The Pain of an Empath

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It started many years ago in a medium-sized house in Fort Worth, Texas.

The house I grew up in was full of angst, pain and more pain. My father was abusive verbally and otherwise. I was happiest when he was at work, which he rarely went to because of many and various complaints and excuses or outside mowing the lawn. Even today, I love the smell of fresh grass.  It takes me away.

I shielded my little sister from all things awful as much as I could, but a little kid is only so powerful. I couldn’t save myself and I couldn’t save her.  I was completely powerless.

Even the family dog was usually suffering.  I couldn’t save any of them either.  It never occurred to me that my family shouldn’t own a dog.

I was twelve when the spiritual stuff started and I was ill-equipped to say the least. Demons started their visits at that time. I still remember the fear.

Ghosts would play the piano all night. They were drunk and laughing and singing.

Many mornings I was slapped awake by an unseen force. Sometimes, it made my face was red.

I always fantasized that someone would knock on the door, demand my sister and I and we would leave with them. They then loved us and took care of us. But, that never happened. It wasn’t supposed to.

What was supposed to happen did happen.

And today, I am very concerned with the feelings of others.


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