I know that a ghost writer is someone who writes under a different name, who wishes to remain anonymous. I feel like a writer that is a ghost, possibly unread and maybe not even heard. You see, I think a lot, feel in depths of the Grand Canyon, and have a need to have an air valve. Writing is my air valve, what I need to let out some of those thoughts and feelings. But who comes here? I do not know but I show some hits. It is a mystery to me. So I will continue to write even though I feel like a ghost.
Imagine if you will, the end of the world Hollywood style. I have to confess that I have watch too much "The Walking Dead" and "Fear the Walking Dead" coupled with movies like "I Am Legend". Take all of that imagery and picture me on a cb radio trying to connect with life out there. "Hello, hello, is anybody out there?" I have such a need to connect.
An event this week made me acutely aware of something that I had forgotten about myself, maybe something that I tried to bury. When I was a teenage girl I was very emotional. I cried deeply. I hid toilet paper under my bed just so I would have what I needed when the emotions hit hard. I grew to hate this about myself, my ultra sensitivity. I felt love deeply, and so I felt rejection and pain with the same veracity. No one around me could understand it, so I thought there was some thing wrong with me. I prayed to God to take it away. I matured and it lessened, but never totally went away.
This week has been a particularly difficult one. I really do not want to say why, but I can share that many forces came at me and left me feeling left for dead. I have felt a ghost of myself. One event in particular has brought to the forefront of my person-hood the sensitive girl I once was. This event cause the hairs on the back of my ghost self to stand up and take in every bit of my surroundings. While I was experiencing it I didn't notice what was going on in the depths of myself. Visually I was ultra observant. My ears were perked and could hear conversations that I was not to be privy to. My sense of smell was acute. My emotional perception took in things that I wasn't even aware of until I debriefed in a state of exhaustion the next day. I had forgotten that I am a highly sensitive person. I cannot suppress it, nor deny or change it.
Twenty percent of the population are highly sensitive. We are not the norm, yet we are normal. I also posses a personality that is defined as an ENFP and this type is about 5-8% of the population. I was told once by someone that I wasn't like all the other girls. That boys knew what he was talking about when I didn't know if it was a pick-up line or his insightful observation. Now I see his statement as sort of prophetic.
Not being in the main stream of persons is a challenge. My husband said I think differently than others. It is confusing to try be in a group discussion and always have people not get what you are saying. "Did I not say that clearly?" is a thought that is familiar to my head. Self acceptance is always a struggle. It is especially hard to meet very self-confident people and wonder how is it that they are so self assured. On the contrary, I have often heard form others how self confident I am. In reality, I know that I am a ghost who must move about in this world as other worldly. One who doesn't have a fit, a place, a body if you will. My confidence comes from walking alone for so long, void of a peer group, relying on self and God alone.
The beauty of being me is that I can see inside. I can hear reality. You can trust me because I care. I am forever your friend once I have taken you into my world. Even if you walk away from me, you are forever with me. Others may see the world through Facebook, but I see the world through the stories you tell me. I know that each of us has a hurt, a vulnerability, and a place that is beyond your control. In your stories I hear the longing for a world that is set aright, a world where love wins. We want love. We want to be accepted for who we are. We want God even when we can't admit it or don't want to see it. And people like me, the 20% and the 5-8%, I believe are to be a conduit of the very nature of God, love.
If you found me in this ocean of blogs and websites, wow, just wow. I do not know how you got here. If you are a Mom and feel this way, you are not alone. Like the dooms-day character who is holding the cb asking if anyone is out there, the answer is yes! I'm here. I'm with you. Or maybe you have a child like me and it is bewildering you! Why can't this kid just go with the flow? Why does every tag on his shirt bother him? Why does that ticking sound you can't hear drive him nuts? Why does she feel so deeply when her friend's cat died? Why is she so sensitive? She/He is that way because their function in life is to be the antenna, to pick-up on signals, to know without being told, to see what others miss, to be close to the broken-heart and minister to the souls of men. Empathy is our gift. It is a gift given to those who are sensitive and will carefully carry it to the people who need love when no one else can see that they are there. The highly sensitive are the ghosts, who see the unseen things in people that need to be seen, so they can show that the hurting are deeply cared for. We carry the medicine for the soul.