A Highly Sensitive Person’s Anthology
Foreword
Oh, hello!
Thanks for taking the time to read my series.
As the title suggests, this is an anthology containing my thoughts as a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP).
In case you’re wondering, an HSP is somebody who’s a little more sensitive than others in terms of sensory input. You can learn more about HSP here.
While this may sound like I have some sort of mental illness, I’m pretty sure I’m still normal.
In fact, I’m not alone. There are others like me who tend to notice their surroundings more, who can easily get overwhelmed by intense emotions, smells, and energies.
I can get easily bombarded by what’s happening around me, so to ease out my thoughts, I write everything out.
I hope my works can reach other HSPs and Empaths out there. You’re definitely not alone in this world.
Enjoy. :-)
To Belong
I have always thought that I was different.
That my ways are different compared to other people,
That I think differently from them,
And that I learn to see not just with my eyes or listen with my ears,
But I feel with my heart as well.
For as long as I can remember,
I have always been treated differently.
To be feared upon,
To be looked down upon,
To be an outcast,
Simply because I refuse to be like everybody else.
It has not been my choice to be Different,
Because I have been blessed, or cursed, with a Gift
That only a few people would understand:
A Gift that can see through the masks of other people
And effortlessly see their True Selves.
I do not want to overwhelm people,
And so, I resort to reclusion.
Not because I chose to,
But because, sometimes,
I sense things that I am not supposed to sense.
Whenever I am with people,
Regardless of what I see in them,
I sometimes feel strong emotions
that I know I am not supposed to feel.
I see joy in their faces,
But I feel the cloudiness of sadness in their hearts.
I see anger and vigor,
But I feel loneliness and depression.
I see good company and warmth,
But coldness and indifference is all I feel.
And so, it saddens me a lot to accept these things at once,
And not be able to tell them to the people I care about.
I do not want them to be confused,
And in worst cases, leave me altogether,
With fear that I am trespassing their most deepest, darkest thoughts.
So I keep these with me, my lips pressed together.
Never speaking. Never talking.
But the greatest fear that I have always faced,
Is not an encounter with an extremely evil force,
But with the fear of having to trod this path…
Alone.
I have always yearned to be with my own kind.
To be understood and not misjudged,
To be accepted as I am.
To be treated with love not because I have a Unique Gift,
But because they have seen me as a part of their own.
I see the evils in this world not as an end,
But an invitation to question its existence:
“Why do people behave so badly to other people?”
“Why do people always see fear when they see something different?”
“Why can’t people be in a crowd and at the same time, stand up for their differences?”
Are just some of the questions that haunts me before I sleep at night.
They can treat me with indifference,
But I will never be a victim.
Because I believe that I am strong enough to be a victor,
Even when there is no war to begin with.
And I do not seek my revenge to them,
Because, like them, I too have been in their shoes:
To misunderstand the confused,
To betray the trusted,
To ignore the unloved.
And, it is in these moments do I learn to widen my understanding:
To understand them instead of sentencing them;
To put myself in their shoes before I treat them with or without care.
To Listen and To be Listened
“I’m never good enough…”
Says one.
“Why does he hate me?”
Says another.
“How come I can’t be in a stable relationship?”
Says another still.
I’ve heard countless other things
that seem too innumerable even for me to recall.
I’ve been the listening ear
of my friends, classmates,
colleagues, students,
supervisors, subordinates.
I’ve been, and still am,
their confidant, their secret keeper.
I’ve heard stories, countless stories
of forbidden love and desperation,
desire and anger,
hatred and jealousy.
All of the things I’ve heard, I still keep
And will continue to keep until I reach the grave.
People have broken down in front of me,
and I have seen their weaknesses,
and they do so with complete confidence
because I promise them that I will be their stronghold…
…and yet none of them has become my stronghold in return.
None of them has been my refuge.
This makes me wonder: Am I even worth to other people?
Do people consider me as someone whom they value,
or am I just an adviser to them?
Yes, I have met a lot of people,
but these people only remember me in times of dire need,
when they need my “sage advice”.
Am I just that, a mere consular of truth?
Do people see me like that?
Do I see people like that?
I want to believe, deeply believe
that people will make time for me when I am in need.
I want to believe, firmly believe
that people would treat me equally
as much as I have treated them:
Clearing my schedule on a weekday night
just so I can console a heart-broken friend;
Setting an hour for a quick chat
to guide a confused colleague;
Or listening with my entire being
as a loved one share to me
her most unfortunate predicament.
I try to listen to these people as they talk:
I remove all distractions,
gaze deep into their eyes
and imagine how their situation played inside my head.
For a moment, just a fleeting moment
I choose to become them,
so that I may answer the burning question:
“If I was in their shoes, what would have I done?”
But sometimes I too need their solace.
I too need their advice.
I too need them to listen.
For like them, I too am human.
And most of the times
people are so caught up in their own problems,
that they no longer have the time
to talk about the things that interest me:
How the full moon shines every end of the month or so;
How life is both a game and an obligation;
How true beauty can be seen even in the most distressing of times.
Maybe I’ve just been spending my head on the clouds for such a long time
That I’ve been told to come back down
and focus on what lies ahead.
But my Inner Voice compels me otherwise,
And I am, as always, caught between two crossroads
And, at the same time, Alone
to make the decision which road to take.
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