My Story, by Artist part 2In all my eighteen years of living (although it only feels like seventeen), never once did I imagine I would be walking through my own subconscious with a ten-year-old fellow psychic. And yet, here I was, doing exactly that.Unfortunately, this boy (Raz, I believe it was), was attempting to make me do something that wasn't exactly my forte: participate in conversation."So, uh...what first got you into painting?" he asked me.I hesitated. "My mom's a painter. At least...she was when I last saw her.""And what made you run away?"I was getting annoyed; if there's anything I hate, it's being grilled. "You know all this just from peeking into my memories?""Well, that, and..."Raz pointed at the walls of the room we were currently in. Painted on the walls were detailed pictures of some of the not-so-happy times in my life, including my dad leaving and me setting out on my own.I hung my head in defeat. "Crud..." I groaned. "I hate being so easy to read...""I don't think it's so bad," sai
My Story, by ArtistIt was...not my fault. It's never been my fault. It couldn't have been. I didn't do anything wrong...did I?I never asked to have these powers. I've always loved to paint...I mean, Mom made her living off of it. She's always been an artist, so why wouldn't I be?I mean, it's my name. Artist, that is. Artist Amadeaous Amtueos, if you wanna get all technical.And I'm the reason my dad left.God, why didn't I sense it before? If I'm supposed to be some kind of psychic whatever, shouldn't I have been able to read his mind and figure out he was going to do it?But...he still did it. He went to get Chinese food, and he never came back.All because I'm psychic.Of course, Mom was more supportive of my abilities than he ever was. She was thrilled when I showed my first sign of psychic activity: I was into ninjas at the time (but what else is one into at age 10?), and I had painted this picture of two ninjas fighting; one was black, and one was white.The next thing
The HSPThe HSPAm I a crybaby?No, hurtful comments just hurt me more than others.Am I a recluse?No, I just prefer solitude to large gatherings.Am I a party-pooper?No, I just can't handle loud noises and too many people.Am I introverted?Some are, but there's also a good majority who aren't.Am I shy?No, it just takes me longer to think things through.Am I timid?No, I just want the whole picture first.Am I incompetent?No, I don't like people looking at me when I work.Am I always afraid?No, not always, and it's not like there's anyone who's never been afraid.Am I girly?No, sensitivity has nothing to do with gender (or sexuality).Am I crazy?It may seem that way sometimes, but no.Am I defective?No, it's not like we're something that can be repaired.Is it wrong to feel this way?No, and I don't need to try and pretend to be something I'm not.Am I too sensitive?No, I am a Highly Sensitive Person.