“Excuse me, do we know each other?”

“No we don’t, you don’t know me at all.”

That is my general response to most people, in the nicest way of course, unless you are a creeper, and then I am not so nice. Fair warning.  The ones who have seen me out, or have seen me in a work setting, or know we have 700 mutual friends on social media, or maybe stumbled across this blog.  I wish you did.  My friends, my tribe, and some family know me, mostly.  But not many, really, truly know my core, even still.   Maybe it’s impossible to get to.  Maybe the unveiling of our most raw authentic self is too vulnerable a place to stay long enough for another to fully see.  I know people who have spent years with another person, only to find out they barely knew them at all.  I want to be as transparent as possible, but I know that 38 plus years, is a lot to know of ourselves, let alone another. (Also there will be NO knowing of certain things, ref my post My two cents; the numbers, if you haven’t already.)

But what are the fundamentals of a person?  The unwavering core of them?

That is partially why I started this site.  To really be known, and seen.  The other part was that it felt like Pandora’s box up there where my brain is supposed to be, was ready to pop, and if I didn’t let it all out, you would only know me by the remains of what used to be me.  Not in a morbid kind of way, more like a committed kind of way.
That word, committed, we so often use it in regard to a relationship.  I hate it… because it is also what we do to a “crazy” person… commit them.  I should save that for another post though, before I get too far off track here and start talking about haunted asylums…

::pulls emergency break on her brain::

I have poured directly from my heart, mind and soul in to this blog, and yet these words and stories are still just mere snippets of who I am.  People who have known me for years, still find themselves saying “I had no idea about that, that you went through that.” and things similar in nature.

I certainly feel like I am an open book, but also know that to have a conversation with me can be overwhelming at times… open mouth, word vomit… again, at times.  I get it, and totally know the look, exactly when I lose the person.  Some people love it though, those are my people (let’s grab a bourbon soon).  And, when it is a time “not-for-conversation” I generally turn off the scuba gear, remove the mermaid tail, whichever, and chill on the shore. I can rest too, sometimes.

So is it that others are just not aware?  Is it my constant evolution that throws them off?  Or is the chaotic seas of depth in my mind that never cease to crash new information with each wave?  Do I not open up to others as much as I think, or maybe I haven’t had the opportunity?

Possibly, all of the above.

I am aware that I am a handful, a lot to process, often too much.  But I also know that like a fine bourbon, I should never have to be watered down (I am also sure, that I would probably be Defiant, the bourbon, for obvious reasons).  I am just a reserved selection, for those who enjoy it, is all.  You know, us bourbon drinkers who love the often bitter taste of firewood as you drink…. whatever, some of you out there love worse things.  Like peeps.  Disgusting.

Anywho, I see people, and I can generally sense things in them, mostly when it is a dark, or sad thing, often without them saying a word.  I have always been attracted to the extreme light and the extreme dark, but usually it is the dark that mirrors my own, that resonates with me.  I have learned not everyone taps in to this ability, so don’t get all “I see dead people” on me.  I think it is even more cumbersome actually, to really see the alive people, the ones hiding with all of their pain right in front of us.  For example, just the other night I watched a friend, a busy mom, wife, rush around the group and comment on the conversations here and there.  And every time, I stopped just to look at her, I felt her sadness.  I felt her being, drowning in the overwhelming-ness of family life.  And I felt her desperately trying to cover it up. To you, I am here for you.

Maybe it’s being an empath, maybe it’s being a survivor.  One could view it as a curse, or like me, I see it as a blessing.  It provides opportunity to help, to be there for others.  It provides me this platform to share, and hopefully reach someone who needs it.

This is my seventy-seventh published post, in just under two months.  In the last 53 days, I have unleashed some silly, sad, happy, deep, dramatic, awful, wonderful parts of my life.  I hope that one day, I will feel like I have covered the basics of me, but more so that you all, or any of you feel them too.  And if you need me, I am here.  #nojudgementzone

Thank you for reading, for accepting my words and being a part of this.  The true, loving support is amazing.  77! Holy shit, I need to do something social, stat!

Starting with a bourbon – clearly as this post is mostly about it! Dammit subconscious… just dammit.
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