Carly is barely noticeable in a crowd. She’s of average height, has average shoulder-length brown hair. Her clothes do not induce anyone to comment on them. Jeans, t-shirt, runners, that kind of thing. Carly’s features are unremarkable as well. Her face is one of those that lead people to say “Have I met you before?” Or “You remind me of someone I know.”
Carly is more than happy to blend in, because there’s something about her that’s not ordinary at all. You see, Carly is an empath. The thoughts, dreams, and anguish of people around her, flood her mind whenever she engages with them.
She was born this way, and it took many years for her to come to the realisation that not everyone was the same. Many years of knowing exactly what her parents were thinking about her. The little disappointments they thought they were hiding.
From her father the biggest disappointment was her lack of athletic prowess. He’d been a professional footballer and went on to become a fitness coach of young men and women who excel in their chosen field. Carly didn’t have a chosen field. Although she liked to go into a field, sports field, horse field any field to get away from the voices in her head. When her father was present, the voice kept repeating, “why did I get a daughter that is so unco-ordinated? No talent, nothing. I’m wasting my time.” Carly would look at her father, trying to concentrate on the words coming out of his mouth. How high to throw the tennis ball for a serve, then watch the ball, keep your movements smooth, anticipate where the ball is going to return to, MOOVE YOUR FEET!”
But still his thoughts came through, “I’m wasting my time.”
Carly’s mother tried. Tried to be accepting, tried to be loving, tried to find some way to connect with her daughter. But all Carly heard was “How can this child be mine? She’s nothing like me. She’s so quiet and dull, I can’t find one little thing I actually like about her.”
By the time Carly is eight years old she understands that what she has is a rare gift. She spends much of her school years learning ways to manage this gift to save herself from going mad.
She finds that if she keeps her head down and doesn’t make eye contact, it keeps the random thoughts of the other students out of her head. But she struggles to stop their thoughts about her from passing through. It’s a cruel conundrum. The more reserved and withdrawn she is, the more other students and staff think unkind thoughts about her.
She procures an impressive collection of sunglasses, floppy hats, wigs and other disguises so as to remain anonymous.
“No-one can have any thoughts about me if they don’t know who I am,” she thinks. And so, she grows up as a stranger surrounded by people. Her outward plainness is an especially cultivated cover to protect her internal extroadinariness.
Anyone who’s ever wanted to be a fly on the wall should take a moment to think about Carly and her gift.
Read more of Amanda’s writing here.