The Sensitives

God I wish I knew what or where I wanted to direct my energy. I want to be a dj. I want to be a writer. I want to be a teacher. I want to learn languages. I want to learn how to be a gardner, a farmer, a chef, maybe just a fucking stable person. But I get stuck. In my fears that are like tormentors. Who surround me and circle me and throw me around, pushing me in every direction until I end up falling over and huddling on the floor. Sometimes literally. All I know is I'm never happier than when I falling into the space of a good song, or breathing in the balmy cool air in the space of untouched land. I feel peace in burning coals, the trickle of running water, the feel of falling into your pillow after a long day. How can I make a living from that? Why is life just paying bills until you die? Can there be no time or opportunities for more of the luxeries of experience?

I never needed nor really wanted luxeries that could be bought. Only the ones that can be felt.
Joy, peace, affection, love, excitement, confidence. All of these I have craved since I can remember. As a child when others worried about whether they would get a cookie that night, I worried about who I was going to be. Or if I would ever be the me I wanted to be. At seven years old I was having midlife crisises before I was even midlife. But that is me. When I talked to my step mom about how hard it is for me in this world, how it pains me to feel not only my own self torture, but hating and hurting from the injustices of the world that happen to those I love, she replied in her very no nonsense way, "Well then you've got to grow a thicker skin."

But though that advice contains truth, it doesn't mean it feels good. In fact I kind of hate what it means. It basically means the world will not make room for the sensitives, for the artists, for the philosophers, for those who actually have compassion for others and this planet. Nope. No room. Instead the sensitives must rearrange themselves to fit the twisted dark space that has become society. Am I the only one who finds that wrong? Who wishes the world were more compassionate, honest, and maybe a little more kind for all of us? I don't know. But I do know that although I might have to grow a thicker skin to just at least be able to handle the outside world, I must take this lesson in coping. Thats what my step mom said when I asked how she turned out so normal when she had just as fucked up childhood as mine. "Guess I'm just better at coping. You just do the best with what you've got. That's all anyone can do." Yeah. Guess so. I guess I gotta just do that.