I’m an empathic amplifier, telepath, medium, and I do other shit.

Shit such as I devour remnants and drain demons and other entities of their energy.

I get most people do not do this, nor could they ever imagine doing it.

It reads like fiction when I’m telling you the truth.

When I write fiction you have an easier time accepting the truth.

If one thinks it’s a lie, fiction, one can handle it if it doesn’t really exist.

Yet when one has it in their face they don’t know how to deal with it.

I’m quite intelligent, a telepath has to be. They have to keep thoughts arranged so to speak. One has to know if the thought is theirs, where it came from, and what can one do about it.

Most of the thoughts people have, I block out. I don’t care about work, or your other shit. I’ve got my own shit to deal with.

I deal with my shit. It’s why I realized I was a telepath when I was 37. Until then I had no clue that all the thoughts weren’t mine.

Then I talked to my dad, he was a telepath. He thought he was the only one.

Then I met others.

I wrote this piece several years ago on various platforms.

No really what’s an Empath? Evolution, aliens, or is God to blame?

This goes into that story.

I’m a writer who writes fiction and nonfiction.

The nonfiction is a lot harder to believe.

I get that.

I may be as crazy as bat shit gets, but I’m a motherfuckin’ long ass way from being stupid.

Have a blessed one and be excellent on purpose, I will.