Living life as His creation

Ah Christmas time, the one time of year where the emotional pendulum swings so drastically that I struggle every day to stay balanced, one step removed from the people I encounter. This time of year people are so emotionally charged both positively and negatively that a short trip to the store can leave me completely drained.

This season always brings about the never ending social interaction as friends, family, groups and staff get togethers are on the go seemingly every night. And as Christmas Day draws nearer I can feel myself getting heavier with each gathering, weighed down not by own emotions but rather by the extreme swings of the people around me.  

Walking into a room of friends gathered together I start to pick up on people. The young couple who are sporting the traditional Christmas cheer smile as the tension of over spending wraps them as tight as a boa. The single mother who is both happy to watch her child’s excitement over santa and resentful of the missing father figure in her child’s life.

Each of those feelings I feel. The folks who just can’t get enough of Christmas and exude healthy happiness from every pore always make me smile and help to break the trance like feelings I feel myself getting locked into. The couple who, despite the physical closeness, are so far apart emotionally that it becomes obvious that the love had died, obvious to me. The young man who feels so incredibly awkward and out of place pulls a little on my heart but time will help him to feel less awkward.

Each year it’s the same, each year it’s a hodge podge of tension, excitement, anger, serenity, love and then I start to pick up on the one emotion I try so hard to avoid at Christmas, the heart ache. Try as I might to stay focused on the revellers there is no way to escape the transference of an emotionally heart broken person. Waves of hopelessness, despair and pain wash over me time and time again. My own heart, despite it’s deep desire to be happy, is slowly crushed under the weight of emotions that are not my own. I cannot break the connection with the heart broken and I am transfixed and frozen in their pain until I can find the words they need to hear or  the right path for prayer.

As a child I found this time of year devastating and sought out ways to stifle the intensity, none of them were healthy and precious few of them actually worked. As I struggled against myself and those around me I learned to just accept what was happening and tried to find ways to be helpful. It’s taken decades to finally come to a place where I can fully accept that there is nothing wrong with me and that this is exactly the way God created me. God created me! Not some other worldly being or Satan but God himself. I will never know why but I’m slowly learning that I have a purpose and it is perfect.

Being invisible

Dinner is almost ready and the house smells amazing

the oven has been on all day, cooking, baking, heating

having everyone packed in to the tiny house

I find the lack of space overwhelming, the heat stifling and the noise causes my head to spin

 

Stepping out into the brisk winter night

I look up at the millions of stars blinking brightly

seemingly oblivious to the activity

miles and miles below

 

As a gust of bitter winter wind bites at my neck

I realize my scarf is still hanging on the banister

along with my gloves and hat

 

Pulling the collar of my jacket together

I look inside the window at the frenzied activity that Christmas has become

two families crammed into a house really only big enough for one

adults, kids and pets blend into one huge family

three generations of loved ones who are more friends than family

 

Suddenly everyone gathers in the kitchen and stands behind a chair

all the adults line up beside their spouses

as the kids elbow each other for more space around the “kids” table

 

Heads are bowed as a prayer is said

glasses are raised in a toast of Merry Christmas

I can see my aunt as she says “dig in”

forks, spoons and serving bowls filled to brim are passed around

as everyone can’t wait to match the taste with the aromas that have filled the house

 

In a room packed with people it’s easy to miss an empty seat

I walk away, unnoticed

 

 

 

 

The end of the road that leads to here

I still have quite a few drafts that continue on with the story of how life unfolded for me back in 1968, tons of harsh memories, raw emotions and devastating actions taken by adults who put their own fears ahead of the well-being of a child. I still have deep seated anger and resentment towards many people who were an intricate part of my life at that time and an unhealthy level of disgust that I will no doubt spend the rest of my life working through. I need to end this line of blogs because it’s taking up too much head space, opening up old wounds and exhausting me.

I’ve opted to delete the drafts as I see them as pointless much like this post is, pointless, because I still have no answers and probably never will. This is a rant that has gone on for 43 years and has shaped my life and twisted my opinions of people, religion and gifts and to a great extend, myself.

 When I was taken out of my regular school I spent my first 2 weeks at my new school being tested. I saw psychiatrists, physiologists, psychologists, priests, monseniors and all matter of people who claimed to be able to help my grandparents understand what was wrong with me. I was labelled a heretic, demonic, psychic, a witch and at one point it was suggested that I be placed in a home for the insane. 

At 7, I was swarmed daily by religious people praying for all things unGodly to leave, I was given psychotropic drugs until I couldn’t feel my own feelings nevermind anyone else’s, received shock therapy, was locked up for 3 days denied food and water and contact with my family. All along my grandparents and their little group of advisors kept saying how this what God had told them to do, how this was for my own good and how they were going to heal me of my “possession”. Every step of the way God was dragged into my experiences and made the scapegoat.  For 3 months I was “worked with” by people in the medical field, religious circles and the best in childhood psychosis because one doctor at some point used the word “psychic”.

“The gift of clairsentience is a complex concept that is sometimes misunderstood, despite the fact that it is an ability shared by most psychics, mediums and highly sensitive people. Clairsentience is often also the first psychic ability to surface in gifted children.” – Anthon St. Maarten

 ”I see your beauty. I hear your need. I feel your feelings. My wisdom flows from the Highest Source.” – Mahatma Ghandi

If I was made in God’s image and all things “psychic” are not then what exactly am I? Will I ever know?