Circa 2006 | a back story

I was in fifth grade. Happy Tree Friends (HTF) gained popularity among the majority of fifth graders. Before that, y8.com was so notorious among the boys, too, where they would play this strangely violent and morbid stick-man game, where you could kill your opponent so imaginatively. (By a knife? A pair of scissors? Name it.) The HTF hype came a while after, and during computer class when the teacher wasn't around, the boys (again) would sneak a few clips of HTF and make the rest of us watch it.

I never enjoyed it. In fact, I would imagine all the violence on a human instead, and would subsequently feel pain, as though I was the one being mercilessly amputated. One time, one of my classmates graphically described morbid episodes from HTF that he made me cry. (I bet he was just as surprised that I actually cried. His name was Nicole, and he ended up being one of my closest friends in grade school.)

I didn't know what was wrong with me, and my classmates didn't, too.

Circa 2010 | still a back story

When I was in 9th grade, I and my classmates were taught the art of circuit board etching. We designed circuits -- however elementary the design was -- and masked the board and, finally, etched the board with ferric chloride. I remembered it like yesterday; my then immaculate white uniform got stained by the dark yellow solution, and I was so sure (and anxious) that my parents would reprimand me and my eternal clumsiness. The teacher (Mrs. Juvy) said that the stain would be really difficult to get rid off, and any contact with our skin must be tended to as soon as possible.

Thankfully, other than my uniform, no other part of my body had any contact with the solution. I couldn't say the same about one of my closest friends, Kelsey.

_{The circuit board etching activity during 9th grade sparked my interest in electronics, and at the same time my hyper-awareness to the literal empathy I always experienced.| Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash}

A drop from the solution accidentally got caught on one of her fingers, and it had been days since the activity and the stain still wouldn't come off. At one point, she told me that if she hadn't any choice, she could just simply scrape off the stained skin with a cutter. She even made a show of putting the blade near the skin to prove her point, and I was horrified. My brain went on overdrive and I imagined the deed being done on my own finger -- and I ended up writhing in pain. That day, Kelsey almost made me cry -- I didn't -- but at that point, we both knew something was weird with me.

That wasn't the first time. During biology a year before that, a classmate volunteered to prick his finger so we could use his blood as sample for a microscope examination. The moment the needle pressed onto his finger, I felt the same tiny prick on mine.

Still, I didn't know what was really wrong with me, and my classmates and friends didn't too.

The many more secondhand pain... and emotions

Then I became more aware of my hyperactive empathy. I would feel the pain of others when I see their injuries or see them get their injuries in action; I would cry with strangers with their experiences, as though I go through the same bump with them; I could feel the metal in my mouth every time my roommate accidentally bit her spoon the wrong way. I could feel so much and I didn't even experience them first hand.

Sometimes I would tell friends about this, and they wouldn't take me seriously. In the end, we would pass it off as if it was a joke and I would end up pretending that the different sensations -- the pain, the touch, the emotions, and so much more -- didn't bother me.

They did.

_{It could take only a few words, or an imagery, or a sound to make me feel stuff... indirectly, but so strongly. | Photo by Oscar Keys on Unsplash}

I couldn't explain to friends and colleagues why I couldn't be bothered to listen to their stories regarding physical accidents. I couldn't explain why I cringe the way they did when their knees hit the table, or why my ankle weaken when they sprain theirs. I couldn't explain why I hated emergency drills, or why I have a love-hate relationship with violent movies. I couldn't explain why I cry easily when the movie scene gets dramatic, and why my chest constricts (so bad I can't breathe) when reading a sad story.

And so, I still didn't know what was wrong with me.

But maybe, there isn't anything wrong at all

Sometimes I pass this off as "just being too sensitive." I feel like I was just being so much of a drama queen. But sometimes I just feel bad -- friends find me writhing in pain at a morbid story amusing while strangers find me weird. There are times I would wonder if there are people out there like me. That would make me feel a lot less anxious.

A random conversation last week that involved a colleague's foot and a barbecue stick had me wondering what really was wrong with me. A quick search on Google, and I realize that it can't possibly be all that bad. The best thing?

I wasn't alone.

In the life of an empath

An awesome article came up with 16 things that you should probably expect from an empath, and I couldn't agree more. Thing is, this empathy is a double-edged sword. You can tell us your problem and expect that we're with you. A problem not ours could easily pop in our heads in the middle of the night, and we would worry for you.

An empath would know how you feel given a certain situation. Worse yet, however, we psychoanalyze every little thing. And that's bad -- because we could end up acting as if we have you all figured out.

We don't.

What I can be proud of is the level of an empath's sensitivity to others (though unnecessary sometimes) and compassion. (Like how it would rain so bad and thoughts suddenly fly to the homeless and to stray animals.) It can be physically and emotionally tiring, and being in a crowded place can get overwhelming, but if there was one thing I gathered, being a strong empath can be pretty special, too.

Then it gets interesting

Ever heard of the term synesthesia before? I did, but I always related it to people who hear colors (or well, associate sounds to colors). Interesting, huh? Experts call this chromesthesia. Turns out, there are many other types of synesthesia, and it may include something I have.

The mirror-touch synesthesia is a case where the person feels a certain action on another person -- or animal -- first hand. If someone gets slapped, mirror-touch synesthetes would feel the same sensation at the same time, either on the same place, or on a mirroring position. I can't say for sure that I am a mirror-touch synesthete, but in my case, I feel the same sensation on the same place (say a person gets slapped on the right cheek, I would feel the same thing at my right cheek).

I liked to think that what I have is this interesting case of mirror-touch synesthesia. Finally putting a name to what I always experience becomes a relief. Laughing my experiences off before -- even when I felt absurdly uncomfortable about it -- felt really bad, and I am relieved that I am not alone in terms of this off-the-roof hypersensitivity. And that it isn't as bad as I made it out to be? That's the bonus.

Now I wouldn't feel bad about feeling too much while questioning my own sanity.

_{I used to question my own sanity -- surely, feeling secondhand sensations isn't normal. | Photo by Daniel Garcia on Unsplash}

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