience, even though I probably do not deserve it. No - I know that I do not.
I will not suppress my power. Suppressing my power again will likely kill me. Even intermittently, for two years I had my power suppressed, and as Marie-Ange likes to remind me, I came out of it a half-dead corpse with a fondness for sicking up on people.
I can feel it all coming back. My range is increasing, my power strengthened by the drugs and the adversity. As my body strengthens, so does my mind.
I do not know if I can handle it.
~translated from the Castillian~
MdlR
I know that many of you do not like me. The smelly Brit practically drowns me in waves of suspicion and distrust every time I pass him in the halls. The groundskeeper is a festering ball of hate held back by a leash one thread thick. The blonde girl from the South feels I'm a disgusting pervert, and the one with the stripe in her hair is horrified and fascinated by me. The French girl can't decide if she wants me or if she just wants to lecture me. The Scot is swimming in guilt, and every day stabs a new hole into her heart.
I can accept this.
What I am currently having trouble with is that the people that I rely upon to maintain what precious stability that I have managed to eke out are now, as a favor to me, avoiding me.
I cannot help that I become what those around me feel. I have tried - oh how I have tried. Time and time again, I try to distinguish between me and not-me only to fail. I feel what they feel - and sometimes they feel what I feel. Where do I start and they end? Emma tells me that this is so because I do not have a clearly-defined sense of emotional self. I cannot define who I am and how I feel when how I feel depends on others.
The _only_ way I can keep even a shard of dignity and definition is to manipulate others. I cannot help it. If I do not, I fear I would go mad. I MUST zoom in on one person to block the rest of the world out. Sometimes, this works out very well. Amanda can speak to that. Others, it leads to disaster. Ask Doug about it sometime.
So I ask for patience, even though I probably do not deserve it. No - I know that I do not.
I will not suppress my power. Suppressing my power again will likely kill me. Even intermittently, for two years I had my power suppressed, and as Marie-Ange likes to remind me, I came out of it a half-dead corpse with a fondness for sicking up on people.
I can feel it all coming back. My range is increasing, my power strengthened by the drugs and the adversity. As my body strengthens, so does my mind.
I do not know if I can handle it.
~translated from the Castillian~
MdlR
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no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 01:08 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-06 01:47 am (UTC)I am honestly quite terrible with names. And I have never, to my admittedly spotty memory, actually talked to you for any length of time.
All I know is how you feel. I don't read thoughts.
~translated from the Castillian~
MdlR