4am. Can’t sleep. I spent the day feeling like I was on a boat, bobbing, the symptom of my time by an ocean or the grueling time on planes, I’m not sure. Displaced.
I read in Psychology Today, the US Weekly equivalent of intellectual magazines, about highly sensitive people. How they’ve found 20% of people are more emotionally affected by their environment, how they absorb feelings like a sponge. The article used so many key words that are attributed to Piscean placements.
It was kind of a shallow forgettable article, but it talked about how small percentage of these people are extroverts, but still, they are processing so much stimulus from their environment that it’s taxing. The extreme caution because they are able to see and analyze all potentials. How hard it is to be dismissed as being too sensitive. I asked my mom to read it but she wasn’t interested. Secretly I had hoped she would because she’s always dismissing me as being too sensitive. One thing at least I wish people would understand. I spend so much time alone because interaction with people, while I revel in it and covet it, is very taxing on me. In any given interaction, I’m automatically perceiving on so many simultaneous levels, that I get drained. Being alone is my way of controlling outside stimuli and either recharging or protecting myself. Matt and Jerry once laughed when I said in my private life I can be very quiet. But sometimes, the only thing I need is to put my head on someone’s chest and fall asleep to a steady heartbeat. No noise. No echoes. Just truth. Truth is the only thing I can relax to.