An Empath?

I would be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t consider every possible explanation for what I’ve been experiencing.

Recently, someone suggested that I might be an empath and that I had picked up on these memories because I was susceptible to pathos.

If that’s the case, then the memories are not mine.  However, given the number of details that seem to match with the life of John Harris, I am convinced that even if they’re not mine, they are real memories.

Also, I do seem to fit a lot of the personality traits of an empath, and all that implies.  One of the worst of these is the fact that throughout my life, I’ve attracted a good number of people of the exact same very toxic personality type.  While I’m hesitant to use the term “psychic vampire,” that is the usual descriptor for such people.

In fact, it was dealing with one such person that my emotional defenses had worn so thin that I began having these memories in the first place.

I figure that the memories are either from elsewhere, and found a way in through the huge storm of negativity that was slowly destroying me, or they are from within, and were exposed after I lost the ability to repress them.

Either way, I think it says volumes about just how poor a state I was in last September, when the first memory of cowering in a dark dugout waiting for the shells to stop left me shaking and crying.  

I’m inclined to think this was more than just memories from a secondary source because it’s a less simple explanation.  As it stands, the thought that these were memories from a past life stretches the limits of simplicity and elegance.  I only consider that because I don’t know where I would have had any knowledge at all about Sherbourne Road in Yeovil, or Ferme Buterne Military Cemetery; cryptomnesia just doesn’t seem to fit.

Whatever the case, these memories have not been a pleasant thing for the most part.  They do hurt, because they are memories of an idyllic life and a long-lost period in history, gone forever in a violent upheaval.  I didn’t want to see the things I saw, but after a while it became impossible to block them out any more.

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