When I was sixteen, I found my little brothers suicide note.
I began to read it, only able to make it half way down the page.
He was sitting upstairs, likely organizing and reorganizing baseball cards in a binder.
Alive, seemingly well. Young.
I sat downstairs staring vacantly at a misplaced notebook with the scribbled last words of someone who still had a voice. I gasped. I was unable to find my own.
This was the first time I experienced the flesh eating bacteria of emotion. The kind of sadness that isn't derived from anything or anyone in particular, that camouflages itself to even the most critical of eyes, and the kind of sadness that fucks you up good. An invisible beast.
I moved. Unable to muster the proper courage to say anything, I walked outside. I sat under our cherry tree, and felt nothing. But the feeling was so much more than that. I buzzed with this monstrous numb that vibrated through every layer of skin. I want to chalk it up to nothing even now, because thats the disguise it uses. But rather, its a potent cocktail of vicious emotion that causes the kind of intoxication that knocks you out, and can't be fixed with sleep or water.
At first, I sat, silently, hours moving like minutes. Posed with a decision to make, neither of which would end well. I wanted to help, but how does a 16 year old begin to help someone who doesn't want to be helped? Or did he? Was he crying out for help? Or was this him cementing his fate? Would telling someone make it worse? Or would it help? What if telling someone meant he would spiral? What if he didn't mean it? How the fuck am I supposed to do this?
And just like that, I turned myself into the victim. I had been too weak to read the note in its entirety, why disappoint the universe, or God, or anyone else by doing the strong thing and speaking up? I couldn't find my voice.
So I sat, and I sobbed. Heaving, body shaking sobs. God, it fucking hurt. The memory of it is so forceful and aggressive the feeling itself is attached to the memory. My whole body hurt with this belligerent sadness that I felt for this young person who seemed so alive, and tangible but felt so lifeless on the inside. I was wrecked. Torn apart. Chewed up, and spit out.
I can't even begin to understand where it comes from, or how it manifests. If memory serves, energy can't be created nor destroyed. So where does this origin-less sadness come from, sucking the life out of the people I love while leaving me in ruins?
Since then, I've seen this kind of sadness appear more. Not quite of the magnitude I saw it the first time, but still as severe. I serve more as a witness. A sponge. But I'm not on the front lines the way there are. I know I don't feel it the same way they do. And I don't try and tell them that I do. They feel depression.
I, empathy.
The curse masked as a craft. I feel everything. Absolutely fucking everything. So much so that I can be sitting at a bar for hours, chatting, drinking floating around in the impaired social exchanges and drunken chatter and instantly feel the weight of someones immense sadness. It cripples me instantly.
Whether its shared or emitted, I feel it in full. My eyes begin to blur, like I can't focus on anything physical. I feel like I am looking down on the situation from outside my body. Its like a building trance, and then the bomb drops. It all hits and I feel its full weight. In my limbs, in the corners of my mouth, in my head, in my chest. I fucking feel it, and it hurts.
And you know what? I can't do a god damn thing about it. And you know whats worse? The fact I am even bitching about it to begin with is selfish. Its a viscous cycle. I have looked at this whole hyper-empathy thing in retrospect before, and what I have gathered is that I subconsciously assume the feelings of another so that I can relate to them, and thus, help them. But because I don't go through it myself, the person often discredits me.
I am rendered useless by my own lack of experience and still acquire all the negative side effects of actually going through it. Maybe thats pushing it too far. I can't speak to that. But boy, its rough.
Regardless, I just want to help and more often than not I find myself impossibly sad. There isn't really a word with enough weight to describe the feeling. I want someone to feel loved so bad that in the moment, I give up all personal feelings to partially assume their burden, in hopes it lightens the load and they feel relief. It doesn't appear to work. The more I reach out, the more I am pushed away and I can't even be upset about it because I am not going through it. Its more like a very enthusiastic suggestion, with no guarantee for emotional or mental retribution.
But I am sitting here, feeling completely useless, guilty for feeling sad myself, and unable to provide the support I want to give. All I am left with is my fucking empathy, a heavy heart, and the same sleepless nights those who feel senseless sadness feel. It fucking sucks, and I am sick of it, and there is nothing I can do about it.
Until I develop more ways to combat this, I will be here. Writing away all the feelings I have in utter frustration. I hope one day, I can reach you, and find the words to say that'll offer you confidence in me, and a sense of security in your confiding. Maybe I am missing the whole point. I am blinded by my desire to bring you ease. And I know this.
Until then, I'll be here. Silently cheering you on, when all I want to do is scream it in your face.
Until then, I'll be here, hoping that my absorption makes you feel lighter.
Until then, I'll be here, under a cherry tree or on a couch at 1am, hoping that eventually the tears will stop and the bravery will kick in. I am sorry to you too, my little brother. For not speaking up for you out of fear for what would come after. I should've spoken up for you out of concern and love disregarding the consequences knowing I acted out of fear for your ceasing to exist, rather than concealing it all to protect your sadness from the world. To protect you from having to explain it all again after explaining it to yourself. Your sadness likely festered further, and I know I had the opportunity to stop it. You are worth being fought for. I wont stay quiet again.
I dont know why I needed to write all this here, but I felt very certain it all needed to be said. Despite its rambling, almost unrelated order, it all came together this way in my head.
Anyways.
As for youx, I love youx, and I'm sorry I can't fix everything the way I wish I could. I would experience it all if it meant a minute of quiet for you. Please don't forget that.
