a trip on the hypersensitivity train
It’s wild. It’s free. It’s hell.
That intense hypersensitivity ride.
You can never say it because people will think you think you’re special. When you feel anti-special. The one who should always be considerate of everyone’s feelings because they’re blasting at you nonstop. All the things you never say, they’re screaming at me. All the things you don’t want to see, I see. and I do as I feel. React when I shouldn’t. There’s no control and once I realise they’re not even my feelings, but yours it’s too late.
They say that hypersensitivity is related to a missing filter in your brain. You get life unfiltered, all the “too much” of sensations just sweep in. For some it’s sound, for others vision, smell, taste, touch, feeling. You can be in a room full of people and no one might be saying a thing, but to you it will be screaming, feelings blasting in your face.
It can be amazing, exhilarating when you get the good vibes, you suck all this life into you, it’s like a drug that puts you on a high of life like no other. But like a drug it doesn’t last. It wears you out and more often than not you get too feel the bad stuff, too. When you’re not careful you let yourself get used as an emotional rubbish bin because people tell you their stories, unfiltered, just like that. You’re the one they can trust. The quiet one. The quiet one, that won’t talk. If only they know how loud you are on the inside, how wildly madly you’re running through life, would they really dare?
Just don’t be too intense. People don’t like that. When they see how it wears you out, they call you weak and dependable; your vulnerability is exposed like no other. When you get too close, they shut you out because it’s too much, just too much for you to be there.
It’s too much for you, too. I could never deal with that. Sex is even worse. Feeling all of the other person is shit. You’ll blame yourself for everything until you realise that it is not just your own issues and insecurities your feeling, it’s theirs too. The most intimate of moments ruined by feeling too much.
It’s wild, it’s free, it’s lonely.
More than anything you need friends to rely on when the “too much” hits you again. You need your quiet space, protection from the outside world. Comfort. Peace. But more than anything you’ll push everyone away because dealing with their problems, feeling them on top is just more too much of too much. Because you need freedom to breathe, to be as you are. It makes me a creative, storyteller, artist. It’s love/hate, the best ride you ever imagine, that one exhilarating drug when you find that place where you just get to be. It’s a struggle, a fight that wears you out ever so much because you can’t take how selfish it makes you and you try to make up for it, feeling everyone else’s struggles until you can’t anymore. You just can’t and everybody leaves. Shut out. Rejected.
So it’s just you. The quiet one. Weird one. Loner. Freak.
If only they knew.
