Headaches, Malfunctions, and funny little Skeletons.

97

Labels.
They fill my mouth and my head.
They make my whole life heavy. They create a sort of push and pull effect on my character the content of it.
People in trench coats and lab masks try force you into a box,
"You like lady parts? You must be gay."
"You let a man touch you, you've got to be bi?"
"Oh you like everybody? Pansexual it is."
"You don't like anyone? Well don't worry babe we've got a name for that too."
See they've got a name for absolutely everything that's supposedly wrong with you.
You see let me introduce myself that proper way, Hi.
My name is Madison, I hate the nick name Maddie, you see I'm 18, not a child.
And I've been diagnosed for 4 years with Depression, Anxiety and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
And you wouldn't ever know that I've been labeled with that, you see it's on my transcript at school, and for my doctor visits they've got that too. I used to have to talk about my feelings with a really nice lady for about an hour every Thursday about the thoughts in my head, but my parental guidance didn't think I needed it anymore so I stopped going.
You see I've been going and going and going on and on and on in my own head ever since I decided that the world ain't even gonna see me clearly, the same way I ain't never gonna ever see it- either.
More often than not I see myself saddled with word Anxiety. I understand the basic meaning of it and I cry over things that shouldn't need tears. And when I tell you that I think of everything, that's such a broad term but I promise it's true. But you see.
One label I will hold on to until I find a better one, or until a better one finds me, I am loud and proud- an Empath.
I feel every feelings that everyone around me feels except 10 times worse, I feel my own feelings suffocating under the pressure of everyone else's. I've been handling deaths of everyone around me for almost a decade. I curse at the sky for crushing me under its weight I feel for inanimate objects. For book characters and dogs. I feel weird about throwing away unused napkins and never finishing my soda at a restaurant. I over look my own feelings to focus on someone else's, and I've been questing death lately and what comes after it, I wonder and ponder the thought of no one ever loving the Grimm reaper. I push for some understanding on how other people process the lives of those around them I want to understand why not everyone feels the same way I do. I've been begging for help for years and no one seems to be able to give it to me. I feel like my life is in the hands of those around me depending on how their days went I feel like I am too fucking old for show and tell me all your memories. I am not doing okay. But the person next to me is feeling worse, I feel and I feel and I feel without ever saying no, I can't listen today. So how can I carry a label like this so proudly it's because

I know no one else will listen with the intent that I have. I know no one else will hear it the way I do. And I know no one else is gonna relate to something that maybe never even happen to them the way I do. Being an Empath, or at least the way I think it means, is that no matter what I'm gonna get it. And it is so extremely exhausting.