It is slow to take it all in and to release of myself what has been happening for the past two weeks because I barely understand it myself. It helps, no, it doesn’t just help. It’s been life saving. Miss Shadows has given me the information I need to understand who I am.

How should it be that someone who has never met me and who has read only my words can see my truth. She can see me as I am. Not PTSD, not OCD. Not DSM-IV defined. She can see something else, something of which there is no proof in the eyes of a people who poison the world with the creation and medication of personality disorders.

I have been meditating upon the information she has provided me, unable to take it all in and yet knowing this is me. No boundaries. Or open chakras that do not close. Or basically, here’s the thing. Emotion, transmitted as energy, is too intense. Positive and negative. It is the way in which it fills and depletes me. It is the way in which energy completely consumes me. People, places, things. Animals. Skies. Plants. I could go on but you get the idea.

I always felt this. Always. It got so that I was told, “No that is not real.” It got so that it was “I must be crazy.” By just seven years old, I was terrified I would be locked away. If you have a child, or have ever been one, think of what it’s like for a little second grader to fear she is losing her mind and will be destroyed for it. Forget this is story is about me. Just think of an innocent child who isn’t safe in her home, and isn’t safe from her mind.

I knew it. I knew this was happening and no one believed me. Then there was the abuse, then there was everything that happened because I was abused. But I see it. The abuse only skewed me towards a deep and profound affinity for hurt people. Who I wanted to help. But didn’t want my help. And I wanted to love. But who didn’t want my love. But that’s not all.

I was also always incredibly passionate. I had this fire to create. Seriously, those drawings I made at three years old? By five, I was selling them. Marketing. Promoting. My parents were horrified by who I was. I was an artist. An agent. A publisher. I was everyone I am today. And I was told to cut it out.

But. That didn’t stop me. Despite all the Thanatos that ran through my blood, I had this overwhelming desire to live, and not just live. But to create—to be—a work of art. I was driven, so driven that it doesn’t even really make sense. Where did this come from? Was it just ambition or was it something else?

The other day I was on one of my strolls and I came across a bumblebee dying on the flagstone. I have the strangest feeling for bees, particularly when they are hurt. So I scooped the bee up and I put him on the hood of a car and I stood by him and I watched him closely and I felt this pain, this deep pain of how much it hurts to have life leave the body. And I am watching this closely, you know, like a freak, and my heart is aching and I’m saying, This. This is me.

I’m this person who feels too much. Too intensely. Too often. Too high. Too low. I’m all in, and then I’m totally drained. I’m overcome, overwhelmed, by my very being.

And the only way I can deal with this is to create. To take all this energy and put it into word and images and books and love and… I don’t know why. I mean, that’s kinda the curse. I need meaning like I need oxygen.

I have discovered something, finally, it’s more than just burying the girl I once was. It’s more than forgiving everyone I ever loved for not loving or accepting me as I am. It’s that…

I have been giving this blessing and this curse. This ability to feel things, to see through facades, to know what lurks beneath. It is the thing that has saved my life more often than not. It is the thing that has taken me under over and over again. It is the thing that brings me the greatest of joys and the lowest of pains and the thing I have never known how to mediate because I thought it meant something was wrong with me.

Only.

Of course the moment I begin to think of this I know. I know. You know? I know. I know why they are dead, why they killed themselves. I know why it hurt so bad that death was better than life. I know why the drugs are so heavy so they feel nothing at all. I know it because I can feel it, even if we never meet and it kills me that no one understands, most of all the people it’s happening to.

But.

I guess, I can’t grieve all day. I must get to Tribeca and stand on the roof and take in my city. And be with two of the most beautiful hearts I know, hearts that fill me with love and kindness and happiness just to be in their presence. And I guess this is God’s way of showing me that I must understand that when one says they have it all, that means ALL.