In one of the books I’ve been reading, I came across something about a person with highly sensitive personality (HSP) and after reading the information about what it is exactly, I have come to some realisations within myself: maybe, after all, I am not a nut, a weirdo, so different than the rest. I am not the only one that sees things in the light I do, which gives me a sense of relief when looking back at all the nights as a kid, wondering what was wrong with me. Sometimes when I was younger I believed I was being tested, or at the very least, cursed for some reason or another.
I realised I had the decision to look at the cup half full or half empty, so, I’ve learnt a lot about the trait and now see how it could be used to the advantage of myself as well as those around me. I could see how it could go both ways though, I truly understand why there are HSP’s that isolate themselves from the world. But I also know how strong the power of mind is. My process is happening slowly but surely, but I can say things have changed significantly since I’ve started learning about the power of our minds. Your way of thinking and feeling can and will change indefinitely if only the effort and belief is there.
I have been working on a character to practice my character development, but then I got carried away writing about the facts of HSP’s. Learn more about the trait:
Logan and Kai made plenty of distance since Logan left her house early morning Tuesday. They had been walking all day, through the afternoon, past dawn. Now the twilight was darkening into nightfall and things seemed all the more stranger.
Having no plans in an unfamiliar place never seemed to put on damper on Logan’s spirits, or good will. Her whole life, she never held much of a plan to what was happening next, where she was going.
Growing up, she didn’t have a voice, instead was told what to do, how to act, where to go. Dark spaces and unfamiliar places weren’t new to her, she had learned to blend in. So, why, tonight she felt like a sore-thumb in this unfamiliar place, was strange to her.
Nighttime grew on her over the years, it was her comfort zone, her normal. It now held a very significant part of her spirit. So, why then did this night feel different? Where did that sense of normalcy that the night fall continually gave her, go?
Since Logan first learnt the art of language, she has always had a problem with feeling misunderstood. Language was a curse to the spiritual soul, she says. She felt we were all spirits doing time in bodies. Our bodies, our cells. The external world an even bigger cage for our once free souls. But nighttime was different, she was free, plus you could be whoever you wanted to be at night. Nobody judged, nobody cared. Or seen.
She wasn’t much of a talker, an introverted observer, she didn’t miss a thing. To the outside world she may seem dull, or lacking of any depth but she was smart enough to know that it was the quiet ones you must look out for. Like her, the quiet ones were the ones who had the most to say but had no clue to begin how. The quiet ones weren’t quiet in their minds and although you may think these are the ones you could get away with things with, Logan was smart enough to know these quiet ones, like herself, were the last ones you could get away with anything with. They knew.
Logan was very keen in discernment, she was able to perceive things other people seemed to only see the surface of. She used her own senses, which was all she ever had, to take in the world. She has always felt aware, awake. She did not miss a thing. Not a feeling, or a mood or a ill-intent, Logan could see through it all.
If someone was having a bad day but was putting on an act in hopes of making the people around them more comfortable, Logan sensed that. She seen the truth behind so many lying eyes. Kind eyes, evil eyes, gentle, harsh. She sees the fake. The projection that people deem on the ones around them. The anger at their own lives comes forth in the way they treat other people, in the way they carry themselves. Projection. Fear of inadequacy, of not doing enough, being enough.
Everyone felt misunderstood, Logan knew she wasn’t the exception. But to her it wasn’t just feeling misunderstood in a sense that she was an outside the box kind of thinker while everyone else seemed to be locked in the box permanently. It was bigger than that.
As a child she would never understand significant differences she seen in herself compared to the people around her. Everything seemed to hit her so hard. Lights, sounds, textures, feelings; ones of that of her own, as well as the feelings of everyone around her. The emotions she had to hold back, the tears that would not stop in spite of her self-harm to toughen herself up, with intent to be ‘normal.’ Even as a child she could be moved to tears over something as small as a line in a movie or a facial expression of someone who was hurt.
When it became too over-bearing, when she realized everyone around her was indifferent to her emotions, she drove herself into isolation, convincing herself she was cursed with being born a vessel for all negative feelings and forces put out into the universe. With her senses being switched too high, as if it was a defect in her creation. As if it was like some people have autism, or down syndrome, the chromosomes being in disarray, for her it was somewhat of the same except it was solely in the sensory part of her brain. Whoever her creator was, created this part with double the capabilities of that of a normal person, therefore she was cursed with an overload of sensory stimuli throughout her life. She was cursed, damned to feel the pain of her own scars as well as others, with an intensity and a knowing.
Throughout the years, Logan gained a sense of normalcy while alone, only to get a sense of dread, disassociation, and a blatant disconnection with the outside world when she left her bubble of isolation. She started to believe maybe she was just mad. People that couldn’t understand the minds of others but only that of their own, had to hold a bit of lunacy, right?
So, she ran away, hid from the too colourful world around her. Instead retreated to her own drab world of dark shades and shadows, dull lights, doomed with a blockage to all creative thought and worthwhile ideas. She numbed that part of herself with the substances that seemed to be calling her name since she was a little girl.
Logan was never aware of why she felt the way she did. Hiding and Kai, we’re her only safety nets in such a dangerous world of feeling. She wasn’t born with an eagerness for knowledge of the unknown. The things she did know as hard-core facts were hard enough to handle already, new information was overwhelming. Learning and applying her mind power to absorbing information was too much for her. She convinced herself she has some sort of blockage, hindering her from attaining the information. She could not focus on one thing, but instead hundreds at a time. When teachers seemed to be at point A when she, herself was at N in her mind, it made her feel crazy, it was too much. Her brain working too fast, making all the voices and pace of life move at warp speed all around her. Thousands of voices, and the things around her moving at a speed of light, her brain not steady enough to slow it down, stop it for a minute on one coherent thought.
Because of the madness she felt while trying to apply her mind to productive tasks, she refused to open a book or apply her brain to learn new things. Therefore she never had the privilege of learning that she is not crazy, that she is exactly who she is supposed to be, and she was not cursed. She was in fact, a normal, functioning being. She was a highly sensitive/perceptive person. An HSP.
Logan never understood why it was things hit her so hard, or why she was told on the daily by the adults and even peers in her life that she needed to toughen up. The countless times she questioned herself because of the people around her telling her that the things she got sad or upset about were not things that most people get sad or upset about, became too much. It was inevitable for her to question her sanity when the people around her make it apparent that there was something wrong with her for being her.
Little did she know, there is nothing wrong with her. There is a label for her, just like there is everyone else in the world. We’re all pin-pointed down to the labels we created, whether we realise it or not. She is a highly perceptive, sensitive person.
A highly sensitive perceptive person is someone whose brain and nervous system is ‘wired’ in a way that makes them more sensitive. This means they are acutely aware of, attuned to, and affected by their environment, other people, and what’s going on within themselves. It can further be characterised as sensitivity to internal and external stimuli, including social, emotional, and physical cues: they are more emotionally and physically reactive. Because they process cues, signals and other information more thoroughly than others, they become easily overwhelmed, experience more stress, startle easily, and are keenly aware of an affected by changes in their environment-even subtle ones- like energy, light, noise, smell texture, and temperature.
This sensory processing sensitivity is a basic, heritable, personality trait or temperament. It is not pathology. It has evolved as a particular survival strategy for approximately fifteen to twenty percent of individuals that differs from that of the majority of other people. It is an inborn trait, noticeable at birth through observational studies of how infants respond to their environment and to other people.
Majority of HSP’s are introverts. They tend to be introspective, have rich inner lives, depth of thought, lean toward perfectionism and require plenty of time alone in order to relax and replenish. Social gatherings could leave HSP’s feeling tense, exhausted, or highly aroused with difficulty falling asleep afterwards. They tend not to relax well in group activities which is why a lot of them choose not to join sports teams or groups: the thought of people looking at them and judging is nerve-racking to a lot of them. HSP’s are easily disturbed, distressed or thrown into disarray by changes and don’t enjoy living situations that lack stability.
Being a HSP is not a psychological disorder, but can certainly lead to one of a result of life experiences and ongoing stressors. All types of anxieties, neuroses, and depressions can develop as HSP’s find it harder and harder in an environment that doesn’t suit their needs
People that are highly sensitive may experience high levels of stress and find it hard to deal with, or cope with, situations that they find too stressful. Generally speaking, they’re misunderstood by others, seen as weak and vulnerable, and as children-even as adults- may be bullied, ridiculed or made fun of. But having a high functioning, easily aroused, sensitive nervous system is a physical trait-which a person has no control over- and did not choose but was born with.
Because of how their brains and nervous systems are wired, HSP’s may experience life as fraught with types of difficulty and upset that other ‘average’ people have a hard time understanding or experiencing. If expected to function in an environment that doesn’t allow them to have what they need in order to grow and prosper, they will most likely deteriorate physically and emotionally/mentally and conditions such anxiety and depression may very well be the result. If they are told repeatedly that they are too sensitive, shouldn’t feel the way they do, shouldn’t need what they do, shouldn’t ask for what they need in order to be successful individuals, and told that they should be different then they are and better cope with all that is thrown at them, then they will deteriorate.
HSP’s tend to be highly intelligent, talented and gifted individuals. Telling them to “just get over it” or exasperatedly asking them why they are so sensitive, or laughing at them while expecting them to develop a thicker skin is damaging and futile because they can’t change their wiring. Instead imagine the courage, fortitude it takes them to continue living, coping and thriving. If treated with love and understanding they will cope/ thrive.
Otherwise, their sensitivity can take a more pathological turn towards neuroses and could develop into a psychological disorder such as generalised anxiety, social anxiety or depression. They have a higher risk at developing these then is the general population.
HSP’s tend towards loneliness and social isolation if they feel misunderstood or unaccepted and also because they become easily stressed and require more alone time. While they may strongly desire social interactions and relationships, they may have a hard time sustaining them as others fail to understand them and they suffer easily from fatigue, stress and exhaustion especially as they get older.
If they start to lose confidence they will withdraw, become more isolated, lonely, depressed, and anxious.
To sum it all up, again, HSP’s are conscientious, they exhibit high levels of intelligence, talent, skill, depth, compassion and empathy. They are highly creative and attuned to the environment, as well as being great lovers of the arts, often noticing subtleties and hues missed by others
Logan didn’t have this knowledge. All she had was the wrong people in her life. The sorts of people who made her question the very person she was born to be.
She knew she looked at life differently than the people around her but because of a lack of good people in her life, people who cared, she blamed herself for being so ‘weak,’ so sensitive.
She was so attuned to her surroundings, so perceptive to the things going on around her, she seen every layer as everyone else merely scraped the surface of the first.
When observing an argument or disagreement of people in passing, she would click in to the missing gaps in the stories, the misunderstanding in the use of emotions and words, she would see the unneeded emotions rising. She seen how certain arguments could be ended with a few words but because of the lack of understanding, some people worked themselves up for no reason at all. As a child she assumed people must like to argue but as she got older she realised it really was a blockage, something they were incapable of grasping. They did not and were not able to see the steps taken into how things got all jumbled and how did not have to be that way, in fact they never had to be that way: things could be simpler.
Other people never understood why Logan would hyperventilate or scream or pull her hair, rip at her skin when things we’re distorted, misconstrued. People did not understand why things hit her so hard and why almost every disagreement she would end up in tears, curled in in a ball, holding her head, trying to keep the fragmented pieces together. Neither did she. And when the people around showed her that it wasn’t normal, showed her that she was the only one who ever seemed to get the way she got, she then deemed herself as crazy. She assumed it must be some hereditary thing. She never knew her parents but she was unlucky enough to be cursed with their mental shortcomings.
Or maybe because of the lack of security her whole life, overtime she grew this illusioned, infected mental mind. She created the crazy over time maybe, she presumed.
Although she remembers looking back at her earliest of years, and there is no doubt that this feeling was always there. So, yes, it must simply be a hereditary thing, that was all she chalked it up to in her mind. And she went on living, trying her hardest to brush off the feelings that made her, her and instead replaced them of ones that depicted a different image to an outside eye. She would fake it to stay sane. Because it was exhausting always trying to get people to get it, to get her.
When she started to realise that she could scream “one day you’ll get it” at the top of her lungs thousands of times, yet still knew no one would ever really get it, it took a big toll on her.
She started to come to terms with accepting what she believed was some sort of mental health disorder, or shortcoming. She convinced herself that maybe she does simple take things too hard and needs to lighten up. She took the advice of the adults who pretended to care. The ones who told her “We’re all human Logan, stop being so anxious and fidgety, no one’s looking at you.” Or “that’s not something normal people cry about, toughen up.” Or “You’re not going to make it anywhere in this world if you’re that sensitive, you need to learn to let things go.” She assumed the ones who told her she was living in her own fantasy world while the rest of the world went on around her, with or without her, must have been right. She allowed herself to believe the way she had been going about things her whole life was wrong.
Because of her misguided view of who she was, she created a hell on earth for herself. She pushed herself past any limit that a HSP should have to. She forced herself through social gatherings that made her feel like her skin was crawling, blood boiling, brain sweating. She faked confidence, she created a character for herself.
Almost like shock therapy she attempted to train her brain to be ‘normal’, to be like everybody else. Every time she got nervous about something as simple as the first day at a new foster home, she would beat herself up emotionally for, tell herself she was a dumb ass for feeling this way, that there must be something wrong with her, that there really is no reason to be nervous, it was just her stupid, non-properly developed brain short circuiting and fucking with her. If she wanted to be normal she must push past those unwanted feelings.
When she got anxiety and stuttered her words or mixed up her train of thought she would later beat herself up for it, at times even physically. She would repeatedly punch a cement or brick wall, feel the pain starting at her knuckles spreading all the way through her arm. To be numb to the mental pain.
She started to come to terms with who she was and accepting it. Instead of believing as she used to, that she had some sort of sixth sense which made her special, and that more people should think like her and that they had the problem for not seeing what she seen, she started believing it was her. That she was cursed with the inability to let things go, or to ‘go with the flow’ like the majority.
So she faked it, each and every day, attempting to re-wire her brain. Fix those mental short-comings.
She became so good at it that if she did ever want to open up and be vulnerable with another, they would deem her a liar because they see how ‘confident’, how ‘poised’ and full of enthusiasm that she is. That she pretends to be.
She created a small room with four walls gradually creeping in closer to her with each coming day. The room got smaller as she got hotter, more agitated, more out of it. Out of touch with the reality she once knew, creating a new one. The old one only existing in the realms of her mind.
Through all the acting, the head- nodding, fake smiles, the hard masks, and chameleon like personality: her identity fluctuating depended on the who or where of the situation she was in, she was unravelling. As time slipped away. Because of her inability to establish a stable sense of self, she slowly deteriorated over time.
She was now the shell of the girl she used to be, the genius that once shined inside of her, now resided to the far corners of her mind, no longer attainable. Her true self hidden behind the layers of her new reality. A character was created and the Logan that was once loved by some, liked by many had perpetually vanished. And not for the better, for now she was just another sheep, a programmed like, walking and talking robot, hindering her path to creative thinking and self-expression.
Is that what happened to all those drones out there? All those walking and talking sheep? Did they once, too have something real inside but re-wired themselves to be tough, to be strict? To hold a hard exterior everywhere they go until it becomes moulded into them, becomes them. Is that the only way to make it in this hell? Be tough or be squashed?
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