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This is for all of my highly sensitive people out there. Not so much the Empathic people, though, for there’s quite a difference between the two—I’ll probably get into that on another post. 
So, if you hear someone described as being “highly sensitive,” most people, especially men, will think that they’re just acting like a baby, or a “pussy”—the intellectual noun spoken so eloquently aimed at me growing up. Although, if you have seen the things I have done throughout my life—jumping off bridges, injecting multiple drugs at a time, getting into many fights, etc., all through peer pressure because I became a people-pleaser—you might think different. I bring all this up because it was my high sensitivity that led me to do these things. 
    Let me give you an example of how my high sensitivity works… While I was deep into my heroin addiction, my high sensitivity would sort of shut down, or wouldn’t be as enhanced. Heroin is a downer, so it shuts off any emotions or sensitivities; whereas, a stimulant, such as Ritalin or Meth, will enhance your sensitivity. And if you’re already highly sensitive, it can be a fucking nightmare. Trust me. As a result, I stuck with depressants—heroin and alcohol. 
    At the lowest point of my pathetic, strung-out life as a junky, I had my dealer living with me who would pay me rent with dope. This took my addiction to an insane level, not to mention, I was still buying from him, too. One night, he decides to have a “party” at our place. This party consisted of him, me, and my two neighbors, one being my best friend, Brianna. Not much happened that night from what I can remember. But the hell wouldn’t begin until the next morning…

    I awoke around noon with Brianna sleeping in my bed next to me. No big deal. This happened quite frequently. Her clothes from last night were still on, so that told me we didn’t have sex, which was good, I thought. Sex between best friends usually fucks things up, from my experience—not that it never happened…
    I woke up dope sick, so my main priority, as it is for every junky, is to get more dope. I couldn’t find my roommate anywhere, so I let Brianna sleep and locked the door behind me. I drove all the way across town to cop more dope and drove back to my apartment. I arrived back at my place about an hour later to find Brianna still asleep in my bed. It was odd, she still lying in the same position as when I had left her. I needed her to wake up and head back to her place, which was in the same complex just two stories up—we basically lived with each other, making our friendship strong. I needed her to leave because, despite our strong friendship, I kept the heroin a secret from her, so she had to leave so I could shoot up. 
    I call out her name.
    No response. 

    If you want the gritty details, they will be available in my memoir, Under Your Influence: A Manic Life of a Codependent Empath in Addiction, which is in its editing process now. Sign up to subscribe to this site and ask for the first chapter, I’ll gladly give you a taste.

    Brianna had overdosed and passed away, as she slept right next to the person that loved her dearly. However, since I was still dope sick, my sensitivity was turned up. I felt she was gone before I had walked over to my bed. You know when you close your eyes—or you don't have to—and you can feel another’s presence and sometimes, emotions, when they are near you? As I was slowly creeping towards her, I didn’t feel her presence. What was weird was the fact that I couldn’t smell her. I’d never noticed anyone’s smell before, until her’s was missing. When I closed my eyes, there was no glow or any kind of feeling telling me someone else was in the room. Her body was only an empty shell that used to hold something so beautiful and amazing. Now it was gone. 
    My adrenaline kicked in, allowing me to drag her limp, listless body to the bathroom. I figured cold water might wake her, but it was to no avail. Rigor mortis had already set in. She was long gone. 
    I laid with her in my arms as I called 911. It’s an eerie feeling when there are two people in a small, cramped space, yet you can only sense yourself. There were two bodies, but only one heartbeat. 
    Fast forward a few months after that harrowing morning and I am in a rehab in Washington, near the border of Idaho. Please read my post entitled, “The Ranch-Where I Discovered My True Self.”

    It was there at that magical, spiritual place that I learned of my high sensitivity, and slight empathy, as well as being an Indigo Child. I’m not quite sure if I believe in the whole Star Children idea, but who knows?
      I started to look back at my life with all this new knowledge and discovered I had been a very sensitive kid growing up. It had started in middle school with puberty hitting. I was always told that I had a huge heart and held a great amount of compassion towards living things, wanting to help people, especially animals. 
    After my six-year addiction, it had taken a while to gain all compassion and empathy back, but I have it and more today. That is the point of my life, to help others who struggle and try to change the world, for the better. So i write my experiences and tell of how I recovered and grew into the sober, spiritual, self-sufficient man I am today. 

Please read my other posts for more on this topic.. Thank you and Please subscribe!!

Http://jaallison.blog