Spiritually Unprepared

February 21, 2021

The night my mother suicided, the night I turned 17, my birthday, I believe my mother’s spirit came to me, and it was an unfortunate experience. Why? Whatever it truly was that descended upon me that night as I walked along Ellesmere Rd in Scarborough. It was black, stygian black. There was no visible light or auric presence, only a phenomenal sense of dead weight, which strove to be near me, which I totally rejected with every fiber of my being. Why? Because it felt evil, and at that particular time, I had suspended belief in all things, whether spiritual or corporeal. So whatever, or whoever this thing was, for me, it did not exist. There was no repeat performance 11 months later when dad suicided, nor did I hope for or expect it.

The only thing that this experience did was, open up the tiniest shred of almost impossible possibility that the church was wrong. But was it? I mean the thing had been black, which had to be evil right? Maybe? I mean the church has always said that suicides went to hell, so had my parents gone to hell? Fucked if I could figure it out. 

That seventeen year old boy was a wreak, he was all but dead inside. He knew no emotion, no joy, and saw no hope; I believed that we should never have climbed down from the trees. I was an empath but had no idea that such a thing was possible, all I knew was that in large groups of people I was overwhelmed by feelings that I could not begin to comprehend. I believed that being overwhelmed was a direct result of being a misfit; I had never had many friends so it only seemed to make sense that I was socially awkward in large groups. The thing of it though was this, I was not awkward in social situations, I was simply unable to determine where these emotions emanated from because I was dead, I did not feel them, my mother had made sure of that. As an empath, it is almost impossible to determine where I end and you begin.  

Most empaths report that they have suffered immense trauma, that being emotional, physical, sexual, etc. I have come to believe that this empathic gift acts as a type of early warning system, a type of emotional radar. By the time of my parent’s suicides, a favoured type of abuse used by them both was to ambush my brother or I, usually when we were most vulnerable to it. There are nine minutes every day when a child is most vulnerable, the first three minutes when it wakes up, three minutes during, before, or after the most common family meal, and the three minutes before bed. In my brothers’ and mine cases, these were often the most violent and chaotic minutes in our entire day. An empath does not choose to be an empath; it is not a gift that can be cultivated. Though in my case there was a million times where I fervently wished that there were a way that I could somehow be warned ahead of time about these ambushes.   

As a fifteen year old, I had a job at Ponderosa Steakhouse at Kennedy Rd and Ellesmere Ave; I was either busing tables or washing dishes. The company was soon to cease operations in Canada and the night manager was trying to keep it going, so one night he had us on the night crew give the place a very thorough cleaning. As a result, I called home and told mom what was up and explained that I would likely be home very late. I got home at around three in the morning as it was about an hour’s walk from Kennedy to Bellamy, and the bus quit running around one. When I got home, I was surprised to see the house in darkness and everyone presumably asleep, so I went downstairs to crash so as not to risk waking anyone and start the fur flying in the middle of the night. I was exhausted from both a chronic lack of sleep, and the nineteen-hour day I had just put in, so when my head hit the pillow I went out like a light. I do not know how long I was asleep, but I was deeply asleep when without warning I felt strong hands grab me violently, and quite literally pick me up, and throw me across six feet of space, and crash in to the wood paneling of the wall, leaving a Chris sized dent in the wall a good five feet above the floor. My attacker was of course my father, who stood all of five foot nine but powerfully built and as strong as an ox.

It was after this that my empathic abilities began to appear, not that they made any sense. If anything, this new thing just added to the utter chaos that was me.  During the next year and a half, there were numerous occasions where the lack of emotional boundaries literally had me running from different places breathless and very scared for me. For a time I tried to numb it out with a prodigious use of drugs and alcohol, which had a limited effect and was mirroring my parents behavior, which made me sick because I had sworn to myself that I would never, ever be anything like them. An empath cannot weaponize his/her gift, at least we should not because if we could/can, you lot of “normals” are in a shit load of trouble.  The next major moment as an empath was the afternoon where mother dearest told me that my opinion did not, would not ever matter and the she had never wanted me. That is hard for any child regardless of age to hear, as an empath, I absorbed her cold hate, her contempt, her utter denial, her regret of not purposely mis-carrying me. Moreover, it came through razor sharp with laser-focused clarity, with fire hose intensity. There was no regret; this was god’s truth if ever there was one. Three months later, my birthday she suicides and her 21 grams come to me to do what?

We are beings of light and energy, and we are the same person in every incarnation, and are capable of carrying intention forward. Beta wolves beware.

I do not believe in ghosts and goblins, the supernatural is easily explained by string theory and its multiverse. A poltergeist encounter is only an intrusion in to our realm in the same way that we intrude in to theirs. For every action, there is an equal reaction, who are we to be so arrogant to think that ghosts and goblins are related to us? Being an empath, discovering this gift and finally understanding it, I had hoped that it would bring a type of clarity to the issue. It has not and I am no further ahead. The animosity that exists between my mother and I is perhaps best answered in the Akashic record, or perhaps something in another realm needs happen.

My intention is pure, light triumphs over darkness always.

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