I remember the beginning of all of it, how he made me feel so special. No one has ever really seen me like this, understood me, saw my potential, believed in me. I mean I had people around me who loved me, people who have seen me, believed some in me, but the way he did was just out of this world, it was not something I have experienced before, or ever knew I was in need for, like a manifestation of some wild dream or even a fantasy. And the kindness, kindness I have never encountered anything like. As the first weeks went by, everything seemed too good to be true, he was more than perfect, he set the standards for perfection, and portrayed what goodness, true understanding and support should look like in the world. And I was mesmerized each and every time we met, I’ve found bliss, I have found what I thought was the truest form of humanity and humility, one of the truest forms of altruism, I’ve found the perfect human being that I never knew, have always been looking for. And as we met more, all I wanted to do was to spend my time with him, dissecting every aspect of his life, I wanted to learn how to be like him, in every way possible. I remember how he lit up when he saw me-and how my world did when I him- he made me feel that I was the most exciting and interesting thing he’s ever come across. And a few meetings passed, and I became addicted to his presence, to his words, to his compassion and kindness and he remained with me every waking second of my day, even when he wasn’t.

 From early on, he told me about how he loved to serve, and how he served, he seemed genuine and caring. He told me stories about the people he had been supporting and helping change, so many stories. He had told me how people have idealized him and how they needed him, desired him or envied him, and especially how they needed him and how he was there to make a difference in their lives no matter what it cost him. And I was astonished further as we met more, and particularly by how so humbled he was by these stories, so he had said, and how genuine his face and eyes seemed as he told these stories. And I didn’t see back then that nonetheless, he let me know about even the most insignificant moments of his life where these things happened, and no matter how irrelevant the stories were to our conversation, he always found a way to make them part of it. And although it didn’t all make sense back then; I silenced my questioning, because what I saw was contradicting, and the beauty of what I decided to believe in was far more beautiful than to be silenced. I told myself  “poor thing” he’s so giving yet underappreciated, a down dog, that he only needed to be heard, that if I give him room to talk about his good self he’ll feel appreciated and heard, I saw how lonely he was and thought maybe if I’m there for him, he won’t feel as lonely, because he’s a truly good person, a rare person, and he deserved this from me. I gave him room, and listened with compassion, and thanked him a lot for sharing his time, knowledge and stories with me and most of all for caring. I did believe he was not making any of it up, and I still do; believe his heroic stories, despite the exaggerated nature of how he perceived them, were true, at least to him. But with every story I began to believe more and more that he was indeed amazing, that he was the humble knight in the dark world, he was the hero I had always been waiting for, the role model and the savior. Whoever is this kind and sweet, caring and giving, must be, right?

 Among the stories he told me, were those about his X, or rather X-es. He told me about how she had mistreated him. And I saw how hurt he was, “he must’ve really loved her to be this hurt.” She was brought up to our conversations every meeting with no exceptions, especially whenever we were discussing something about me, an issue, an emotion, an incident. And it always ended up there somehow. To an extent that I began to feel that I was her in many ways, and that there was something wrong with me too, “she’s broken” he had said so many times, and I began to believe I was broken too, and there are things in me that I needed to change in order to deserve his blessed company. And there were the stories of those he tried to help and were not grateful, or behaved wrongly with him, did not meet his expectations, and how their behaviors “forced” him to abandon them instantly, and how something was majorly wrong with them: They were Broken. But not him. And I began to believe that I was the luckiest person on the planet to have his attention and precious time and be able to maintain it this long. I began to see a pattern, and sort of subconsciously, understood that in order for me to be around him, in order to continue to receive his unbelievable kindness, care, understanding, and company that I was now much addicted to, he had rules, rules I think he was unaware of, maybe subconscious too, but nonetheless there: I must appreciate anything he gave me, meet his expectations and not contradict or disrespect him, I must show him that I see that “he” is changing me and “he” is helping me, and understood that I needed to need him-and that part was easy because by then, I believed that I did truly need him more than air. In simple terms, I must not be broken, otherwise I’ll be dropped like the broken ones. I wanted to be amongst the ones that stayed, the ones he talked about so much, who he continues to be with and are so close to him, who really needed him. I wanted to be part of his life, the life that he made sure he always painted its details for me, flawless and dazzling. And for the first time ever, I began to have this unreasonable fear of abandonment, something I have not experienced before. And so, I found myself doing everything I could to be what he’d want me to be, and everyone would be happy.

 Then, something interesting began to happen: Pain.

 An intense pain, that was deeper than the heart, a pain of the soul, a pain I was not familiar with, and I didn’t understand where it came from. It was after every time we met that I felt this pain. I’d obsess over our conversations, and his words echoed in my ears as I tried to fathom the reason behind my feelings. “Was it something I said or did? Something he said? Or he did?” “but he’s the amazing, he can’t harm me or do me wrong, it must be me, something’s wrong with me anyway.” “I’m broken and he’s probably fixing me, just like he did everyone else.” And just like that I’d silence myself every time my gut told me something was not right about this.

 But things began to change. His eyes did not light up when he saw me, his texts were different, it took him a longer time to respond, the changes where subtle but all over any interaction and I couldn’t quite catch what it was, but it simply didn’t feel the same anymore. I began to feel somewhat of a chore to him, I reasoned that he lost interest, that the new “car scent wore off,” that it’s normal. But it wasn’t, because other moments he’d be his sweet kind self again, giving me all his care and support. But I felt something else too, that he really didn’t care as he showed me he did when we were together, that to him I was just another person in this world, unlike what he made me feel during the beginning of this, which he didn’t have to. And I found myself going through anything to prove to me that he did in fact treat me differently, he did make me feel like the most important thing in the world, that things did change. But I could not find proof, all the proof I had was the conversations in my mind, and memories of our meetings, nothing tangible. It confused me like never before and it was painful to try and understand the pattern, or what was going on, I began to believe that it’s me, “it could be because I’m being myself” and something is wrong with me, or “I’m sensitive,”  or “maybe I’m imagining things that didn’t happen”.

  I tried to explain to him several times about how I was feeling, about the pain, trying to find any answers, but I could not get too far with him. He would give me answers that made sense at the moment and made no sense later, answers that made me feel guilty about questioning, afraid of losing him, and in hope that he is the person I had seen before. And it was fascinating how there was always a different answer to the same question. But I’d be numbed, for the moment, I had gotten my drug anyway as I was in his presence, anything worked. Only to wake up hours or days later to the million other questions, the same pain and more confusion. The foundations of my reality and sense of self were being shaken, and slowly eroded as I continued to dismiss anything that created dissonance in my mind. But I kept pushing, because there was so much that I believed in. I had hope in the amazing person that I believed he was, the person I’ve seen and been with during the early stages, the one that mostly showed up in between the confusing moments. I was afraid of losing, what he had made me believe, this once in a lifetime opportunity to be with him and was immensely appreciative of having him around. But most importantly, I was, about many things, clueless. I was grateful regardless, and still am, for the kindness.

 I found myself questioning my reality, my identity, whether things had really happened or not. A new obsession was born; what is the truth about this relationship? What is the truth about every moment of the past few months? “Push through the pain it’s alright,” I’d tell myself. I needed to understand but didn’t know how to, and there was so much for me in this relationship. I pushed further only to lose grip of reality, lost between my questions, my feelings and what I saw on one hand, and what he told me was true on the other. And because I was so conditioned to trust him from the early stages, because I had the memory of the picture perfect bundle of kindness that he displayed, I could not trust anything I thought, felt or saw, no matter how real.

I trusted him instead.

 I lost so much weight during that time, I had not seen anyone in a while, I lived in a cocoon of confusion and if I happened to see anyone, they’d ask me if I was sick. And they weren’t being rude, they were right. I was sick, my soul was. I felt that I lived in a battlefield, neither dead or alive, and I wanted to run away from this every single moment. And I tried many times, but he sensed it and he’d never let me, he’d be the amazing self again and I’d feel guilty and ashamed of myself to think about him badly, I’d believe that I was delusional and that he’s giving me so much to keep up with my instabilities and delusions. Every meeting, I would walk in reluctantly and enthusiastically at the same time, worried about what damage this will cause, damage that I’d be fishing for within me for days after, and excited to meet the one person I was addicted the most to, excited about the high of being around his amazingness. Until there came a day where I gathered up my strength and told him appreciatively and kindly that we were done. He didn’t ask why, he didn’t react, he just smiled… and I could not do it, because I needed him so much. I went back. And it astonished me how kind and welcoming he was when I did. He never asked why I left or why I came back. And I dared not question myself weather or not any of this was normal. I was blinded by the appreciation of him taking me back like that, with open arms, I saw the good man, the genuinely kind one for a few days, only leading to what I feared the most.

 I walked down the road that said: “I do not idealize you anymore,” and came back, and I find myself walking it again, but I didn’t know that every step I took brought me closer to my death sentence.

  I contradict him over something, and it was the first time I had done this so blatantly. I stood my ground, I was stubborn for no reason really, I’d always been agreeable to anything he usually said, and if I ever resist, it all melts into appreciation and submissiveness within moments. But for the first time I really stood my ground just for the sake of it, and ironically over something I didn’t really care about, I took a road all the way and right there in front of me I see the monster. He threatens me, “submit”, confused over where to run, hide, or if I could fight at all, I freeze, and he surrounds me from every direction, I had no direction to go, and I scream. Ruthlessly, he shreds what was remaining of me, disregarding the human being that I was, that anyone is, and he drops me as if nothing mattered, I didn’t matter, just like that. And right there, in the midst of gathering the pieces of my shredded soul, trying to understand anything at all, his words echoing through my soul, those words that still echo up till this moment, that I was “faulty”, I saw it: he did not really care, now I became useless to him, I became dispensable just like everyone can become, worthless, he didn’t know me, he broke me, he said he didn’t mean to, but he left me.

 That night my soul died, and nothing mattered to me anymore.

 I was now, what I had feared, broken. From that day on, and despite all of the events that followed, everything I ever knew about myself eroded into a few things that became my whole being:  grieving pain, hope that I can get him to see me for who I was and fear of collapsing into nothing without him. 

                                                                                                                                                  -Empath